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Detention in the ministry
this school of life will finish me,
**** me or diminish me
and polish me until
I shine like gold
and wealth brought up from underground,
pounded into greedy eyes,where
everybody dies to be, trapped into
the dynasty of chains.
Links forged in the furnaces
life until it finishes,
burnish me until
I shine like gold.
..and you know
that it'll never be
that way again,
but
this way is okay
not so much a way
as a pathway
which is more than likely
the right way

I think so
therefore
that might be so

..and so is not
a needle pulling thread
whatever you may think.
It's early this early
I wish it was later and
soon it will and it'll be
later until
it's early again.

This is like going uphill
passengers dropping like flies
eyes on the floor
'Mind the gap' by the door
still wondering
what I'm doing this for.

On second thoughts
it's like a see saw
up and down
until I get to the town
and then
it's downhill all the way

It must be a mutt of a day
a feeling rough
a Wednesday

going my way?
I used to be
but then I got
sidetracked.
Cold and wet
my bones are set
at angles I don't
recognise,

a spiders web of ice
hangs from my eyes
and I can't feel my toes.

Goodness knows
but I do not.

Anyhow it's Friday now
and beezer,
a teaser for the
weekend rite.

Umbrellas and a
boys night out
the
winning combination.

Still have work to do
before the clock strikes
two
and then it's home
to you and
the fireside,
cold outside
but
warm in here
perhaps I'll give the
beer and boys a miss
stay for cuddles and
a kiss.

Yes
that's what I'll do
when I get home
sometime
after two.
You think that it's make believe
but they make you believe.

In the seeing is believing
unless they're still
deceiving you.

I'm flagged up
flash dried so
what the ****
do I care if you
believe what's
out there?

I believed in a better future
a new tomorrow
but not any more,
I now know that it's
just
make believe.
Like a bedouin in the garden of Eden,
roaming around with Eve and
breeding.

And sin waltzed on in.
'hey
take some of this'

Paddy tells me that the
kiss of a sinner's the same as that of the saint
'cepting one's very good and t'other one
ain't.

To be sure the pure took a dive
kicked out of paradise, but
they learnt to survive on
the streets of anger where hunger
was the snake in the grass.

Abel and Cain and paddy says,
'two peas from the same pod
'cepting one was a good guy and
t'other made god sigh'
aye, a
biblical time
dinner at eight
apples at nine
homeless at twenty in a world full
of plenty.

Thanks for the rations, the
fig leaf and fashions
the snake in the grass and
I pass on the rest.

These are the test of times,
the beginning of days and of
Eve and
her ways.

The bible unread
the sea of the dead
the holy land and
Netflix.
The difference is,
she
phones me and talks like she owns me
because she's known me in that biblical sense.
Sniff
*****
noses and stuff
the tube is full of 'flu

cover my face
hide my tracks
that's what I'll have to do.

Sick people should be seen
and not heard
or could that be children?


Monday and all is well
( sniffers not included)
but it's hard to tell
even harder to sell
to the public.

Graduation day
already?
you say,
yes,
time waits for no one

and getting off is like getting on
but in reverse.
We try to strip away a bit each day
to find what lies behind the mask,
are we defined by man made things that
such delving brings us some relief?
This quibbling over what is right
this nibbling below the skin,
this wanting,needing
seeds of light.

Unleash the night in me
if I cannot see
I cannot feel the pain again
will not tax my brain with thoughts
of excellence,
take my blue eyes turn them grey,
strip me,rip me from the day
I do not see
nor care to see
the mask
the mask
unmasks in me the ask I ask myself to be.

I strip a little more,
nearer
coming to the core,
the pip
the seed
the overwhelming need to know,
the mask drops
time stops
end.
Through to the Bank then Northern line to get to Archway and some time for tea, a bite to eat, that special someone that I'll meet.

A walk down to the resting place of Karl Marx, can't forget his face and other notables at peace in Highgate cemetery.

Then to see the ballet, really?
Yes indeed,
a rare treat for these eyes to watch the 'sleeping beauty' rise and grace the stage.

And home again to supper, crumpets on the open fire or grill
A thrill a minute and I just grin and bear it.

Sunday.
you either wear it or it wears you down and London Town's a fashion shoot that shoots to **** you, thrill you, will you sit at peace with me in Highgate by the cemetery?
Are you on the A list?
or like me and
somewhere up near
the T list

and have you ever wondered
what you've missed?

As the end puts the icing on the day
it doesn't really matter anyway

A list
B list

I wouldn't mind a tryst
being one with the *******
my list  
I guess
we all missed
that one.
In case anyone is wondering
it's the washing machine humming
and not me.

I dunno
work my fingers to the bone
get home
and work some more
anyway
what good are fingers for?
I'll do without them.

I hear the words,
'you miserable ***'
and sit up to take notice

it can't be me that they're meaning
surely not.

I've got a sunny disposition
although the doctor did say,
that it'll fade with age.

Tuesday done
and
I'm done to a turn
it'll probably be
an about turn and
back to where I started.
I know I know and I know that you know that I know and you know that I know what I know that you know.

Knowing isn't everything.

Blessings in disguise
begin with the firelight
flaming in your eyes,
the Suns that rise and
although only one
they seem to go on and on.

The Pharaohs become the scarecrows
and the deities are defunct.

History bemuses me
but
we make our own
most assuredly.

one hundred to one and the
gamble is on,
a rank outsider to tide ya over.

It's a jungle I fear
and the fear's in here
locked in my head.

Bed,
boring,
can you see the walls shake as
I hear myself snoring?
We want somewhere over the rainbow
but
no one wants to go there
all we want to do
is share
on Facebook
what the **** is that about?
like
like
wow
like
smiley
while we
still want somewhere over the rainbow
They say,
that to write a powerful piece
you have to use powerful language.
Is that true
is that what you have to do
Well
Is it?

They say,
that the **** you will find through the day
should be written in ink.
Make your writing stink with the stench of it.
I think
that's absolute *****.
I don't feel the need to write in the way that they say that I should
Would that I did
do as they bid
but I don't.

I shall gently caress those words I undress on the page
this is my stage
and my rules apply.
Life's demanding enough
without understanding that stuff
it demands of you.

Give me a 'lonesome pine'
and something to rhyme
with.

In those olden days when we
were younger and hungered for
the future,
who knew then that we'd get fed up
with it?

With a Beano or a Dandy and an
American cream soda to hand we
were living the dream,
only we didn't know it.
idling thoughts
We're not supposed to say that
you can't do a thing today
because they say, that it's not
politically correct

I do it anyway and every which or other way just to stick two
fingers to the man who thinks that he can
tell me how
to go about the business of my life.

I am moderate in my views but speak some language
that you might not choose to hear,
get over it,

we're not all 'peter perfect' and inclined to be
correct,
there are times you have to colour in
by going outside the lines.

but we love
we love
we love and they can't
take that thing away
can't tell me
who I must love
in whatever way
I choose.
A foreverness,
a looking glass that looks into endlessness
full of emptiness,
unhappiness
and a corner, chipped, that spreads the
image resigned to
hopelessness.

I have an empathy with these things that
look but do not see, these minutes fixed to
an eternity,
if I am free, If I unwind,
if I ever find the unknown or
am shown the question,
the answer will follow.
But......

what if they took the wrong man down, it was dark, they were scared.
what if,
it wasn't the son of Man but some thieving alley rat that they wrapped in white in the deadness of night,
what if,
we've been praying for lifetimes to the thief ridden bloodline of a merchant or sailor,
call the jailer now
put me in Bethlem
send me to Bedlam.

But
what if it was true.
There was a talent pool,
the clever school but
like a fool
I did not go.

And there's a match com
a catch com
a get them in a batch com but
I don't go along
with none of that.

In the night club,the
find me in a fight club,I
flick my cigarette stub and
rub my hands with glee.

The word out on the street is
one day we all will meet this,the
realisation that we'll all miss the
last train going home and
if that day should ever break
I think that I am going to take a
long hard look at myself.
To give the Devil his due,
that old demon lets everyone through.

God's got the ticket or rather he has a ticket machine,
you pull out a number and wait in the dream for your turn,
'have you been saintly? if not you'll burn'

and you can't tell a lie because your life's been
recorded
on the celestial circuit TV (cctv for short)

and if you have been without blemish or sin
it's an odds on chance that you will get in.

but it must be deserted up there
they're all at the party and the devil
don't care.

The son of Man
and that was God's plan?

Give me that old testament time
smite all the sinners and that would include me.
but
my talents are buried beneath the oak tree.
which never works as an excuse

I have me a vague hunch that
there will be a plague and
at a crunch
I'd say it will arrive
after lunch,

locusts on a full stomach?

and what nationality are you sir?
he answers,
'universal'
which is really the rehearsal for
what is to come.
Remembering the time
you sent shivers
down my spine.

Do it again.
Some walk with wolves
others with sheep.
I keep
my options
open.
This throwback dinosaur that I am,
is still, yet moved by Omar Khayam,

in the rustling of the leaves
he breathes
a little magic into a winter night.
Last night she came into my bed
in the dead hours before the light snook into my eyes and through the shadows lined up like labourers on the walls in my head.
She woke me into another dream I'd had some years before and as I stuttered to form the words to speak to her,
she shared with me,
a picture,some melody I remembered vaguely
which though nice was rather sad.

Quite glad that being well prepared for these invasions of the night, I had snared a little spot,not too cold,not too hot and we could tot up what we got up too, as morning grew into the day it would become.

It's like I won some inter-universal game of chance,first prize,last chance of romance and I have glanced quickly through the rules,
as fool as I am,not sure how to be a man and anyway I never knew what the plan would be
or if entering this game of chance was free or would there be a fee to pay.
She took my mind away from thoughts like this and in that first kiss when my body being in overdrive felt like I'd arrive before I'd even left
she put me back to idle speed
and now in idling how I need her more to stamp the accelerator to the floor and race me on to that place where all doubts have gone and we will get there
in time to share cakes and teas and
indulge ourself in pleasantries.

Tonight I need her to come again
to come with me upon the dead hour train that speeds through lifetimes,through those windowed pains that although washed and cleaned have dreamed of sordid sights in more sordid nights and now
and now
the train of thought has stopped
this malady crops up from time to time
and I say that 'my memory's fine'
but then I would.
I want my caller in the night to think that I'm so good and not affected by that infection,age
she might
not notice line and wrinkles that twinkle in the star or moonlight
or she might.
I make light of this and wait for more,just one kiss more
one kiss I guess is more than less
one kiss
and then I sleep.
I wonder where the time went,
did I spend my sixpence for three minutes of idleness,was the less of me all I could see or be?
From Another Time by John Edward Smallshaw
it never came free
never lent itself to me
I had to fight for it
put up with,
oh
let's call it ****,
but where did the time disappear,year upon year and now,
now
comes the winter of bitter regret.
I bet you have them,
the me in the men do
amen
is all we do
when we think this short life is through,
yeah?
fuckyou
I have no regrets
all bets are null,
pull up and put that in your pipe and smoke it out,my life's not about what might have beens,it means so much more to me than what I think time might see.

'From another time' is from another time and yet another rhyme and did you read that?
Imagination
when the mind runs riot
and you see it

so
you have to try it

not a lot you can do about it,
you can't sit on the sidelines
waiting for calmer times

just
run like me
through the riot factory
try everything you see
at least
once.
Such a lovely start to the day
I think
I might flock to the lounge
and lay
upon the sofa.

Stay
at
home.
I think you'll need your hat, Matt,
I think you will indeed,
it's raining a bleedin' monsoon Matt,
I think you'll need your hat.
Imagine that you're in your car
and have a breakdown,
a mental, not a mechanical one,

that isn't in the manual, is it?
you look anyway and
no, it's not there,

screaming at the tarmac
at the hold-up as you fold up
won't help at all,  


it's always best not to imagine
that you're in your car.
If God really exists
he must have missed my
Facebook like.

Odd is the God that speeds off on a hot bike.
How unlike
the stories he told.
In the old testament
he seemed so cold
and permanent
Did God wave goodbye to the firmament?
why?
I wonder if God's really there.
And if he is,
does he read my mind can he find me a place to be
inside humanity?
With no agendas
no race or no creeds
No people on leads
unfettered is always better than chained.

If there are Seraphim would they have talked to him
does he exist
would angels and cherubim have seen him
would he be missed if he wasn't there
is he there?
Does God care?

Do lost tweets from Twitter
litter floors up in heaven?
Does God only work from eight to eleven with
every other day missed
does God exist?

It's strange how God's Facebook page seems to be all the rage
with thousands and thousands of hits
while he leaves me in bits and doesn't reply
does God exist
and if he does
why?
They think it's me
and
it could very well be.

I say,
let them think as they will
and
I'm sure that they will,
but
it's not what I think.

'Could do better',
written in a letter
when people used
to write such things.

Change for necessity
and
I wonder
what does that alter for me?

Is it that
what
will be will be
is our fate?
Cough
ahem.

embarrassment,
a constant complaint of
young men,
but
a cough and a sneeze
are better
than
a social disease.

Chaste,
less haste to make hay
while the sun shines,

I'd waste away if it wasn't
for the hay and the girls who
say, ' do you fancy a stroll?'

It's a Monday and
at times, those times,
most times, the
air is light,
I might just
float away
Sometime a nicety
I look and I feel
and she's on the line to me
breathing
quite heavily
sometime a memory
from some time ago.
The day crashes down on me
with
a wave of adversity but these problems
won't bother me,
because I can see
the sun.streaming through
the sky ever so blue and
I know in my heart that each day
is the start
of something brand new.
I once kept some fish
I called one Pythagoras
He swam round and round the tank
And to be frank
I thought he was working out the cubic capacity.
To keep them fit
I fed them on flakes because that's all it takes
But he was a sod he took out a fishing rod
Caught all the others and ate all his brothers
I was a bit peeved but then I conceived
An idea..Oh lord what a killer.
In his tank I put a mirror
Well.
When he saw his reflection
Section by section he ate himself
And finished with his head.
Now Pythagoras is dead.
You didn't expect a happy ending did you?
If what doesn't **** you makes you stronger
I should have been the Hulk a long time ago.

it doesn't work but I'm not surprised
hardly anything does these days,
as they say
you pays your money and you takes a chance.

I even touched wood at Scratchwood
that never worked either,

and now I'm moithered and you don't
often see that,
and now the word moithered is moithering me,

last time that I heard that word was probably back
in '63 on Coronation Street,

ps
a watched *** does boil
eventually.
In the disenchanted forest
nothing much grows anymore
except for avarice and greed,

but everyone has an axe
to make their random attacks

faerie tales are different now,

Jack said,
**** the beans
I'm keeping the cow,
giants run amok as
little boy blue puts on
a frock
and Tom Thumb says,
hey
guess what I pulled out,

the three little pigs used semtex
Mary, Mary, practised safe ***
and
I'm not sure what happened to
Wee Willie's winkie
Down on the South side a
tube ride away,
out in the Borough
where some people stay and
some people say,
it's a nice place, a
well-lit place, a somewhere
to sit and deep think place.

but

there's another side, a ride back in time
when the streets were caked in
horse **** and grime and the urchins
searching for somewhere to stay,
some nicer place
on a much nicer day.

And the Stew houses
but no stew inside,
known to children and
no place to hide,
Goose, oh goose
let my children go loose,
cries far away from
the Borough today.
js

The following text is taken from 'Goodreads' reviews of John Constable's 'The Southwark Mysteries'.


'For tonight in Hell, they are tolling the bell
For the ***** that lay at The Tabard
And well we know how the carrion crow
Doth feast in our Cross Bones Graveyard.'


In 1107, the Bishop of Winchester was granted a stretch of land on Southwark Bankside, which lay outside the law of the City of London. The Bishop controlled the numerous brothels, or 'stews'in the area, but the prostitutes, known as 'Winchester Geese', who paid the Bishop licence fees, were nevertheless condemned to be buried in unhallowed ground. For some 500 years, the Bishop of Winchester exercised sole authority within Bankside's 'Liberty of The Clink', including the right to licence prostitutes under a Royal Ordinance until Cromwell and the Puritans shut down the bear-pits, theatres and stews of Bankside's pleasure quarter.

In 1996, those working on an extension to the Jubilee line of London's underground, unwittingly began to dig up the bones of the outcast dead of Southwark, extimated to number 15,000, and John Constable began writing the Southwark Mysteries and later became part of a campaign to preserve part of the cemetery as a memorial garden.

I can't resist pasting in an article from the Daily Telegraph that appeared after the performance of the Southwark Mysteries at Shakespeare's Globe and Southwark Cathedral on Easter Sunday and Shakespeare's birthday, 23rd April 2000:

The Sunday Telegraph, May 14th 2000

"DEAN REJECTS CRITICS OF 'SWEARING JESUS' MYSTERY PLAY

A religious play staged in an Anglican cathedral has provoked fury after it featured a swearing Jesus and Satan wearing a phallus.

The Southwark Mysteries was produced by Southwark Cathedral and Shakespeare’s Globe in south London as part of the capital’s 'String of Pearls' Millennium celebrations. It mixed ***** medieval scenes with modern imagery and referred to bishops engaging in homosexual *** with altar boys and priests visiting prostitutes. The character of Jesus, who rode onto stage on a bicycle, was shown apparently condoning a range of ****** activities, while Satan told scatological jokes and ordered Jesus to 'kiss my a*'. At one point Jesus was admonished by St Peter for his swearing and responded: 'In the house of the harlot, man must master the language.' At another, Satan, played by a female actor, strapped on 'a huge red phallus' before using it to beat his sidekick, Beelzebub.

The play was written by John Constable, who said that he had deliberately wanted to challenge Christians. 'Profanity is a theme of the play', he said. 'The point of it was to explore the sacred through the profane. ' Mr Constable said he had worked closely with Mark Rylance, the Globe’s artistic director, and the Dean of Southwark, the Very Rev Colin Slee, who conceived the idea of a joint production to mark William Shakespeare’s birthday falling on Easter Day. He said the clergy had made a number of suggestions about the content, but he had not acted on all of them. 'They did ask me to make sure that Satan did not wear the phallus in the presence of Jesus, which I did', he said.

The first section of the play, which contained much of the ***** material, was staged at the Globe, and the final part, 'The Harrowing of Hell' in the cathedral. 'Colin Slee was very robust in keeping me on the straight and narrow', Constable said. 'The play is a new version of the traditional medieval Mystery plays, which were religious in nature but accepted human imperfections and took place in a carnival atmosphere. It seemed to be well received by most people who saw it.'

But one member of the audience, Simon Fairnington, has condemned the play as 'disgustingly offensive', saying that it 'revelled in the glorification of vice'. In a letter to the Dean he complained: 'Had the play been a purely secular production, one might not have been surprised at its treatment of Christian belief. What was dismaying was that it was sponsored and performed in part within a Christian cathedral. The cynical part of me wonders whether this is simply a sign of the times, and the way the Church of England cares about its Gospel and its God.' Anthony Kilmister, chairman of the Prayer Book Society, said: 'This is not the sort of play that should be performed in God’s house. It is quite disgraceful.'

But the Dean, who was the centre of controversy a few years ago when he allowed the cathedral to be used for a Lesbian and Gay Christian Movement celebration, defended the play. The performance was in keeping with traditional Mystery plays and 'portrayed graphically the life and history of the area' which was 'where the seamier side of life was to be found', he said. 'The message was that even the worst sins are not beyond redemption', he added.

Most of the audience responded positively to the underlying message of mutual forgiveness. Like the Dean, many accepted Satan’s *****, blasphemous words and deeds as part of the Mystery Tradition. The theologian Jeffrey John was of the opinion that, despite some obvious heretical tendencies, Constable was presenting 'remarkably orthodox Christian teachings going back to the first century AD'. Constable’s Harrowing of Hell is closely modelled on a play from the medieval York Cycle. His version shows Jesus’ spirit of forgiveness triumphing over the letter of The Law. Jesus’ ultimate 'Judgement' is a verse paraphrase of Matthew 26: 35-45.

  JESUS
  My blessed children, I shall say
When your good deed was to me done.
When man or woman, night or day,
Asked for your help, your heart not stone,
Did not pass by or turn away,
You saw that, in me, they too are One.
But you that cursed them, said them nay,
Your curse did cut me to the bone.

When I had need of meat and drink,
You offered me an empty plate.
When I was clasped and chained in Clink,
You frowned, and left me to my fate.
Where I was teetering on the brink,
Did bolt and bar your iron gate.
When I was drowning, you let me sink.
When I cried for help, you came too late.

  RESPONSE
  When had you, Lord, who all things has
Hunger or thirst, or helplessness?
Had we but known God a prisoner was
We would surely have sought to ease His distress.
How could God be sick or dying? Alas!
When was He hungry, thirsty, or homeless?
How could such things come to pass?
When did we to thee such wickedness?

  JESUS
  Dead souls! When any bid
You pity them, you did but blame.
You heard them not, your heart you hid.
Your guilt told you they should be shamed.
Your thought was but the earth to rid
Of them I am now come to claim.
To the poorest wretch, whate’er you did,
To me you did the self and same.
The travel back there
to get home and to share
the afternoon with my lady.

It was a hard day
a bread and dripping
or a lard day
but days like this come
and go

it won't be remembered,

but the afternoon will and the
evening spent under the light
of the moon will
because whatever kind of day
it turned out to be
she
will still be my lady

and
If I don't make it
beyond
three score and ten
I'll still count myself lucky.

Life is the taking from and giving to
who am I to say otherwise?

and each becomes their own
when I'm going home
wrapped in my thoughts
caught up in the dream
leaving Dean Street where
it belongs.

A fortune awaits me
and
she has the key,
but
we both know the
drill.
drink to excess
drunk you're a mess

if only

I smoke alcohol
it saves on the glasses,
they say that girls make passes
at boys who save glasses

if that's true
where are they?

Sunday
I smell liquor on the vicar
the sermon is a shambles,
drunk
the vicar rambles on about
some giant on a cross

at a loss to explain
I roll a champagne
and
if you're going to smoke
it might as well be the best.
The agapanthus!

it's still there
in the garden
growling

I'm sure that it's a lion.
..and now that we're subsidised by the state
it doesn't matter about being
late
we're no longer working nine to five
I am just trying
to stay alive.

But
enough rope is enough for the hanging
and I ain't hanging around for that,

and that, is the flat rate of income tax soaring,

this decade will become known as the roaring
twenties,
I can already hear the roaring of the female worker as the twenty pound notes in her wages desert her
and the men?
well
they'll be in the **** again.

we're done for
doomed
the workhouse looms

Marshalsea advertises rooms in the Metro
compact and bijou
for a touch of the retro
and
we're done for.
Ate chocolate,
drank too much.
Christmas time is
such a joy.

Where's the boy known as
the sun of man
Mary's child
the son of Stan?

Caught up in traffic,
what a loss
missing this,
he'll be cross.

I had a swell time
for a Brit,
stood in the front line,
I did a bit
of cheer and played charades
parading this way that 'till
someone guessed.

The best games are framed simply in
the faces
of the young
and us older one's
had the most fun.
The way that you hold me
is the way you should have told me,

close and whispered in my ear

now I fear for the outcome.

but it's the way and always will be
he says,
one day you'll **** me,
she knows
that it's true.
I carried her over the threshold,
her flesh hot,
the bed cold, but it waited for us
patiently.
The inquisitor was born to die, forever
asking questions, why.
We asked again,
the counterpane cut out the night
we saw the light
together.
Chimneys like sentries watching aerials on duty as the River Lea catches the tide at Bow Creek,

and now we're all super cameras with eyes on the rooftops, the bus stops, the cop shops and the 'wooden tops', but we don't call cops by that name anymore,

don't do no wrong if you can't do no right
a motto to live by and a lot more to die for.

keep safe.
It's always Monday
but
one day
it might not be

Counting my chickens
disguised cunningly as blessings
is one way to lay waste to the day .
We never needed supplements
when we got all of our
nutrients
from good old wholesome

then some lunatics
or scientists
decided  
in their wisdom
to introduce
into our food chain system
snynthetic additives

spewed out like a toxic waste
flavoured rather nicely
so they'd
taste
quite okay.

well
real food had its day
we went on
overkill,
kept
pigs that fed on pigswill
and we ate them porkers
too.
Her eyes hold you prisoner
you're tongue-tied
and helpless,
but
she is the shepherdess
taking you home.
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