Powerful testimonies,
if any,
are lost in the falling
when
someone is calling time
and
someone always does.

We find our own salvation
through
trial and error
and
mistakes are all it takes
to fall.

You can swear on the bible
or on a loaf of bread,
it's what is in your head
that matters.

I gave up on giving up
and gave in,
saving
myself for something greater
which
will no doubt come
later.

Fluent in truancy
a juvenile
inadequacy.

So when she spoke in French to me,
'je m'appelle Fifi'
I didn't have a clue what she meant.

then with great intent
she said,
'je veux faire l'amour avec vous;
I still had no clue
so I went fishing instead.

Frugal or extravagant?
ambivalent?
(only if you can afford to be)

relevant or irrelevant?
and
that's the elephant in the room.,

and by the way,
Zoom will always be
an ice lolly
to me.

It's about ripping stuff out
to put new stuff in and you think
that it's priceless
but it ain't worth a thing

keep on
gouging and
the time will come
when you've gouged out
the meaning
of what we've become.

As ever, forever lasts until our eyes close.
sometimes I blink just to fool it.

sometimes I sit to watch trees grow
pointless is something I know,
but mostly,
I pace up and down in my old
dressing gown and wonder
where did the time go.

Eyes that cut into the granite of his face,
not a hair out of place.

walk this way to the end of the day
take five for a smoke
a joke

the tales we tell
and
sell me the contents of your leather valise.

knife crime?

loved ones
can't wake 'em
when they're taken,

a lifetime
undelivered.

I expect that one day
there'll be some left to say,
'this is the Holy Land'
not seeing the trenches
dug in the sand.
Not seeing the river run red or
the dead,
the thread of some biblical tale,the search for the grail is
it all a big fail?
I wonder if Moses came back today would he say.
'this is the holy land'
would he cry out in the wilderness,the wildness of sand
would he give out his hand in friendship and peace
could he make the war cease,
engineer a truce,
is this new truce a ruse and if so what's the use.

Welcome to the Holy land

I could sit tight until midnight
turn off the light and pretend
it's alright
or just go on my way.

The day has been done
and I have been too
it's getting harder and harder
to see this thing through

and I sometimes wonder
if I were you
and you were me
would me as you find
it harder too?

Tiredness creeps in and the senses reel.
I hyperventilate to feel the oxygen pumping
in,
but the light's are going out
now,

My next port of call
if I don't die of thirst
will be the isle of Tortuga,
and I'll dive in
head first.

A *** by my Flintlock
and pieces of eight
while the dockside gals
stand idly and wait.

A pirate I am
and a pirate I'll be,
home being the heart and
my heart's in the sea.

I want her
To be with me
But I can see
She wants her freedom
More than this.
We kiss
Goodbye.
I cry
Alone.

Tri-star on the countdown
going to dismount
it's time to get down
from this high horse.

To plummet from the summit is
no mean feat
can you beat
my record?

Yeah
I know,
around
and round but down
we go
every time.

Jonah went out for a sail
On the ebbing tide.
Whereupon a mighty whale
Opened up its mouth real wide
And swallowed Jonah
Deep inside.

Whatever else you may have read
Believe me when I tell you
Jonah's dead.

Presently she comes to me,
ruby red light in her eyes.
The candles light up
automatically,
frantic in their dancing flame,
my shadows know another name
and that name is,
Presently when all is done
my body numb
my mind aligns with
where I am.

She wreathes me in delight
each night the same,
I call her name and
Presently.

It's not about faith or how devout you are and
how far you'd go before you know how far you'd been
and to be honest here I have no idea
what it's about, but it is about time that I got a
little understanding of my standing in this
universe.

It seems like I'm whining on while the stars are still
shining on but I'm not getting on a pedestal
to see a point of view that belongs to you,
I want to see the view for myself.

and even when I do there'll be more questions,
more answers that beg questions and the planet
will
still revolve around the Sun

Friends come and go, they always have and
you know because you're a friend to some
and some's a friend to you, some
watch the sea for signs
she
watches me for signs
and I watch over her
all of the time

shapes of the ocean in
the deeps of her eyes
and
the mirror tells no lies,
well
not to me.

From the edges we look out to see what is or not or could it be
that's someone looking in on us and it's not me.

A universe from which we came? or go?
on the edges do we know the answer?
do we jump and fall back to the start?
who then plays the parts of stars we are
yet to reach?

The prayer for lost souls.

teach me that serenity
allow it to flow inside me
and to guide me.

And don't forget the poor old palm tree
it's had such bad press recently,
in haste and quite indecently
the oil barons loot them all.

Too much of too much is too much for me
and I can't see what is nor what could it be
and so I wait complacently
for the World to end

I see tranquillity
written
on a bottle of pills
for me?

I have no need for that bottle to bleed its life into mine
I have enough of the tranquil stuff to fill a well and more than that,
I flatly refuse to twist off the cap and use my mouth to confuse my mind.
Easy enough to find another way
to get through another day without the dubious thrill of the little blue pill in the bottle that's sat on my window sill.
I will not abuse
nor be accused of letting the side down.

Fresh air will feed me,heed me as I speak and these words that creak from cracked dry lips
will not let slip a lie,
don't try to get tranquil from a blue pill or you will
be disappointed.
My guarantee is you don't get what you see,but you can see what you get,
let sleeping dogs and pills alone
Phone
Frank.

You sit there with a fixed stare, the thousand yard don't care, but your mind's left behind in the firefights you went through,
and they watch you, tut-tutting, he should be put in a home, someone buts in and says, but he's a general or he might have been if he'd not seen the things that he'd seen.

and you listen there with the fixed stare
and all you hear is fear.

..for every bear that ever there was
is gone today for certain because
illegal loggers are flogging the guts
out of nature.

Another time.

Each and every kiss you gave will go with me unto my grave
and I shall taste them one by one
until all time has passed and gone
and when we stand linked hand to hand
on that far off distant shore
I'l want to kiss you more and more.

But that's not here and not very near
so we'll have time for more than this
and a kiss is but a kiss but to love is something else,
indeed, it fans the flames and  builds the fire
as we sink lower
yet getting higher and then the burst of light
in sight of shangri la la la and let's do another kiss
in case I missed the messages that pass between two tongues that overlap
and that just wouldn't do for me
for you as well as anything we never knew
and yet we would forever be (in my opinion) in
an elongated stretched out on the bed linen kind of ecstasy.

Dreamer I may be but I know you'll dream along with me
and watch the stars at night
alongside,
wrapped up warm and tight within
these limbs that drape so languidly
and shall we wrangle
about on which side we're going to sleep
are we ever going to sleep?

You keep we wide awake with promises and I should take another kiss
before I close my eyes
but I would not miss your eyes at all for in my sleeping they would call me
once again and lure me to your lips.

I wake
rewarded by the look of sunlight swept across your face
and watch the rising of your ******* and while making tea on the two ring stove
my  fantasy would rove but the whistle on the kettle sings
brings a sore reality
you go back at five past three to catch a train to Daventry
and I will wait
upon the distant shore
to kiss you more and more and more until the end of time.

I am in a frame, a spot on a painting on a wall in a hall full of other pieces of art.
Someone should be looking for Van Gogh,he's been ******' around with the paint ***.
What am I going to do as a spot?

Picasso
apart from painting me blue
missed out the ring finger on my left hand and the people who pass me always peer at me closely and linger a bit longer as if they can't believe it but it's true.

David Bailey took a picture of me
put me in 'Time Magazine
captioned it,
'the four fingered lingering blue dream'
it's a nightmare I tell you.

I wish I'd been done by Turner,in the best possible taste,
but the silly ****** wasted all of his time painting ships of the line.

So I'm a spot or a dot and the audience love it,but
I think it's **** hanging here in a frame
I only came here on loan and
now they've made it my home.
I wish that I'd been painted with a voice.

I'm turning into Louis Wain
going quite insane.
the cats complain
I do not hear.

Fear
the Devil and his deeds
for he will satisfy your needs
and then will ask for payment.
Content to be
insane that's me
my cats are all I see
and they're not real
they sit at tables playing cards
drinking alcohol.
In feet and yards they're streets ahead
purring, whirring round my bed
I cannot sleep
them dratted cats keep me awake.
I should take another leaf
become a thief
and draw the dogs
who hide behind my frosted eyes on worsted woollen sheets
made by ladies on the coast
in Brighton mostly but some do live in Shoreham by the sea
I love them and they do love me and they love my cats that's plain to see
except by me
I hate the little sods.
Making rods for my own back
I draw them toting haversacks
which they will surely fill with me.
I see it
The cats see it
the dogs are nowhere to be found
like lunatics they've burrowed under
formed the doggie parlour underground.
What glee
what medicine for me.
What time is it?
Oh half past three
I'm turning into Louis Wain
I've said that once but once again and just to let you know
I hate cats
they're so unpredictable.
Can't erase them when I've drawn them
It's almost as if I want to spawn them
I guess that's why I'm locked inside
behind the walls where madmen hide
with cats.

A poppy red day under a blood orange sky.
trees dropping a blanket of leaves,
I pass by, head bowed as if in prayer
thinking of breakfast.

The important things are just
as important whatever you're
thinking,
it's just that you're not always
thinking of them.

If there's a moment in which we all die
in which each of us cry to what god we believe in,
then I have not found it.

I am Saracen
Saul on the road
Paul by the lake
I take my disguise from the
lies I've been fed
from the streets that have led
me to here.

but I fail as we all do
and I knew it as I squandered
and threw all away.

Capture on malachite
scenes from a wedding night
imprisoned forever.

Amber is gold
sold by the bushel

they sell anything off
any old thing
down by the shore.

When the sun slid down behind the buildings of Camden Town and the evening came to light
when the beggars of Mornington Crescent came out into the night to fire the West End and the good people took fright,
I was down in Goodge Street spilling the beans in the American church,perched on a pew,as you do,talking to a vicar,the slickest padre I ever did meet,
he talked to me in parables as if I was the arable land he sought,but Jesus and I had a deal,so I thought,
he went his way,I went mine until the divine light of reckoning came beckoning me,and I didn't think that this was the time.
But we all make mistakes and the winner takes all,I pondered on this as I walked through the hall of the ancients.

Compact and bijou
walls you can see through
jerry built
one more tilt
game over.

They're putting up slums and calling them palaces,
where Christopher's robbing
the girls and Alice ain't there

she's sharing some swanky
with some hanky panky
and no will thank me for
telling them that.

The word on the street is that
Camera's can see it all
and nobody out there recalls
nineteen eighty four.

It's only a dream
the commercial
not real,
it's not the **** that you're in
nor the pain that you feel,
you're just dreaming

They're ******* the lid down
on the old town
and
I'm feeling the pinch.

It's a cinch that
I'll go too,

who else but me would
they
want to *****?

But they're barking up
the wrong tree.

I am the procession of Saints passing by
the sinners that make the Angels sigh
the low and the high and
why
would they want to *****
me down too?

You have seen it on the scoreboard
Demon-one
Lord-nil
you've had your fill of being used and accused
it's time for the night to be fused with the day, for
the Angels to step up to the mark
and say,
'**** this for a lark,
ain't nobody turning my town into a carpark'

Put your Posi drives down or go and
unscrew some other old town

time for the pigeons to come home and roost.

Hey
I don't do that ****
don't bite that bullet
don't take the bit
get
out of my face.

Tell me this,
how nice is paradise
is everything free
or is it cut price
Is it Harrods or a Tesco?
That's what I'd like to know.

Do you sit do you sing
do you do anything
or do you just float in the air
are there many up there?

can you fall in love
or is it just him up above you adore
what do you wear?
I care to know.

One day I'll go and give it a shot
will you forget me not?
in the gardens of Eden we'll meet
parting is not sweet
just bitter.

Execution or to execute,
probable cause is a
possible solution.

Staying free is the one for me
out of the limelight and
under the spotlight
might just save me.

It's all nonsense
and that's nothing new when
your brain is unplugged, any
nonsense will do.

Drawing on reserves
which are getting on my nerves
but to be fair
most things are,

things like
the cost of living,

why bother breathing
when one day I'll be
leaving,

and...
...but I shouldn't keep on
whingeing
bingeing on the misery
or
someone may call
the happiness cops on me
but knowing my luck
It'd be
the Keystone cops
after me.

As Grant once said,

" my life is Yoda "

In between the lines on my brow
the times of my life.

A storybook and in the mirror
I looksee to see what became in
the times of me.

The gloss that fades to several shades lighter
the night a young man went to woe
(which is like a meadow, but not quite)

It seems I have ploughed up in brow lines
long forgotten headlines,
deadlines were meant to be broken.

My question is this,
was the girl with the kiss curl
looking at me
when she blew a kiss to the crowd?

nothing is easy to fathom out.

As the drones fly above
some ask,
where is God with his love
now?
How could he possibly not know about
the destruction below where
his name's being used
as a fuse in an I.E.D,
So
where is he?

They fight but can't save them
sing anthems to dead men
drink a porter and
slaughter some  souls.

The fields are heaving
weaving poppies from eyeballs
and the hallways in Asgaard
are full.

Sing anthems to dead men
while the rich lay in bed,
men when will you
break open
your eyes?

If everything stopped and your eyes popped
like two blue balloons,
would your mind expand like a rubber band
and snap everything back into place?
If this is and this being the case
I can't wait to see the look on your face
when it happens.

(20 minute poetry)

There's not much to say about Thursday that hasn't already been said,
nothing to write that cannot be read

it's a bit like trying to live when you're already dead.

The week end is lumbering in like a giant mammoth that's drunk on gin,


I can't begin to tell you how that makes me feel.

There are days I want to stay away and Thursday's one of them
but as sure as trees are made of wood it'll come next week again.

I'm lighting a candle down here in the mine
or
as some people call it, the underground line.

The line that will define me in a time that's yet to find me

I suffocate in the kindly stare of those gentlefolk, but do they really care?

A bit subliminal on the Central,
a tad bound underground and you
may laugh at me caught in the trap
but we're all caught up in something.

Advertising telling me to 'eat well', 'keep fit' 'how to have a healthy colon' and I have to spit,
leave me alone to travel on my own into Zone one where I can zone out,

there's not much to say about
Thursday.

(20 minute poetry)

Going forward
I'm back on track.

I wonder about the travel of sound
when I'm down here
travelling on the underground
does it speed up or slow down
does it meet London
coming or is it already there?

I also think about ice cream
In various flavours.

Where the light concusses
the head of the queue
and the day sirens in
what can we do but
wonder

who hasn't?

Never a seat when you want one but always the beat in your eardrum and usually it's usually the left one.

The next station.

Not a station of the cross
or Whipps Cross nor
Brent Cross
I get cross
at Waterloo

I wonder
I do
which is
nothing new
nothing is.

Putting things on the back burner is no way to turn over a new leaf.

I fall as autumn falls
soft and slow
a patchwork of evening stars that
cover me
and only the jackdaws to bother me, but they'll fall silent too

sometimes I wonder
I wander
I do.

It must be prayday or payday,
maybe mayday sometime, but how much is sometime?
short time, hard time, me time, no time for thinking?

sinking under the weight of a duck down duvet and even I see that irony but don't mind me,

What if there's nothing somewhere over the rainbow,
what if it's just another rainy afternoon in Ilfracombe?

That's it.
tomorrow
I'm taking the ******* umbrella
and if she says owt
I'm just gonna tell 'er,
the weather forecast is broken.

this morning
oh! how they spoke of sunny skies
I reckon they must have **** in their eyes,

I got soaked in a shower of rain,
never again,
tomorrow it's the ******* umbrella for me.

Everyone
has a favourite conspiracy
all designed
to put the fear in me,

but you've got to make your own mind up
because
No one else can do that puzzle.

and if I shout it out
they'll muzzle me,
shot
with an Armalite
or an MK 3
and that'll be the end of me.

This robot rocks
it took me ages
to cut it from the back
of the Kelloggs cornflakes box,

it was
worth it though
because it rocks,

They don't do things like that anymore
breakfast, when you're old, is just another
chore
and it's always ****** muesli
they must be confusing me
with a rabbit.