The first rule is
read the rules
(only fools don't)
then if you don't like them
disregard them,

The World is owned
by
a very few men
who make these rules
to satisfy them.

of course
you must have a code
something to live by
as you travel life's road,

which is like a rule,

What malady attracts humanity
what fevers chill our blood?

Out there
there is worse to come,
the universe would be a
colder place
if not for a billion blazing
stars
and we only manage
one sun?

is that all the universe can spare

Come at me with comets or
an asteroid belt,
leave marks on my body,
have you ever felt the
pulse of a quasar or ran your
fingers along the curving of time?

There must be more that we're
unable to see,
or maybe we see it and
don't
recognise it

what ties it together for me
is the malady that humanity
attracts,
packed as we are on a planet
that turns on the turn of a card
and each hit becomes harder to take,
every reflection of light that ever bounced
off a lake goes back where?

back out there to the billion blazing stars?

I struggle to find inner peace of the kind
that Buddha should have explained better
or perhaps
I'm just dumb,
but
still,
only one sun
seems mean.

That time,
I remember it as if
it was yesterday
and to some extent
it was.

we are never far away
from tomorrow and
definitely not from
yesterday.

But it's funny
how memories fade,
what was once glorious
sunshine
sometimes becomes
some time in the shade.

as if distortions occur
scabbing over the times
we were there.

instant replays
I'm famous for those
putting everything back
to where I think it
goes.


Time's
like a boomerang
you can throw it away,
but it comes back
and yet,

and yet
we slowly whittle it away.

yesterday
is here everyday,
the only difference is
in
the day we look for it.

I'm here and now
somehow,
for how long
remains to be seen.

Caffeine
a pen
I yawn and then
yawn again

nothing flows out except
mothballs

cloth ears they called me
deaf to their pleas
but
I was as different as
chalk is to cheese.

I yawn once more while
weevils bore into my brain
and yawn again.

The snipers have got me
shot me on Monday
sometimes I wish
I was
Solomon
Grundy

then I fall
into the week
because I'm weak
or antique
couldn't hold on to
the
yawn again
dawning on me that
what I see is
what I'll be
by Friday.

It is as it is and nothing more than that,
this world that we live in is not round
it is flat.
Oh yes,
they try to tell you that we spin round in space and that something called gravity is what keeps us in place,
it's a crock,they want to lock you in circles so that you'll also spin round but stay in one place.
This is what's known as an utter disgrace.

If you walk far enough you will fall off the edge of the earth,where you will then meet the baker, who bakes and gives birth to us all, in order that we might walk far and then fall back into his vast baking tray,
which I accept is a circular route but I don't give a hoot because I am quite certain that they,
have pulled a curtain of wool over our eyes,oh how I despise them those wise men know nothing,
but I know the world is quite flat and that's that.

Time goes and we
know it's just the alibi
it needs
as it slowly feeds upon
the passing years
which allays our fears
because we know that
eating is quite natural.

As my spirits rise when
hearing this
the spirits in the bottle
disappear
and yes
I'm on the '****'
keeling over
going under

but still,
if and when I wonder
I wonder when and if
or is this me
or is this a parody
of someone who
could be me?
sometimes
I wonder if even
She
knows,
time goes.

Slowly and deliberately
I grew up and became the me
you see, but in any group of men
do you see me as a man?
if and when or
when and if you can
let me know.

And at times
I think the monkey
that was on my back
had fleas and left me these
scars
and at times that seems a
reasonable explanation
for the cut and ****** of
when I can't place my trust
in any situation.

I follow my nose
time still goes
against
the wall
against
my will,
thy will
be done.

(20 minute poetry)

Tell me that it's true,
true
that
you are the one,
the one for me I knew,
I knew it all along.

I knew that you'd be there
when I opened up my eyes
and
surfaced for some air,
I knew it would be you
knew that you would care.

Tell me that it's true
what I always knew
tell me that it's true
It was only you,
I searched my whole life long
to find
a woman such as you
and you read my mind,
I love it that it's true
I love it that it's you
I do.
I do.

Tell me one more time
give me one more sign
I knew if would be true
my life is life with you
I really do
really really do
I think I always knew
one day I'd fall in love
with you.

We say, 'God save the Queen', but only 'cause we've seen what God can do.
God likes to smite,
here and there and anywhere a bit of smiting's to be done,God is the one, and I'm quite sure that he has fun.
I came back to the fold but God knows I only did it coz I is getting old, and still get the hots for a spot of larceny,
and so it goes that God smites me.
He'll smite you too just wait and see, with specials on a Saturday buy two smites and get one smite free.

Life is the journey, epiphany the destination and each obstacle we meet is just a stop off station along the way,
some stations are lit well and yet some become the hell we live in,do we give in and stay, on what is just a stop along the way or do we progress?
I guess, as is often the case,that each persons journey is mapped in the lines on their face.
If I could number the steps that lead down to the depths of despair,I'd be there,counting forever,it's never a good Idea to look in the rear view when you're moving into something new,but some do,some stop at the station shop,fall over their shoelaces,more lines on more faces and I've been in more places like that than I care to recall,and I have
fallen on this journey which in the end I knew would make me or turn me,light my path or would burn me,it concerned me but not unduly,
Life truly is
a journey.

Nobody
Nobody
there ain't nobody
loves you the way that
I do
lady

Ain't no one loves
you
the way I do.

If I repeat myself
repeat myself
repetitive stress
defeats myself
repeat myself
and fade.

Stuck down the rabbit hole
no sign of Alice
Christopher Robin
has taken her dancing,
*******.

repeat and repeat
and I will not be beat
I shall take Alice to wonderland
and we'll have a wonderful time

Christopher Robin
needs punching
someone
to be putting the boot in
but
there's too many guards at
Buckingham Palace
at least
he won't be getting it on
with dear sweet
Alice.

repeat me?
myself I and I
repeat to
fade.

On the sidewalk there's talk of a new generation that denigrates the old ways and only lives for blue sky days,
It pays to listen to the word on the street,to jive with the beat and to cool off in the heat with a jigger of ***,
and that's *** enough for the bums and bedraggled,the stragglers left behind in this race,
there's no place for them in the new blue sky days,we'll do away with the shoddy lot of them in our secretive ways
they won't worry us no more.
Thus the unwashed are cleansed,washed away in the Thames and the streets are so sterile
fertile indeed for the new generation who'll have their babies gestated in cappuccino cafes whilst bemoaning about the demise of the 'good old days'
I'm not a part of it
never have been in the new scene
I don't want to know so I'll go and bury my head in the sand,and
hope it all goes away.

The night's like a cockroach that crawls up my skin, evil, exciting,
I let the night in.

The stockade has fallen, I'm free on the lam,
what kind is this man that chaos delights in the cockroach? we all know those nights so
don't pretend you can't see
or defend me, but just be one if the stars will allow and accept it
for this is the now.

In this junkyard of existence persistence pays off.

There is the diamond, a mirage floats on high,
a jewel
and my third eye desires the fires within,
more cockroaches crawl up my skin,
I let the diamond lights in.

If I excell at this it is only because the kiss of a madness is on me, badness is in me,
If vanity is to be
then it is surely
the cockroach who leads
me astray.

The light saunters in and we, of course, are all waiting for him or her because we're never quite sure where the cap fits,
talking of caps,
years ago
I had a cap gun which was great fun until I ran out of caps then it didn't bang it just went click and that's a bit like life if you look at life that way.

There is Much to do but Robin Hood won't allow it,
my Saturday joke, all about nothing.

They say the wind is picking up, but picking up what?
I'm
still grounded
getting well rounded
which I put down to her cooking

...and then the pen became my broadsword
allowing me to cut through the cords
which had bound me
and when you found me writing poetry
you reached into infinity
and
for a minute we
were connected.

Ticking like a timer
tick tick
on a timebomb
primer.

Dynamo or dynamite they both
light up
they both bite deep
tick tick
when I'm fast asleep
and one day
I'll explode.

Or

I'll settle in
get old and fat
forget that
tick tick
pick a card.

Chances are,
are chances few and far between,
chances are I've been the one
tick tick timer
prime a
timebomb.

Going to work and
having to work!
what's that all about?

2020
work didn't bother me
and
I become smothered by lethargy
drowning in apathy
eyes glued to the TV
until She,
laid down the law.

Funny how
when cut and dried
that place outside
looks greener

I've seen a
life quite different from my own
happy
caring
people
going home

and all I do is sit and moan,
it isn't fair
I should be happy, caring
it could be me
I should be there.

I think,
if change is easy
why is it so hard?

One day they'll build a monument to all the men
who
with good intent
set out to change the World in which we live
they'll take collections,
will you give?

I build a pyre
but it's them will burn me in the fire

they don't like me being so outspoken
and would much prefer me as a token gesture, the gesture being
salute the masters,
******* all the lot of them,

funny when
you start to write and the words don't match your mind.
I find the ink brings
its own opinions.

Through my blindness
you **** me
with your brand
of kindness and
I find less and less
to complain about.

but it's about time
the tide turned
the times that
I
have yearned,
the seasons that
spurned me
the reasons
I
lost on the way,

seeing now
seeing you
being me
dreams come true

I drink my tea
quite happily
and wait
for
carrot cake,

A jump start to a starved heart and
we're all locked into the grid,
we belong and though
some long to be
their destiny is a lonely place.

I face those disapproving looks
those look at him looks
and at times think
life *****,

but then they put the implants in
and switched on the juice.

It's like being in a bowl with a hole drilled
into my head
I have to tread carefully and watch my
Ps and Q's while they abuse me.

If I attach the electrodes to the diodes and the cathode tube explodes
they'll say I was trying to escape into the series and unlock the grid
what they don't know is I did.

will the prodigal ever come back to me?
do you think God wonders so or does his wonders which he performs quite wonderfully keep him to busy to wonder?

In a quandary where placebos grow wild
where there's no place to turn to except back into the child you once were
and you're popping them blues but you'll still have to choose what you want and if you do turn to, what then?

Without whom
will you pray at the temple of money or power?
and who'll sit in judgement to torment you?

No one's going anywhere no time never soon
so you might as well get used to watching four walls
in your room
or
you can google trip around the globe,

up to now
I've been to Curacao and blue bay beach,
to Bogota and Amritsar,
tomorrow
I'm heading off again,
anything
to get me out of this room and away from the rain.

An evening to do what seems so right
a wrench from the *****
who
thinks it's alright
to stagnate.
I wait for the morrow to come,
for the postman and some
statement
of intent, but
I am bent on the track and
there's no looking back,
I am set
for the fight.

He swam across an ocean to steal a concubine from a potentate,hauled himself ashore in some oil rich state.
Whitebait for sharks that roamed in the sand,fish for the cannery,what kind of a man was he?
His saving grace,her face which monitored each move he made until he reached the palace gates,
then flinging all aside he cried may God have mercy on this humble man who only tries the best he can and from the harem,a girl called Celsius ran into his arms which opened wide,time to hide ,time to run,
time to burn,the desert sun does not play games nor names the bones which bleach upon its sands.
Holding hands they stowed away on a short haul trawler out of the bay and here where fear was laid to rest
the best was yet to come.

Defects
I've got them
perfected
the lot of them,

'some men are born
to be great'
and some men wind up
in this state.

Embrace them all.

We only look forward looking back
and yet we're not on the right track
not looking.

I'm cooking chicken fricassee
because
for me
that's the only dish.

but occasionally
I wish
for Yorkshire pud
rubbing the lamps's
no good
so
I
live in hope

Listen to the chapters moan and
watch as drones drop bombs
on family homes,the
bible bones.

All is well in the land of Nod
those East of Eden don't give a sod anyway,
it's like 'play for today'
it'll be over soon.
The moon will rise,the skies will clear but
never fear
another chapter will soon begin.
But,
who will win this war,what war?
I never voted for a war.

In chapter four where Adam's just thrown away
the apple core and pretending that
a ******* in the garden is
not a sin,
Eve asks,
'what war,
what am I tending flowers for
will I provide the roses for the ones who die
anonymously?'

We,
the undersigned are all resigned to,
fighting 'til the fighting's through.
You
can add your name at the end of chapter two.
Until then we'll hear
the moaning,droning,bombs homing in,
the losers who win and the winners who lose,
while we sit and choose which
channel to watch,
which programme to see
while eating our cake and
drinking our tea.

Locked in the dock with the judge looking shocked as he read through the case
and he peered at the clock,
He was thinking of time
so he gave me some.
I jumped over the rail
the poor guard went pale
and I run away
not feeling like going to prison today.

The papers all called it the great dock escape
or that's what I read as I sat in the bar
with my very good mate.
Fred said I was daft
and should have laughed at the 'beak'
Who is up for indecent assault at the 'old Bailey'
next week.

A judge you can't trust with your life
or your wife and a con that
absconds from his trial
the papers like to pile it on
but tomorrow as we know the newspapers are gone
and we become old news.

The police take the view that although my crime was a crime.
It wasn't as bad as the judge's and now he's doing time
and I'm not doing crime any more
anyway crime doesn't pay or so I've been told
but it's not often you hold fifty grand in your hand
thus I stand
convicted.

If this be the will of the people and
the people be legion,
then the legion be Roman,
who stand in the squares
swearing
allegiance to
chickens and bears,
if this be the will of the people
the Empire is lost.

We are nowhere near forever and it took forever to realize it,
forever's just a planning dream, a mock-up on a backlit screen
but a storyteller can make it seem that forever's been and gone.

Never one for getting on
but he got on
the only way he knew
which was
strapped in tight to the
driving seat with his eyes
on the rear view

These lines are ley lines,
magnetic
like land mines.

To find my way I
must follow the ley line
finding the right time on
which I have no lien.

An ocean of webs,
what fun
the tide ebbs to
uncover the shore and
more
ley lines.

How fluid the Druid who
seeps out of time
like a mercury trail on
the magnetic
ley line.

All about the geometry,
getting tangled in
her sorcery when the
Angels
want you too.

Muse.

And I use Chanel to attract,
my lips are dry and cracked so
I ladle on some balm,
calm?
nope,
but
I live in hope as most of us do.

The low down on the cosine is a
sign for me to come up and see her
sometime and I've heard that one
before.

These are the searchlights.

Flares that bring night down
and candles to warm Saki.

Back at the Inn
Ingrid
deigns to let me enter and
pin my colours to her mast,
happiness.

That's all a man can ask
unless he's an absolute cad
and although I'm a bounder
I've
never been that bad.


At Andrews,
we are back to the base
counting to ten with
mud on my face,
flying to
Dallas
and all of us
laugh wildly at the child that's
inside of me, but I know he
left years ago and
is still on the
way.

The lights are switched on, a bit like me although it's been said, I am dull.

The jubilee line train is starting to fill and now it's full.

This is the early show for those in the know that the early bird catches the worm.

It's eyes down in the smart phone town where contact is just an adhesive.

A mustachioed man much older than I am
playing candy crush
slowly.

I've seen
those what sniffs
some with quiffs
and them what whiffs
of wintergreen.

I sit here taking it in
can't hear a pin drop.

Terminating at Stanmore?
well
I won't be going there.

Unlikely,
but mustachioed man
looks a bit like
Blakey!
on a bus man's
holiday?
on Tuesday?
unlikely.

Some guy just got on
he smells of
Old Spice,
I wanna say nice
but
I won't.

When you had that first inkling
saw the light twinkling in the eyes of
your beholder when he told ya what
he told ya and how old were ya
then?

How you built your fortifications
and how his frustrations built.

before we both knew
the years flew away
and here we are today
together.

..and then it was now
how
did the weekend go
so fast?

A block and tackle to
help me rise
an excavator to dig
the sleep from my eyes
and coffee to oil the
moving parts,

..and now it is then
time to go to work
again.

Did you want to balance on the edge of a freshly sharpened knife,
did you really want to spend your life afraid of being cut
did you put the cutting blocks away?
Good,
then it's chocks away and engines gun,let's fly and meet the morning where we'll win the sun and lose the night,
flying blind with eyes tight shut feels a bit like being cut,but no blood yet,
no need to get upset
we'll get there
somewhere where the daring and disarming go and where existence seems to ebb in constant flowing ever knowing waves,
and someone waves so far below where ants appear and everything is, although nothing seems clear.
As we stand there on the edge and look,
fear is written hurriedly in the pages of another book
and we have flown,taken years and grown beyond the boundaries of man,scanned by few and those who new it never recognised,
the eyes can see,the hands can touch, which doesn't mean so much when you don't know what you're leaning on or looking at.

The world was flat,but blown up like a balloon it became that which we know it, a ball, though you can't throw it.

Better to believe if you can that dancing on termite hills is all that is man,and all we will be are the ants that look up to see,
a man in his plane
doing the same thing over and over and over
again.

A streamer hangs down lifelessly,
the party is over for you
and for me
the ice cream has gone
the candies have too
all that is left
is
me holding you
and the party is over
we
had lots of fun
we danced in the moonbeams
and ran through the sun

we tasted so much
touched even more
it's time to go home now
time for
closing the door.