It looks like it could be,
but I'm not sure what
and if it is and I've got it
I hope that it's not what
it could be.

Check myself in the mirror
nothing seems out of place
well
maybe my face
but
that never fit anyway.

I must be good to go,
yeah
got to get dressed
I know,

Saturday is somewhat peculiar in
a quite disarming way.

I need to do some shopping
and I'm certain that I shall,
just not so certain when.

In the meantime which is
now time for
Viewtube
where lots of things are free
better than TV
and no license necessary.
watching Cagney (not Jimmy)
and Lacey
okay
sometimes not better than TV.

Blueprint

It is the remnants of sorrow that
will fill my tomorrow
and regrets that will follow me
empty and hollow me
for I am the epitome
of grief.

I
who stole my belief from the tree
like a thief,
will now pay.
This is my cross for today
I crucify myself.

Some wait for twilight
some wait for the sun
some wait for Christmas,
and won't that be fun,

we wait in the trenches
we wait on park benches
we wait like cattle
for the end to come.

It's all about the waiting
that small hesitation
before stating the obvious,

the obvious being
that
which we are seeing,

the breakdown of society
the rise in poverty
the stock market fall
the firing squad wall
and at one time
we had it all,

Eliot.

the card turns,
the hanged man
'fear death by drowning'
has already been dealt

Suddenly,
we thought that pasta was the holy grail,
toilet rolls made ships that sail
and spaghetti, wait, don't interrupt,
let me
finish,
and spaghetti was a lifeline.

in time
because there will be
time,
we'll muse over this
and
call it the great
divider
or the divine
disassociation.

Before the light goes out
and the night comes in
before the Angels dance
before the dreams begin

I want to hear you one more time.

Into the pit
where honesty's **** and the
truth burns along with the light.
Into the black where the night knows no day
into the darkness
there's no other way.

The unwritten rule that fire's not cool but
we test it to see if it's true
and we blister and burn but
we hope to return to the lies and deceit,
so we cheat and we steal 'til
we no longer feel there's a difference
between right and what's wrong and
it's back in the pit where honesty's **** back
to the place we belong.

When time was called
or perhaps before,
after the bar stool
turned into the floor,
when the doorway to
the highway
was the only way to go
and I didn't know
who
I was anymore.

I..am
and so,
I sit down to writing
because I'm spending the night in
and
there's a knock at the door,
I am
sorely tempted to ignore it,
what
are they knocking at my door for?

a shout,
'come out for a drink'
I write no more.

One day these chains will break
One day I'm going to take
One day
at a time.
And one day I will be free
like the raging of the sea
and on that day
I'll surely see
what these chains
have kept from me.

Cheroot burning lazily on the ashtray,
room filled with lamplight and talk,
a ******* the stage, potent with rage.
She was singing I think
I just wanted to drink and forget but the
way that she got to me,to forget
I would have needed a full frontal
lobotomy,and so I listened with one ear
on the wine,lit another cheroot and time stood
in the corner watching the night outline the
******* the stage,
The ashtray was full as the dawn pulled me away,
two cheroots left for today,
which was cool
one for her and
one for the fool.

They tell me that it's toxic
a bit like voting
Brexit,

I tell them go
and frack it and
tell me how it feels.

Lipstick lines on a tear stained face
look back at me from the mirror
and my
hair's out of place,

who am I?
twenty-five cents to the dollar?

follow me for misery
come to watch the show
it'll only last ten minutes
but we all know time goes slow.

ps,
the lipstick's on the mirror
not on me
but things can change so quickly
and it could quite easily be.

The pen develops a mind of its own and
words are sown like seeds,

some will grow.

Before too long,
before I go wrong
before the lights go out
before I go crazy
being so flamin' lazy
I'll sleep.

And as I sleep
the pen quietly weeps its words
in ink.

what harm in the farmer that bleeds his land dry?
and why would he do that?
why cry over spilt milk?
why not cry for the cow?

the pen wanders in along the rim
where consonants fail
where only the mad would sail
where I tail off.

At the end of all time
we'll queue up in
a line to watch the great
neon sign that reads,
'Vacancies'

Youth unemployment
youth unenjoyment
a loan to destroy them
paid back by old men.
Old men are the best
eating kippers for breakfast and
burying themselves in the Readers Digest.
Their day is done, let the young ones
chase after the Sun,
but
the young ones are done ones as well
no chance in hell of securing the gift,
that lift that work gives you,
it's no wonder they're blue and
don't know what to do
except drink and blow dope.
Work shy? shy of hope? some manage to cope,
some do not.
The government's got some explaining to do after
their summer recess,
meanwhile,
in Malibu where the ocean's so blue
and the party is on,
all thoughts of the jobless and homeless are gone,

Everyone went
the embankment was full,
the river raced by the
slow clouds in the sky,
the pull of the crowd
the smell of the day
the way that we went on
the embankment when
Summer sent wings for our
feet.

Funny how one remembers the old way
which way back then was the way.

Mum
picked up her pay from a little side window at the infirmary
almost as if they didn't want anyone to see
it.

Sister stood by the old canal wall watching the 'lady Fiona'
which by the way which was the way
sank.

Money in the bank?
it was enough of a struggle to
have money in your pocket
or in Granny's case
under the mattress.

never trusted banks
not since seeing
Mary Poppins.

Cementing the bricks
and building the
wings, putting pins in my eyes
and things that go bump in the night
say their goodbyes to me.

Flying or dying is something
worth trying
I try both together when under the weather
or when I feel old and
the mind takes a hold of me and whisks me
a potpourri of chilli flakes and heartbreaks,
then flies me away.

Today is okay and tomorrow who knows, in a second the forecast is fine then it rains, shadows grow long when you've seen them before in the doorway, the windows, at the end where the light slows, but today is okay.

I'm still cementing the bricks though because no person can ever know when the wolf's going to drop by,
building my wings to fly and the
bump in the night is okay in the light of the day,
still putting pins in my eyes to make sure.

By the time I'd decided not to write this
I'd already written it and that's when it
got real,
from the pen until when the ink
dried on the page was but minutes,
but those minutes were lost in the
thoughts that I'd tossed aside,

and when I read this in my mother tongue
my first thought was to run and deny any
part in its doing,

but no,
I hold my hands up to it
I should never have written it,
should have bitten the bullet
and pulled it,
but here it is and
for what it's worth
you can keep it.

He's wearing brothel creepers
crepe soled, blue
and sitting with discarded newspapers and early morning
restless sleepers.

tube trains for my pains
are interesting places,
happy? smiling?
nah
tired and worn out people hiding behind tireder and even more worn out faces
going to or coming to the end of where they're going.

she's got a shopping bag, a suitcase and she holds a half smoked *** in the fingers of a liver spotted hand
a wedding band above the knuckle,
it looks as old as her.

I never got a seat
but it gives me time
to stand and maybe
stare at oddities strewn
here or sometimes where
you least expect.

Brothel creepers,
not seen them since
the sixties
thought they'd died along
with winkle pickers

There's always a laugh
when you look for one.

I'm looking for the way out
and
that's a laugh too.

I could have stayed longer
played for longer
but it's dark now and damp
I've got cramp in my legs and
a cramp in my arm,
suddenly
it feels like I'm
'Buying the farm'

plenty of time for that
when
they lay me out flat,

for now
I'll go on.

Thursday on the Jubilee
very quiet
not much to see,
a bit like Wednesday
I'd say,
but
I'd say anything
if only to stop the
silence.

Patience?
I used it up.

If getting old is the problem
what's the solution?
die while we're young?
can't see
no fun in that.


Living forever?
never going to happen
is it?
and who'd want to live
that long?
assuming forever is that
long.

at times I take a step back
take a different view
try to see things differently
it's easy apparently,
I never found it so.


The liver.

I know that I'm sinking
swallowing salt
thinking
it's
'Andrews'

It is said,
that we'll get there
but
it's never said where

I suppose if where is a place
I'm getting there.


should the alarm go
I
just want you to know
that
I'm not ready.

Oh jeez
she's
got a bolt in her ear
ah
it's not a bolt just
a silver
ear piece
but it looked like
a bolt
at first glance

an introduction to romance

I love your bolt,

chat up lines
fail many times
until you find
the right
combination
of words.

Contact adhesive
impressive
conducive to
having friends
stick around.

I've found that friends stray,
stay away unless they're
firmly glued down.

Illegal?
quite obviously, but
what's a chappie to do
when friends won't come through
for him and don't want to talk to him,

you can't beat close contact.

Contact adhesive
impressive
conducive to
having friends
stick around.

I've found that friends stray,
stay away unless they're
firmly glued down.

Illegal?
quite obviously, but
what's a chappie to do
when friends won't come through
for him and don't want to talk to him,

you can't beat close contact.

Contact adhesive
impressive
conducive to
having friends
stick around.

I've found that friends stray,
stay away unless they're
firmly glued down.

Illegal?
quite obviously, but
what's a chappie to do
when friends won't come through
for him and don't want to talk to him,

you can't beat close contact.

Least said and nothing to mend
nothing to defend and no one to lend you an ear
and light continues to bend around the posts of the day,so whatever you say is distorted,reported by magnates controlling the press and however much less there'll be more, and the implausible causes of any decisions are picked over by vultures and revised into later editions.

Free press
get your free press depression read about free press aggression and say what you will,we'll all read our fill until we can all read no more and no less than no more.
Barons in Wapping now moved
and Wapping will be another new century, of debatable consumables sold in charcuteries and pharmacies and no more free press to distress the dressing rooms in boom towns and where once printers stood they will now sell returnable (deposit required) wedding gowns
it's no wonder I feel down and need a little lift as I sift through the remnants of yesterdays news,my own views irrelevant as I ride on another elephant all painted in white
another bending of light which we fall for.

There's always more than is less,
more to depress and distress me and drinking Darjeeling leaves me with the feeling that it could always be more
another front page to enrage me
another bent light to distract
and if you don't know it we're all being attacked by the news that we pay for
I think that's a bit more than I can take
I can fake things myself and don't need some gnome or some elfin in Tooting or Fleet Street to sell me a rag that tells me of nothing that I want to know.
So I'm going
We're all being snowed by the establishment gurus whose raison d'etre is only to abuse us
I've had enough of their bullshine
if light's going to bend I'll make sure that it's my light that glows
and not some nosepicking,cityslicking, lickspittling critter who couldn't see beyond his...
..well enough of that
I'm out of the next deal
if you want to get real you will be too.

If we forgive
live and let live
we're almost halfway there
If we can feed
the ones in need
it shows we really care.

Forgetting those who think they know the be all and the end,
just lend and ear to them who fear,
show them,
they can find peace.

Release the inner glow
and light the path on which they'll go
to find another road to walk and talk to them in quiet tones
to ease and lighten loaded bones.

It's easy and it's cheap to take a leap
to give some faith that they can keep,
to keep them in the realm of hope.
I hope you can
I hope that mankind breeds that sort of man
that I would wish to be.

Full up to the brim
almost overflowing
I
can hardly get in
where
are they all going?

Carriage 91167
is just the cake box
and
not a slice of heaven.

Tuesday
and we rumble along
sat in the audience
and the inspector
gets on

'Tickets please,
show your passes'


The lights in my eyes dim
also
full to the brim

I've seen enough.

The jump start
a pumping heart
blood ricochets in
my veins.

Hold onto the reins it's
a bumpy ride on a rocky road through
a tireless night with a heavy load to bear,

I wear Gucci
it suits me when
she shoots me
down.

but it's lemon and lime in
the orchard there's time
still to heal.

Then it was breakfast at last
friends and what passed between them
was marmalade and
soldier men,

One more time,
let's hear it for the heroes
the genius and the genies
that work behind the scenes
we should let them know
how much we care.

If I think it's Thursday does it
make it so?

ask Picard some diehard shouts
but
Picard's well out of it.

Shall I get dressed,
depressed
compressed into a little ball
and roll around the floor?

more questions and far too early
for those.

God's on a slide rule back down in the old school and teaching defensive tactics to back street medics,
Logarithms dance classes with bow tied girls wearing opera glasses and Father is stood by the door,
there's a movement in here in the final year and the war outside has begun,
'run baby run' on the transistor radio and the party of the first part gets tangled in the barbed wire of comments in the free press which presses out the conscripts.

Strip away the lies and see what lies inside, see what others try to hide.
Confide if you must in the wise and the just before you die.

The war's out there in chapter one and God has gone to Sainsbury's to bury all his feelings in food aisle twenty three, nothing's free, not for you, not for me and
not for God on food aisle
number twenty three.

Does it seem to you that a B52 is circling the square?
front to back waiting to attack does it seem like that to you?
who are the angels that watch over us and what are their names?
who's playing *** black with the stars as the backdrop and does the man sleeping rough in the parking lot care?

Moving twice as fast to catch up with the past,
but making no headway at all.

Standing still will do me.
thoughts of a tree
but
even trees fall
eventually.

On Sunday I pray.

The church bells have rung
I am hoisted and hung by my
own petard,
'Hamlet; always thus, hard
to understand?

If I slow down I
go down,
to sink or to surface?
to swallow my fate or
to steal one more kiss?

it's always about this in the end.

Never been one of the elite,
never been in a clique,
often direct
although sometimes oblique
I have
never been one of the elite.

So
when one of those factions
decide to take action
against
the privileged,
they can
drop me from the equation.

Sunday night?
that's right,
it's back to the mill
come the 'morrow
..meister.

There are mansions in my head
some half built and others painted red,
but each on its own,a
home for my thoughts
of which there are many.
Any one of which of whichever one I'm in
teaches me something and I can begin
to learn.
Some mansions are cold,some are quite old and
others brand new,some centrally heated in these I am
seated on quilts made of dreams unpicking the seams
of my days in the night.
I might decide to override the imperative,dismiss the
narrative and demolish the lot,
I might not and
that's what the mansions are for,each door that I go through
leads me to thoughts which are brand new,
it bothers me though that some are painted red,
I don't like that colour,
I prefer blue or green,red's just
obscene and angry,
is that me?
angry?

Nobody does it better as if each letter she adds to a word makes it sad,
yet makes me glad that I know her
and she knows it as she adds one more piece to the jigsaw and sees me in bits on the floor.
Once I wore her on my sleeve as a bracelet and she liked me
but being young and uncouth
unaware that youth could corrupt..
..she interrupts me
does not want to see those lost images that flow through the air
and adds one more letter to a word making good out of goo
and I love her
I do.
She tolerates me 'cause I'm funny and she likes to laugh and she laughs really loud Guess that makes me feel proud that she likes what I say
and I love her today more than ever before
but that's what life's for.
A bit of laughter and fun and whatever may come it goes on to the end and even then we pretend it goes on even more
I'm just a piece of the puzzle that's laid on the floor
and I adore being that.

All the years when tomorrow
never came
all the time we wasted
now looks all the same
we spent it all
we spent it all.

Tried to reinvent, but
it was never meant to be,
tried to rearrange the
things I want to see
we spent it all
we went and
spent it all.

All the years when tomorrow
never came
and now it's here and those years
look all the same
we spent it all,
yes
we
went
and
we spent it all.

The pendulum swings and in the background Poe sings me a ditty,
a pity he's not the one bound to bad fortune.

As soon as the blade passes over I go under,
the anaesthetic knows how to peel my defences away.

Swish,
but I wish it was the sound of a lady in a fine dress moving slowly and not the blade coming across and again there's a, but, but that's designed to depress me.

Eventually
there'll be nothing left of me.

In one Summertime a long time ago before the book and the story, before the raven or crow when the mornings were ****** unbroken by man and the breeze lifted secrets before the pendulum sang, before the cut, before the be all and end all and before the first, but,
there was an infinite science that lifted my brow, but that was a long Summer ago and look at me now.

I have lost to the minute, thrown down my cards
and the game,
I am no longer in it.

In that never ending night
where every wrong just
felt so right.

time tells
but
it's not saying
much.

When being happy brings happiness but you write only misery and you think to yourself there's something not right with me and you write more misery because you're so very happy,

the circle is sometimes not round and that's a fact because some space thing out somewhere has cracked things wide open and here's hoping the black hole's just a warning
but if the odds are just one stack too high
we might as well fall into the misery and when we die
I wonder will that be an ecstasy or just happiness there at the end of me?

It's balderdash really
but
if you deal me an ace
I can face it.

When they think that you've bombed
but
you haven't started the dive
haha.

life's a jolly old sing song if
you don't mind the ping pong
and I get along with it
real fine.

But it's a game and if you can
you become a woman or a man,
interchangeable these days.

I'm still here, late in the year,
surprised myself.

Low light
is the highlight
of the night

she tightens the noose
and I
am the goose being
cooked.

Uncover me
put the light on and
discover me
before the night smothers me
make your move and uncover me.

Bet that wasn't on the agenda
and
now she's got to tend her
letter of resignation.

It's not really cricket
but
they don't have the *****

ten to one they'll bail out
when the ice queen falls.

who's a naughty boy then?
Jeremy,
you worry me
sneaking in like that.

I'd like to think that that was that,
but past experience shows
even when they've lost the plot
not one of them ******* goes.

I tried to delete the expletive
but predictive text knows all
which has shown to me
to let things be
and it
will be alright.