When love is in the air,
check first,

it might be a
knockoff
deodorant.

We have to
disengage from the mainframe and
get into the main game but we're tame
and asleep, led around like sheep, fed bull
believing it's a three-course.

we're not even a status update
we don't warrant a second look
our destinies are as yet unfulfilled
we're the blanks in a colouring
book.

Saturday and the temperature's rising
it's getting hot in the old pied-a-terre
she calls me back into the bedroom,
two seconds flat and I'm there.

She's thinking,
his house or mine?
I'm thinking Bauhaus and time
I
was moving along.

Some songs are meant to be sung
some carried heavily in a heart
and
some are just part of the tapestry
we
wrap ourselves in
with our misery.

An aura emanates,
the spirit radiates
its hues,
in circles,blues and shades of red
float effortlessly
around my head.

In them and me to look and see
the rainbows as they shift
and flow in
freeform randomly,
unhindered by the weights of man
they light me up as only
colours can.

Upon delivery, the whole thing broke open
and light flooded in through the sky
the Amazon driver looked shifty
and a butterfly was destined to die.

Holy week,
another chance to torment
those who seek redemption.

Hang your cross of Jesus on the wall
( a double execution)
as if crucifixion was not enough.

In the end
nothing ends it
just begins.
No one wins
no one loses
no one chooses this.

Beyond the bookmark at fifteen degrees where the words on a page tend to dry in the breeze, chill will **** us or before the librarians thrill us with outstanding new works by the brilliant winter of writers that approach me  like blizzards,
we'll be shot filmed and busted , fingerprint dusted and banged in the cells.

Where lithium batteries branch like candelabra and helium gases hold all in the spotlight, but we'll be alright having seen the movie before and before the kestrel strikes out at the sparrow remember how narrow the passageway is between here and tomorrow or yesterday.

If you wanna play chicken with me on the runway you'd better learn how to fly with the hawks.

Do you
promise
to honour and obey?
The marriage of yesterday.

You get what you deserve
and I reserve the right
to slip away at night
and go out clubbing.

I'm not the one to criticise
the way you dress
the make up on your eyes
but have you looked
lately?
Stately homes come to mind
are you mad or are you blinded by the factories that drip dry fripperies that you use as you please
and I never please you
excuse me
is that powder on your powdered face quite dry
and why use it anyway?

Girls today are quite insane lipstick on the brain
and more upon their lips
I slip into a reverie and see
the you of long ago before you went and spent each dollar earned
on cosmetically engineered potions for perms
At times I squirm with embarrassment
at others 'oh brother'
I look away
this is not the marriage of yesterday
or the woman that I know
must go and check the requirement for a retirement home
somewhere far away and alone
Can't stand the smell of eau de cologne
any more.

Then
shall I cower in the corner by the cupboard
where you keep the ruler?

Oh
teacher tell me,
teach me, well
she
might have done
if the Sun had not come
out to play.

Monday is the new Saturday
it says so in the book
and I know this as a simple fact
because I stole a look.

Germs of ideas and
half term appears
more play time.

Fiddlesticks
it's Monday,
but why cry over
spilt weekends?
what goes around
tends to be circular
I don't find that peculiar
at all.

It's always the beginnings
that bother me
always the worry
that I will not be

good enough.

and the gaps are only there
as traps for the unwary
they still scare me though
even though I know about
them.

It's Monday then for
Monday men
and who is first to
stand in line
this time?

This tube train's packed
and
not all it's cracked up to be
that bothers me
too.

who would think that the start
could stink?

Monday obviously and
that bothers me.

Not even six fifteen and
I'm in the dream
can't concentrate
anymore,

too many doorways
and only one airway
no way to
escape.

I believe then and breathe then
to become like the
Monday men.

sadly
there's no other
choice.

You become visitors to more and more cemeteries  
(as if you didn't already have enough insecurities)
the older you get.

We're wayfarers and yet
sometimes the way isn't fair
sometimes we seem to get
more than our share of grief.

In the end
even the odd ones
the old sod ones
and the loved ones
will be waiting
for us

and we'll meet up again
to do it all over again.

The morning flies out of the closet
bright and gay
and we
put it away because
it's far too
early.
But I fly too
through the clippings of scattering night to
catch if I might
some
of the moonlight.

The earlier worm laughs at the bird.

The plucking of strings
the harp that sings
the player that watches
the show

the night that cuts through to
the last dance with you
until it's time for the moment
to go.

Below the beat of the beat
under your feet on the street
where the night comes in
easy and slow
the last of the Sun
makes its long final run
and it's time for the
moment to go.

he tries to be positive
it gives him a jolt
like fifteen amperes
running two-forty volt.

We're not used to
and don't often do
happiness,

they say,
'that it's catching'
and it gives you a rash in
the most peculiar places.

..and now I try to analyse
the dreams that sped before
my eyes,
the legs,
the thighs
the flow of hair
the way the sun shone,
was it me?
was I really there?

..and 4:04
why?
what for?

Monday,
wrung out, bring out your dead because
someday it'll Monday for you.

At least I woke which is a bonus.

...and it will go on, flow on,
I dream on,
the buck stops here,

If happiness is truly a state of mind
I don't suppose you'll mind if I'm not
Denmark.

It all falls into place
the gears will mesh
the face will fit
and in a bit or a byte
I'll be alright.

I got no time so I'll lay it on the line,
you and I
twenty four hour clock
let's rock 'til
we drop.

The vestal ******'s surging ahead
and now I'm off limits and
she's losing the thread.

Bed,
the last bastion
I'm  getting my skates on,
but
she's like a block of blue ice.

I'm part of the elderly
the ones that they're
watching to see
what happens next.

Text: five pounds to 'old'
and watch me unfold.

I have lived beyond the stars
and if Sars didn't get me
it's very unlikely
that
this one will.

Once more into the pews I snore
the vicar reads what he's prepared and doth sermonise on those who dared to sleep while he was spouting verbs.
If God has seen me, he'll know how keen I am to come to church and listen to a boring man,
I'd just as soon eat all my toes and this I'm sure God also knows,
but
into every life the sun must shine,it's Sunday so I should not whine but stay awake and take my medicine like a man.
Another plan and one more prayer,another layer to oxidise,to find the truth between the lies,here's hoping that my eyes stay open.
So,dear
God,please bless the Pope,palmolive soap,Rogers rangers,total strangers and all who sail at sea and if you have some blessings left send some of them to me.

When you drink your Veuve Clicqout and eat your honey roasted ham.remember for a moment,
Barry Trent.
who sets his table in a tent on Hackney marsh,
he bends over,under harsh light,most nights
eating bread and jam.

Ham would be a luxury he don't see too much of those,
wearing clothes a size too small or sometimes just to big to fit,
but you don't really give a monkey's for the flunkies who live hand to mouth and living South as rich folk do
I bet you think your **** don't stink,
think on
one day we'll all be gone
and equalised.
In someone else's eyes you'll be the Barry Trent,bent and ghostly,
mostly.

Swings and snakes
it only takes one rung to fall,did someone ring the bell for hell,is it supper time?
A half filled bottle of Geneva gin
say,
Buddy can you spare a lime.

Do you remember when Friday was exciting,
when you couldn't wait to finish work
and plug the night in?

we're all adrift now, the
castaway and every day
is just a day,
no special nights at all.

Tinged by despair
unhinged but hanging there
we wonder should we fall
would there be a safety net?

Because at the end
when the bean counters
tot up their sums and
add up the home runs
I'll stick to my guns
and go on my way.

They'll still cast me adrift,
the addict in an ocean of
addictive substances
and
me hardly able to contain
my experience of
excitement
would
die anyways.

I picked her off the Richter
and immediately
we clicked, her
body was tsunami,
but she wrapped her arms around me
and she knew just where to go.

if heaven was a haven from
the cyclones we were dreading
then heaven's where we were.

The workhouse door is open and
you know that Christmas comes,
the sons of sons of father's mums all
congregate and with
not a *** to **** in,
with one voice all begin to sing,
'Oh tidings of comfort and joy'
comfort the poor boy 'cause he ain't
got a bean
not seen a meal for a week,
see more
see more
take a peek through the workhouse door.

And for some and sometimes for
more than some
Christmas is just another chore to do
another happiness to struggle through.
'comfort and joy'

Did you think they would go,
No?
They're no longer on show
now they hide
but come up from below
to sit down by your side and they smile.
Guile?
there's plenty of this and the crocodiles bite when they kiss,
when they **** up to you they are thinking,'you'll do'
for a start.
I knew they were there somewhere,
under the grid hid out of sight
awaiting the right time to strike.
I don't like crocodiles and
never did.

Opposable thumbs,
see how this monkey turned man now runs.
I should have stayed in the trees with
my nuts,fruit and fleas because now
I'm just chattel unheard in a herd full of cattle,
I speak,no one hears,
I fear and
I fear no one cares,
in evolution who dares does not always win.
I should have stayed in the trees with my nuts and just grin
at the World.

My six pack's taken a back seat,
I lost the will and dropped the beat
and there's no one to
'Meet me on the corner'

So I get to be a loner
always wandering or
wondering
what the new day will bring.

Wincarnis tonic?
I drunk gallons of it
and
still not bionic, but I
got Phyllosan bubbling in the pan
and
an eye of newt might not look too cute,
but I'm assured it'll do the trick of
making me fantastically
fit.

I live in hope.

5:35, dark, damp and miserable but enough about work it's going to be a lovely day.

The shadow got tattered on the day I was torn from the pages of history
why then be born?
that is the mystery.

At the best of times when and if the sun shines she shines her light on me
making a mockery of my disposition
and
putting me into an awkward position
making it so
I have to let go of the gloom
although we've been room mates
for ever

I'm drinking some tea from Masala
with sweet milk I bought down
in Asda
she says, it tastes nice
I say,
it's the spice
and we both
laugh out loud.

She brushes my lips with her lips
and slips her hand into mine
then she whispers that magic in my ears
and I'm hers 'til the end of all time.

At the end
there's a long line waiting
for the loves that have passed
on the way
but the end's never reached
until all time has ceased
and that won't be happening
today.

As days go
this has gone.

It was Wednesday
which used to be
half-day closing
but
not anymore,
the store is always open.

The thinking is,
it's business,

gee ****
gong shopping
is
like show biz
waiting for the curtain to rise
special offers on all aisles
and an
unexpected lifetime in the
baggage area.

we are the excess,
forfeit, and five feet
from the
exit,

I'm a calamity
get me out of here.

..and they're everywhere
poking, prying,
spying on your doings.

We need to get shot
of the lot of them,
turf them out,
but there's too many of
'Smiley's people'
about,

they'll get you in the end.

It's always the balance wheel that feels off.

Doctor said cough
embarrassing enough
when you're handled by
strangers.

The spindle needs checking
the fly spring needs tightening
looks like
I'll be spending the night in
traction,

doc says,
you've seen too much action
but I don't remember when.

The rain washes everything away
except for the tins,
now empty but once full of drunken dreams
leaving
grey streets splashed with their colourful names,

sun glinting off aluminium rings and a bird sits on
the branch of a dead tree and sings like only a
bird can
a tin can
an old man listens,

light sparkles off the oily drain
something else the rain
didn't wash away.

Let's raise our glasses to the lads and the lasses who have raised their glasses before and more, let's raise them again and toast those that ain't. the sinner, the saint, the forgotten, the woe begotten, the lonely and lost, sod the cost, you can't take it with you.

remember the markets that became supermarkets, the church that became luxury flats and the estates that turned into council dumps.

remember the drunks
the pious, the punks,
the man who cleaned shoes on the prom',
mostly
remember where you're from,
it doesn't pay to forget.

That's it
I'm going home,

the time until
Monday at 7am
is
the time to call
my own.

Free in free as can be
see what the weekend
does to me?

If I'm possessed,
it is enchanted days
beginning with S
that bewitch me so.

I want to shout yippee
but there are some
who
would profess they could
not understand me

and so I keep schtum
break into the weekend on
the run
and I'm not stopping
until Monday.

I heard what you said
and I hear what you say
but the night has a habit of strangling the day
and I choke on the smoke
ain't it always the way.

I should tighten up
brighten up
light up a cigarette
knock back a cup or two of coffee or the devils brew.

In the no win situation
I give you this
my presentation
read it and weep
or keep it for later
it's just the deal breaker
the thief and the taker
of all that there is.

On the ink I have spilt
are the castles I built
and the roads I walked through
to get here and to you
I will say,
where the night strangles the day
in darkened rooms as I lay
I'll be thinking and drinking
to us.

The nightmare is always where I
least expect it to be,
haunting,
following me through the
shady streets.
I catch it at times in the eyes that meet mine
which I know are my own, or in
the tone of a voice that I hear and here is
the matter,no matter how deep I hide, that
tone of a voice follows me down inside,
you'd think I'd expect it,
but no,
which just goes to show how I fool myself into
a falser sense of security.
The nightmare always follows me.
I always expect that.

I see a payload on the rocky road
and no one's crying wolf
we're a long,long way from Tipperary
but there's warships in the gulf.

The clock spins back,the lights burn low
and off we go once more
we're a long,long way from Tipperary
but it's still a ****** war.

In 35ml the day flashes past
I wonder how long the film will last
the camera shutter melts like butter in her hands and trickles down like golden sands beneath my toes.
I strike a pose beneath the morning light
the lens opens wide
and takes one more bite
one more sight to see
in one more picture I could be
an album of colour photographs
silent looks
silent laughs
pictures fit from yesterday.
The camera shuts upon today and I release my grip,
slip into another frame,
one picture's just the same as any other image you could mount
on top of countless
others.

Beans?
seems like a compromise
because when I set my eyes
upon those savoury pies
only to realise
that the calorie count would
take me past my recommended
daily amount
which
means to me
beans for tea.

(20 minute poetry)

When it's done and you're on a run to the cryogenic laboratory
I hope you think of me as I think of all humanity.

Once wasted twice
dry, ice us
and we'll live fiercer than forever could ever be.

I'll return only when the house of clowns burns down and I'll dance in the smoke, but it's mirrors I see in the eyes, are we ever really
free?

If death untied is true
where and when and what would be the point to hide in the nib of a pen? only flowing when the lights are low and the type in the margins is green inked to go?

I know no more than the kiss that brings me alive.

I can see the Eastern night even when the light is low and I didn't know how sweet it looked and all they want is to
refrigerate you.

I think if this is the farewell kiss I'll miss it all.

That lot are all bat **** crazy
flying blind in the night
'cause they're too ******* lazy
to open their eyes,
smashing into the screens in
their
*** dreams,
that lot are all bat **** crazy.

it settles and seethes,
turns golden leaves brown
and dims all the lights in this
tuppenny town,
it smells of a ruin like fish
boiled too long or the fumes
from the sewers, strong,
putrefying as
if death in its turmoil
is itself slowly dying.

Lean over too far and you'll fall
and when you fall you'll learn
not to lean over too far.

I like to lean just to tempt fate
(fate bait)

I rise up to meet on my
own two feet
the breaking of every day,
long may it remain
that way.

On Friday
which is a good day
though not usually a Good Friday
I still look for Easter eggs, but
make do with the fried variety.

Shifting into drift mode
I ramble on.
sleep beckons and I reckon
rightly so,
it's time to say goodnight,

the mind still ticks over under
the eiderdown which is neither eider
nor down
but it's okay
I'm easily fooled.

You can always skip the adverts
better to be converts to reality

I deal in the facts
I do not sell
fantasy

come to me and see
the brutality of
mass media

cruising like
an oedema
black and bruised


we and only we
stand accused,
we become the abused
and get used to being so

track me on the back streets
in the bedsheets
watch me whiten
lighten
in the bio

watch them as they know you will,
still
it beats the hell out of education
init?