If I am
one
of the three ages of man
can
anyone tell me
which one
of the three ages of man
I am.

could be that the clouds are stationary
and it's me that is moving,
auditioning for some reversal of fortune.

However,
I am as wealthy as any man can be,
She
has enriched me beyond my wildest
dreams and I have some pretty wild
dreams.

Wednesday
and back here on the Jubilee,
she sits adjacent to me,
we
are moving off.

He's coughing,
should I be worried?

she puts on a mask
maybe I should be
worried.

But the stiff upper lip
of the british doesn't
slip
and
'I'm alright Jack'.

The cold bites
and not in a playful
way
but it's Wednesday
and I accept the pain.

Garlic man's got on
has the French invasion
begun?

and a man wearing shorts!
one meets lunatics of all
sorts on the Jubilee,

she gets off
so does he, the
man with the cough,
peace reigns.

Hale and hearty
shall I start, we
could be done
by noon.

Don't believe all you read
they're trying to lead
you up the garden path.

E.U for the few, I see
no common market for me
just a trough and some snouts
and the shouts of out, out

wonder which way I shall vote.

Tinkerbell flew round the light last night,
I thought I was hallucinating
but
as clear as day I heard her say,
'I see you,why are you waiting'
'for what' ,said I
'to fly you fool',
a rather cool response I thought.
I caught her by her tinsel belt and
felt a wish explode on me.
'See, you can fly'
'So I can' laughed I,
and off we flew to who knew where
and who would care
could believe.

Can you 'adam and eve it'
because I can't
I just don't believe it,
yes
Saturday has bit the dust
I
am fit to bust and
choked with tears.

all these flamin' years
and Saturday can't stay a
little longer.

There is a gnawing in here and though I tread gently to mentally take out the teeth that would eat me away,
each day chews me some more,
setting store by the adage,'that no rage is good rage'for once I am right
and sometime in the night I find rest.

I am seesaw and constantly yawing,
feeling sick I am drawing a line in the sand,'til the teeth reappear and take a chunk out of my hand.
I try to repel this repulsion that drifts in like the smell of stale gin,
but I swallow and follow the lead that was set by the people I've met and have passed on the way,
there's no way I can do it.

I have wasted more moments in misery and self pity and spent time more than enough on the streets in this city to know that as more of me goes,more of me shows
and every plan that I made blows up in my face.

It's a case of eat or be eaten,fight hard or be beaten and the path that you choose is one more less to use.

I have travelled so many and many may travel some more and the lions that lead lambs to slaughter are still roaring their hunger as I hunger too,
the teeth are still gnawing as the day spreads its hymnbook and we sing as we look up
to the heavens above,
I sing out of tune because I know very soon that the darkness will fake me to take in and make me a note on the page,a stave or a slave?
and no one can save me.
I am being eaten away,each tiny bit of each day and to pray will not help me,nor pity or misery,
so kiss me goodbye
save your tears do not cry.
I am as I began
and I begin from
the start.

Every chat up line I ever tried was a waste of time and then I died a hundred times or more waiting for her to come but the door stayed closed, believing I was supposed to be the epitome of masculinity, steroids to increase virility and a mustache because it suited me I was irritated instantly each time that she rejected me,
I suspected a conspiracy,
but
she did it on her own.

Me and my Julia,
some said,
'how peculiar'
the beauty and
the beast. but
at least she
didn't think
so.

From the windows looking out that look in on those that stand before
and the eyes that never see but hear the closing of another door
and the day that lives so restless in the hands of idle men
and the pen that strikes the rhythm.
Where the water line sinks low and the window is the only place where single lonely *** plants grow
you'll find me here
you'll find me there
and sometimes crying on the stair
where more than anything I ever knew and never knew that sadness is the colour blue.
What is this point
what does fate hold
why does the clock keep secrets that I have not been told.
All imaginings and other things
and windows plant their seed in pots that only need a drop or two of sadness blue and all this I know is true.
In this the moment of despair in here or there or on the third stair that creaks with unashamed glee every time I step on it or sit upon the thread and tread a bit
we
that is I
will try
to cope.

Pumped into the grinder
pushed in by him behind ya
and like sausage meat we go to meet our maker,
the underground a wonderland,sit or stand,take ya places one by one,mind the gap and jump right on,and
in the make believe of Avalon we'll ride this steel horse to Babylon.

The boiler's bust,
emptied of water and
full of rust,
it's not my day.

The bay
looks more inviting
might go down and
dip my toes in,
have a wash
not as posh as
a power shower.
But it is definitely
more
reliable.

No one said that Cinderella
had to be a lady,
it may be that she was,
but because it's a fairy tale
we are left to wonder.

I wondered for a long time how long time could be,
the answer didn't come to me
all I got was a potbelly and whiskers.

That's the chance we take when we take the chance to make a complete fool of ourselves.
I took a chance once, but they caught me and charged me,
the judge gave me time and I still didn't know how long time could be,

repeating myself now
and that's how it goes.

So
crack on Harry,
better not  tarry
the night comes up over the hill.
This evening will see us or what has become
the frost laden ghosts on the face
of the sun.

I shudder to think and therefore shall not,
it's thinking that got me this place where I am
and this is my lot,
a dot among dots
blots you don't see,scrawled on the
smudged pages of some history.

So,
crack on Harry,
let us go
do not tarry
the day will not wait.

Am I going to or coming from them?
problem solving
number one, then
number two is
who am I
to wonder in this way and why?

when I want to sleep these thoughts
keep me awake,
it's them and who they are that
keeps me on the edge,
like some door ajar, I
cannot close,
even in repose
I am alert.

Sweat drips as my shirt slips from my back
it's them,
my jaws, slack,
my body taut,
I ought to know by now that
going to or coming from is linked and
yet somehow,
I cannot bow to that conclusion.

And for sure
some things are certain,
but it seems a curtain's drawn across
my eyes
and certainty lies somewhere
far behind that blind.

If I never know
to come or go and what it is or
where I am
and what it is, that makes me the man
who wonders why, the
certainty is
that I shall die and if
ignorance is bliss, then in
ignorance,
I'll kiss my **** goodbye

We can all go swimming in the plastic sea
with lego man and his family.

Grammarly says lego should be with a capital L
I told Grammarly to go to hell
see
I can spell and my words are my words
except for grammarly and lego but there you go
we can't all be perfect
or
maybe Peter can be
and of course
Lady Penelope
but beware
Parker's a shark in the shallows.

That's it
another load of krap,
oh ****
I shouldn't have said that
now I feel like whatsisname?
you know
that guy in the jewellery game
yeah that's it, Mr
Ratner.

Overcast
which reminds me of the time I went sea fishing out of Morecambe bay, it was a school day but that didn't bother me, the sea was more educational,
so
instead of just dropping the line I cast out and that's where the overcast comes in, the line shot off the reel and it cost me another shilling to replace it.

still overcast
i dunno if the sun's on furlough but it may as well be.

Threatening rain?
ha
something is always threatening something or someone until something else comes along to threaten something with something else, but it is dull out there today almost as if Van whatsisname had put his palette of colours away and daubed
everything in grey.

Were we that time in a place
Or the place in that time?
Whatever the answer
I guess that it's fine.

But I can never decide
Lord knows how I've tried.
Sat up in the loneliness in the long distance of night
Wondering if one was wrong
Or the other one right.

And at the end of it
I made no sense of it.
In time and place where the staggering minutes will stand up and face you
Look through you, and to you it comes as a shock then
to realise the clock when
it strikes
does not make a mark in the dark where you lay.
Stay there
Stay where the light disappears
and it will never be said that the tears you once shed were seen,but just wasted.

No one can see you when time looks right through you
like the deadbeat
where the day meets his night.
Does time or his place in his time seem alright
Does he run through the legends he's heard
Believe he has shared in that wealth
Does he have good health?

In some life where there's time and the place
in case we should also fall flat on our face
and struggle to rise.
I look into my own eyes and what do I see?
A man that could be, and once was, a man just like me.

Tears will not help,cry if you please
get down on your knees and pray.
In the time and the place of today
we have got to do more than we say.

Stay silent and die
Do not hear the cry
Lie to yourself and say it's okay
Just another today.

'..and now the end is near'
Frankie sang it loud and clear
Did you hear..
..it?

Sentiments so full of sh*t..I could laugh.

This staff of life is full of go
But I ain't going nowhere yet.
And certainly not in a bereavement column
Them things is full of far to solemn.

And anyway..I got a date next Saturday
Can't be late for that
Can't be laid out flat
How would it look to her..?..
..who's had more than her share of half dead men.

When I hear that song..
I know it's time to move along and swing my feet
Not yet going to meet my maker.
Going to take her..out
Dance and then another laugh.

In the cafe my friends all sit
Waiting for the day to hit
But not me.

Our silverware sold off to china
our crockery
already there
Politicians that float down the Yangtse
pay homage inTiananmen square.

I drink my tea in a cup from Formosa
but that name was sold long ago,
I have asked about Bombay and Persia,
and nobody seems to know.

Things are changing so fast
I wonder will it all last and what
will we sell next and
to whom?

The Country of plenty is now
a room almost empty,
almost but not quite
it is not yet
midnight and the
bell
has yet to toll.

(20 minute poetry)



They'll choose the advertising
to wrap up their lies in
and we'll open their gifts?  
that lift us from
doom

in martyrdom the peasants weep please advertise those things that make us sleep, in targeted bullets and pills they make the most of our ills to make the most of returns and the countryside burns with righteous indignation

'twas an opinion poll that told us so and we all know that
they must be right.


More fuel to the fire
the profits go higher
people go lower and
down on the scale.

We're being brainwashed
emasculated
neutered
tutored by
billboard
and
drained of all hope.

But I'd drink a tin with a bull on
If then I could pull on
a pair of red wings and
fly swiftly away.

How close do you want me to be?
do
you want me to see the whites of your eyes
and
smell the perfumes that rise from your body?

This could feel like being in Red Square
if I'd have ever been there
but I never went East and
always looked to the West.

It could feel like this if
I knew what this was

These badges we put upon men
like
the eagle as an emblem
I hate them.

Life and its crimes being
drawn out in rhymes
cut out or lanced in
the dance of
the devils inside me.
Where is the silence to bind me?
where is the gag to fetter my tongue?
my pen's on the run and I'm tagging along
the devils are too,aren't devils supposed to
give it a rest when their target's abreast of
the leader,the reader?
I need a
break.
I need to take a rhyme,take a moment of time
and sharpen a stake,
make it bleed.

and now you're doing the shuffle
because you've downed ten Largactil
and that'll lead you to heaven or
to the steps of the scaffold,
but
we're all hung and drawn from
the moment we're born,
we should be used to swaying
in the breeze.

Echoes know
That as echoes go
Echoes echo and just grow and grow.
And echoes mate
Conjoin and integrate
Then as the echo spins
It turns it's echo into twins.
Echoes roar.
Echoes echo more and more
As each echo echoes off the door.
But echoes die
As echoes fly into the sky
They fade into the fading light
Silently echoing off the soundless night.
I like
Echoes.

John Smallshaw   2011.

I turn to face my shadows face,my shadow turns away..
..but I burn with curiosity to see those features.
Someone wrote..
That shadows are just creatures of the night..that's not right.
I don't believe that crap..
..my shadow's always got my back and I believe..
that when I wear my heart upon my sleeve it's got a shadow too.
Do you?

My shadow follows everywhere but I have noticed at odd times it doesn't seem that it is there..at those times I feel bare.
Sometimes it wants to box.
I think I'd knock the socks off it..so I just sit and pass an hour or two..that's how it goes for me.
The shadow sees..the shadow knows..again that's how it goes.

But I would love to see the face of that which follows every place I go.
You'd think by now I'd know that shadows are so very shy.
I wonder why
Do you?

So I shall wait a bit..turn quick and I might catch a look..if my shadow mistook my movement for a twitch.
I think I'll wait for evermore to catch my shadow out..If I shout..spin roundabout it always seems to know just what it is I want it to show..
And it's always,always a never no go..
..my shadow just will not show.
Its face

It happened approximately
which is as near I can make it
and it was real
how could one fake it?

But every look at the storybook
tells me a different tale
as if the whole thing was set up
and done to make me fail.

I am done with reading, writing,
and I'm going to spend the night in
playing dominoes.

One by one and they lead you on and on you go,
deep becomes the depths that you know
and sinking willingly
thinking
she'll **** me,
still
it's only music.

The song long ago
the minute that's now
the lyrics that linger that
kisses you how
I remember.

Last night when I wasn't so blue
'cause I was thinking of you
and the things we might do when we meet
when my tongue slips into your lips and we kiss
as if we might miss something more
as we tore through those moments together
and whether we were there or somewhere in heaven
I could not tell.
This morning's not well
because you are not here but the smell of your breath and the taste of you, reminds me that I'm something less
when alone.

Enough is as good as a bowl full of mussels.

Led by the hand to be fed by the sea
'gluttony on the Bounty?'

but the bounty of the sea is free
and always will be
a bit like Facebook
without the **** adverts.

Swearing on Sunday
God will surely smite me
might be I'll enjoy it
might be I won't.

Underneath the spotlessly clean and polished antique teak deck
Lies the engine room
and it is a wreck
a bit like me.
Look under the wrappings and that's what you'll see
a body that once looked like something like me.

Life's engineer has not been anywhere near
since last year
or the year before that
my batteries are flat and I'm wasting away
sailing a ghost ship
and what do you say?
"it'll be alright
you'll be okay
today is the day you will shine like the deck"

Well
break a leg
break your neck
but the deck isn't me
it's just an image portrayed
of what I'd like to be.

On an orange box wearing bright blue socks
can you see
The madness of me?
I just want to be left alone
to my own devices
The spices of life can be mine
if you just give me time
if you just let me be
let me clean up the engine room and then I can see
what I'm doing.

Good King Useless
went without
and now his wife is pregnant,

here I'll pause for Santa Claus,
locked up for a year,
convicted by Westminster court
of
smuggling gifts and bringing cheer.

Dickens had it right, you know,
Marlowe and his groaning,
take your belt in one more notch
and quit with all that moaning.

The sound of a pin dropping on tin could be heard,
without a word
she came in and she ordered
a gin
and the beginning began to unfold.
She was old, maybe older,I was cold
she was colder but the alcohol soon warmed
her through.
Her name was Susan,Sue for short and
she was up for some sport,
The question that I asked was,
was I?
The evening flew by
there was a gleam in her eye
there was fear in my heart,
I said, 'goodbye',
she said
'let's not part'
she wanted something to start
I wanted something to end
she attacked
I tried to defend but in
the end which I did not see,
she took me to an
ecstasy.
Pinned against a fantasy
and no one
heard me fall.

Closing the borders?
not guaranteed to
stop the disease.

Unrest, unease,
are the lights going out?

Panic buying
everyone trying
to get their fill,

frightened of dying?
you will,
one day.

I'm ringing the bell
eating garlic as well
as two shots of *****,

I'm guessing it's Karma,
but I could be wrong.

He was penny book thin and the wind would have won him away if he hadn't been weighted down,

He waited in the cracks that appeared in old walls
and wrote messages to loved ones on toothpicks,

a strange man indeed in need of a good feed,

one day he just thinned right away, vanished and no one
was astonished at this astonishing occurrence.

We exploded
we, the ones loaded with the detritus
people like us
who sleep in the car ports
it takes all sorts.
We are the mixture
the fixture attached with no strings on the streets where nobody sings and poetry has no hope to be heard.
We are the slim pickings
the cruel kickings
doomed not to be seen
and if seen quickly forgotten cast out we're rotten
I've gotten used to it.
The feeling like ****
like I never belonged
like I don't even exist and some other things I don't like that I might have just missed.

You have seen us in doorways,down alleys with no where to go and you've gone
Not your problem
so long
But someone out there needs to take the lead, needs to find something to feed our aspirations,
Oh yes we still have those
***** faces
ragged clothes
Heaven knows we don't look great but some of us would like to take
part, even as an extra
feel some different texture
get some bread and honey
earn a little money
live a little
give a little back
is that asking too much?
Does nothing touch your heart
don't you think we need a part to play?

Or will you turn and go away
like yesterday
and the day before when you wore the same face
just another time
place.
We're in a dark place
but we too have the same face as the day before yesterday
and if nothing changes
it will stay the same way
just be another day
when we explode.

She was heaven sent
but I fell in love with
the postman.

The gale can blow all and sundry
and hopefully by Monday
the storm will have passed.

Luckily I am indoors
hearing the wind as it roars
listening to the rain lashing down
and recording it all on the internet
which
saves me from getting wet.

Saturday sober
drinking
American cream soda
which is about as American
as anything.

I won't be getting a Visa now

ps,
I
think this American cream soda
was made up in Slough.

There is a narrative
uninformative
which is not surprising,
those talking have their fingers in
too many pies,
so many lies,
their eyes being greedy eye up
the needy
wonder what they can take,but
you can't break what's broke and
some of these folk are in bits.
There are some ***** out there with
the pinstripe air who think that
they're the 'dope'

Pull down the night
sky
to use
for a blanket and a
cloud or two to comfort
you
a couple of stars in your ears
to lighten the load of your fears
and settle down for the evening,

it's getting colder and you know, not because we've told you,
but because you feel it creeping into your veins
fogging your brains and maker it harder to think and so you sink into an uneasy sleep where the dreams that turned bad are the dreams that you had long before this kiss of death

and each breath that you take makes you wonder if taking one more breath is better than..but if hope's on the horizon it had better get its skates on,
time's running out for those sleeping out and Winter is licking her lips.

the
twenty first century
may mention me
when discussing this.

The four corners of the
the known universe
are as follows:

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(20 minute poetry)

I am not on the short list and now
I lust for what I've missed
and boy am I really ******
off.

I see the colour if reality is red and
like the rag to the bull
I'd like to pull that list apart.

But my realism is pacifism
I have foresworn the tearing of limbs and the breaking of heads, steadfast in this conviction I'd still like to **** them and that's a contradiction in terms.

Okay
So they passed me by on the list, I
don't know why,
I should be the certainty for the first prize and universally applause would surely follow.

Well **** them tomorrow I'll go all inverted get me converted to a new type of..
...can one of you borrow me a pen?
I must have this in writing,
Oh yes,
Mother says biting my tongue and holding my breath is better the devil than scribing my own death certificate.

I bet the list is a fix,
see who ***** who and who's in the mix,
I picks my own friends,
**** it