Bring me this chart
let me look to the
heart of it.

A treasure map?
I'll have some
of that.

While England expects
each man and their duty
I want the *****
call.

ha
but what I desire
is
the perfume of fire
and
the feel of the flame
on my tongue.

In stripping off this skin and looking deep inside,I find that I am him and he is me and though I thought I was forsaken I am taken far from here,
to a clearing where all is clear
nearer to thee, my god,
and my god is in these things I see,
what nature places on the table set for me.

To look behind me and see that all the thrashing,crashing brashly through,the things I didn't know I knew, and knew somehow those things were few and in between this,I see you and you are me and we are what we're meant to be.

Other things I do not see,hidden from my sight ,
maybe there are more things that I never thought
other things I should have sought out.

Out in the clear now,everything looks different,how my eyes become accustomed to the me that now I know is you.
It's all very strange.

if we could have seen
what might have been
we could have had it all.

I could have woken next to you
instead
I lay here crying texting you
oh
what might have been.

supposing
some sights to see are best unseen
kept tightly in the might have been
and every night to make me dream
a little deeper.

A day with a stranger
an outing to Bude
he sings me a long song
I think it's
'Hey Jude'

The bars down in Cornwall
are all lined with tin
the beer tastes of petrol
I order a gin.

The stars in the night sky
are far and away
more exciting than an outing
to Bude for a day.

Do you like Charles Dickens,
are you even still there?

jeezeuz which satisfies Zeus
because these days is not like
the old days
when we could write **** and
get away with it,

no one fukin listens
look at India,
they're cutting off the internet
keeping it internal
killing off indigenous
but isn't India
the Mother, eternal?

well
they're
killing everything and everyone
and
we don't see the long
knives
we can only feel them.

Who out there would climb a mountain
to drink in life?
who signs his name upon the line
establishing his dominance?

I have buried more in these lands
held hands with death and smiled,
have walked a lonely pilgrimage,
to what ends,
I ask of myself.

But if climbing, falling or
dying is our calling then
we must adhere
to the plan,

but a man has
to wonder
about the wonder all around him,

times being grim and no fairy tale
no breadcrumbs to mark the trail
we take,
we make our tracks.

The time that we lose today
is the mine with the fuse delay
that blows up in your face.

We are and if we're not we should be
free?

nothing is for free, not for you and
it's not for me to say that is wrong
but
I'll say it anyway,

even as we stop and take a breath
we know that death is in the second hand
and plays the final card,

when an ace in the hole can save your soul
and you draw the two of hearts.

A scattering of leaves.

In the house of the greatest of charity
through the corridors, passing the sacristy,
into the chapel where up on the balcony
the Sisters of Mercy chant
prayers for me.

I sit humbly,
no coins for the offertory
a poor man in search of
a history,
in the house of the greatest of charity
I find hope in the
sisters that pray for me.

Still waters reflecting the worst of me
where the savage of time's
not been kind to me,
in the house of the greatest of charity
St Barnabas  is there
to encourage me.

I come from the shower, dripping and
you're slipping into bed,
nodding your head,is that
an invitation, will I
measure up to your expectations?
murmuring sweet exhultation
I guess that
I did.

This could have been written in Wapping but it wasn't
it was penned in ink by a stranger I met who was cleaning his face with battery fluid, I asked him if doing it that way extended his life, he shrugged and said, what else is there and who cares anyway?

I watched his life as it dripped down his chin and into the drains and wondered if the drains were full of such lives.

It doesn't matter to me because it is as it is and I expect nothing more.

I've started collected holes
and not just any holes
the ones I collect are
black holes
I have lots of them and for storage
it's easy
I just pop one hole inside the other

sometimes it's difficult to tell them apart
but
I don't want to number them
so I suffer this small drawback.

One day I'll find the 'golden'
black hole
the one where time extends its hand
and stretches out to take me in.

Fantasy?
probably.

The man with the battery fluid is not
there anymore,
just a lonely stain on a cracked pavement
and he was right,
who cares anyway?

I never listen to the whispers from the conmen on street corners
and prefer instead the barkers down the markets in East London.

the same thing is always the same
we need a change
new picture
gilt frame.

Language.

she spoke in several tongues
I stuck to my guns
and was shot down,
speaking English is alright
but she put me in her sights
and bombarded me with
Gujarati or Hindi or
maybe even Farsi

anyway she beat me.

Let's cry our tears at what it cost
shed our skins at what is past
and go on, forwards,
so long, see you later
I'm just a waiter at the table
of fables
salient facts
attack us all.

I want to cry with the blueberries
take sherry
with the Marchioness
it's not going to be
and she
knows it.

I am watching the shadow
bound into escrow
the sale follows on.

I wonder and
sometimes I don't
and sometime you'll
love me
but
most times you
won't

I'll die anyway.

Thoughts of suicide
died, reborn, reform
into thoughts of
suicide.

One leap into
eternal sleep
one shot and
it'll all stop.

The narrative drones on
men walk on the moon
man walks on water
the latest thing gives birth
to a daughter and
why should I care?

away from prying eyes
my mind becomes a
banana republic,
unstable
reliant upon what is
brought to the table
quite adept at being inept,

**** it
I should have slept on,
but there's always the suicide
somewhere inside.

I know it's been a ***** of a day
when I hear myself say
it's been a ***** of a day.

Tomorrow nods at all the daft sods who are stuck in the past and
that includes but  is not exclusive to
you and I
know it's been a ***** of a day.

Ready
Steady
wait!
not yet,

must
rise to shine and
make today mine,

but staying in bed is
such fun.

I could ****** a blueberry muffin
I'd do life for a Viennese whirl
but breakfast will be
what breakfast will be
a cup of hot coffee
and me.

It was only Tuesday last week too
there must be a great deal of
Tuesdays to get through,

I wish that they'd mail me a Friday.

Ooh, goodie,
the five o-clock news with its
five o-clock views,
listened and
ouch,
not goodie at all.

writing this has passed a couple of minutes
which is better than passing wind,
but it's still only Tuesday.

I don't know
if you know
that
when others
say they know
what it means
it means
something I
know nothing
about.

If we could delete every day of our week
every week of a year
for ever and ever
there'd be nobody here

Ever.

Think how boring it would be
deleting every thing we see
obviously
what we don't see
remains
delete free
undeleted so to speak

I need to seek some help.

Count me in from one to three,
she
does that every night,
I know that I am number one and two or three
does not exist.

I kissed the truth out of her.

Time to get my groove on
get up and get a move on,
oh ****!
the groove doesn't fit
the move's too tight
I
must have put some weight on
whilst gorging on the night.

Into Stratford careering
through the static lines
of Christians paying
church some time and tithe,

but tide and tithe waits not for me
sailing through the shopping sea
stopping only at the checkout
to check out
and get in
the swing of it.

The magic is in us, we,
the ordinary,
those who don't know
they possess extraordinary
talents but are
casting spells and catching
potions,
notions of, not I
pass them by
and us are them and we and
when we see that
the magic becomes stronger.

Surely we're better than this,
scurrying about like **** ants
as if we've got to big for our short pants

tell me it's so.

I need a reviver
someone comes over
with
a Cuba libre
just what I need a
rush to the head,

To start is the hard part
once that's done
it becomes easier to
go on,

the winning card is always
in your hands,

it's still hard to start though.

I ride on her coat tails,he sails at odd angles and angels come calling,
stalling for time,pretending, I mime I can't talk and walk to the bowsprit to spit in the ocean.
In that slow motion of epiphany I see what will and can never be and it all becomes clear to me,I spit again in the sea,cross my fingers for luck,tell the angels to f.....
No,
I don't swear out loud,I want the good Lord's protection,in signs,more mimes,they get what I'm meaning.
The moonbeams gleam off deck boards as the pendulum swings,things are taking shape and the ship sings through the waters,but later in the doldrums where the dolphins knit sweaters and the daughters of sirens play canasta with mermaids while braiding dreams with the seaweed,
I need to take a fix on the noon day sun, a hand on my gun lest the latitude betray me,I lay in a course for the Island of Tahiti where the girls sway and greet me,the old dog from the sea.

It's easy to be a madman on the sea when the salt is your spice and I've never thought twice about the angels sent packing,just went on stacking up bookmarks to feed the circling sharks,stark and unfriendly would the sea ever lend me a bed to lay down in?would this ship that I sail in ever founder,I flounder and flail but I sail into the moonlight,on a bright night you'll see me until the sunsets will free me to the tidal eternity of the sea deep within me.

She said, 'wait for me',
'I see',said I,
but it's not that easy for this premature kind of guy
I wonder why she stays or what she thinks I'll be.
perhaps she likes that wait and see
and wait for me kind of man that I am.

To spend these days in
erasing
the days you've spent in
when you should have been
out and about.

I wanted to be a mountain man
well
that was the plan
but where I grew up
there were no mountains
just hills that rolled
and couldn't keep still.

It's already Thursday.

Hire purchase?
to get any purchase on the ground that's constantly shifting would be a bonus,

it's coming
the return of the purse snatcher
the cut-throat razor,

the targeted taser?
well,
that's for relaxation,

this country's the runt of the litter
it should be thrown out with the
bathwater,

they'll find the excuse for this
form of abuse.

jeers and cheers and profiteers,
seen your gas bill?
you will just before you faint.

I'm off to Epping
going to do me some logging
and make some emissions.

can't afford to live?
don't worry this isn't living
can't afford to die?
I'm doing a special on log pyres.

Someone told me that taking ******
is good for aligning the Chakras,
I think they were sending me up.

when innocence becomes a nonsense
because you've read the Kama Sutra
ah
but I've also read the Beano and the Dandy
and the Topper and Bunty, oh no, not
Bunty, but I was tempted,

and I always saw ******
as a massive waterfall,
I must have cataracts
I'll need to get them done.

Maybe it was last night that
I sat and watched Walter Cronkite
or it could have been twenty five years ago.

Thinking it's time to put a halt to it
you know what I mean?
you've been there in the rub
looking for grubstakes
and
all of the handshakes
mean ****** all when your
belly feels like your
throat has been cut,
but
thinking don't put meat
on the plate.

And you say,
hey
slob
why don't you get a job,
in actual fact
I used to have one and
before you were born.

Everything's torn from me
in this age
of uncertainty
I wish I could go back and
be
fifteen again.

..they'll give you a description
just so you'll fit into the fiction
when they can't make head nor tail of you,

because that's what those are paid to do.

They'll put you in a pigeon hole
take your body
steal your soul
walking lifeless through the waking dream
and because you've seen it all before
you recognise the eyes that stare
the people standing in the square
the sounds from somewhere over there

and everything becomes a blur
until they turn the page.