Fire damaged china
from Dresden,
less than when, but
then
we were lucky
to escape.

All tarred with the same brush and
charred in the great rush,
we were
feathers that flew in the night.

The rings around Saturn and the
hot streets of Dresden became
fused,
a meaningless pattern that
no one would choose.

The graveyard is hard, cold
and doesn't lose any sleep,
only the china dolls weep
in Dresden.

He took off the crust of his coat that he wore next to the shreds that were next to his skin
and slid into the bath.Then
stripped off the dirt that had gathered,remembering it had once been his shirt but that was so long in the past.
Relaxing,recalling the moments of falling,the sheer desperation,depression,impressions that all fade away,
washed out and bleached before he had reached his nadir,he now peers through the years and soap bubbles his tears until they too are gone,
eyes that once shone are now dulled,pulled into his face and battened down in place by the passage of people that walk through his mind,knowing so many and too late to find the names of a kind he once knew,dripping these
thoughts he flows into the abyss between the plug and the spiral and spins,
in this end no one wins,not the rich,nor the poor man,though he has been both men,
but then again, so have we all.
In his fall,on his face,no turning gracefully old,the bathwater gets cold and the call at the door,
where sombre faces explore the remains of Fred James,laying fame to the wind in the wash house at Bow.
We all have to go,some do it fast and others do it slow and some never know they were here and they're gone,
life goes in and goes on and the day will be done
and its meaning unclear,though
please wash your hands here,
is the closest I get to an understanding .

(20 minute poetry)


Time becomes another line
that
sits deep upon my face

centrally located
suffocated by the mass
of
those who then would pass by me
without a single glance.

Each day strips off the day before
a peep show that I've seen and
in somewhat less than awe
I find I have to look.

People
pinioned by their lack of care
I know it
because
I've been there

never watched nor seen those
Inbetween
stepped over the cracks in
worn down steps,

let's hear it for the blind men
who can see
but are
unkind men
let's hear it for them
after all
aren't we those kind
men too?

Old habits,
peculiar and
harder to break.

Anyway I take a moment
to organise these thoughts
thinking that nobody cares

I carry a haversack
black
strapped across my shoulders
to fit neatly into
the small of my back.

I could
lighten my load
but
why would I ?

They don't make millstones like they used to
and mine has been ground down to dust.

I carry it anyway
through each day like
a trophy
as if to say,
'Look at me'

they don't see the dust
only the haversack

The taller it went
the higher it got
the more that they spent
the taller it went.
But
as it went taller it
seemed to get smaller
a trick of the light?
or did it bend into the night?
Is that what they planned all along?

'Spare some change,
can you spare a
copper or two for
a tea,
can you?

the streets are full
the beggars with their
operas
pull the punters in.

They'll wear away the pavements
if they stay much longer.

these
are the new age living monuments
to the times
in which we live
and so we give,

we feed them
because we need them
they remind us of
what's behind us
and spur us on.

It's a
business,
but it's not
our business,
we have business
of our own.

It'll **** me in the end or
send me round the bend.
Some think I'm already there, around the
bend I mean.
But I have seen them come and go
the wide boys, cowboys, the
flim-flam men and just when I think
I've seen it all
I fall into a reservoir of happiness.

I am a mess
can't think straight,
I want to wait, but I can't find the time,
I want more glad
I want it and bad, but
I just can't wait.

It'll **** me in the end,
the wanting and the wanting now
but happiness is a bonus spin
the reels go random and I grin,
I've seen it all before on the
TV screens, in a hundred dreams,
on the one-armed man who
wants a coin to operate, but I
just can't wait my turn.


I adjourn to the bedroom where
I find some room which is my room
and I watch the blue moon which
is my moon and the new broom of tomorrow
will sweep these thoughts clean.
I know
I've seen it all before, but I wonder why
or how it is
that I always want some more
and I just can't wait.

it used to be
clickety clack for the typewriter hack,
now it's silent,
well lit though with a **** green glow.

Advance and be recognised?

private eyes prying into private lives
for publication,
the public love this ****** stuff
and
can't get enough of the
*** and tattle

'troughs for cattle',
my dad would say
and yet he
read,
'News of The World'
religiously
every Sunday.

I never knew what to make of it.

Trying to take time out of a ***** and lime, marking out the boundary, sounding out the barkeep,

no time to sleep in the land of the knockdown, seconds out, round two.

Lockdown gets to you, like the ladies who knew you, like the bullets that blew you away.

Mask in place, a straitjacket for the face to hold your emotions in check.

It was a night unlike the nights before and longer if that can be true of any night where Angels flew with witches.
Do you think, that night was flat?
I ironed out the early evening late day sun unaware of events to come and sallied as I usually did,with hooded eyes to see surprising things occur.
In Hoxton Square and City Road where the dying light unloads its feeble rays,where days of top hat and tails once sailed into the West.
End is always best much better than the starting out.

A shout cuffs in on the Northerly breezing sleeve of winds that never leave this soul..

Buy me gas for a lighter head..words said,spoken from those tortured lips where sadness slips upon the oily streets.
Young girl sleeping in the rain..soaking up more pain on which no passing eyes will glance.
No measure there,no chancing of a lady fate to close that wound..without a sound or with no sound to hear..her eyes quite clear in the evening air,laying there for all the world to see and yet unseen.

Another queen of broken promises of beaten faces,broken heart the endings are maybe not as good as when we start.
Another night unlike and yet the same for some who sway with dreams upon the warming sun that they once knew.
Another do or die another sadness yet to lie..yet and die.
I cry myself to sleep.

From November 2012..it will soon be the cold again.

dedicated to the memory of Grant Burford, the Giant in the beanie hat.

It was a night unlike the nights before and longer if that can be true of any night where Angels flew with witches.

Do you think, that night was flat?

I ironed out the early evening late day sun unaware of events to come and sallied as I usually did with hooded eyes to see surprising things occur.

In Hoxton Square and City Road where the dying light unloads its feeble rays, where days of top hat and tails once sailed into the West.
End is always best much better than the starting out.

A shout cuffs in on the Northerly breezing sleeve of winds that never leave this soul,

buy me gas for a lighter head, words said, spoken from those tortured lips where sadness slips upon the oily streets.

Young girl sleeping in the rain soaking up more pain on which no passing eyes will glance.

No measure there,
no chancing of a lady fate to close that wound,
without a sound or with no sound to hear
her eyes quite clear in the evening air,
laying there for all the world to see and yet unseen.

Another queen of broken promises of beaten faces, broken heart the endings are maybe not as good as when we start.

Another night unlike and yet the same for some who sway with dreams upon the warming sun that they once knew.

Another do or die another sadness yet to lie, yet and die.
I cry myself to sleep.


True story, the Giant in the Beanie hat knew the girl, one of so many people he helped, I didn't cope well with the situation and it was later that the irony struck me, well **** me, should I judge a ******? he never did.

It was a night unlike the nights before and longer if that can be true of any night where Angels flew with witches.
Do you think, that night was flat?
I ironed out the early evening late day sun unaware of events to come and sallied as I usually did,with hooded eyes to see surprising things occur.
In Hoxton Square and City Road where the dying light unloads its feeble rays,where days of top hat and tails once sailed into the West.
End is always best much better than the starting out.

A shout cuffs in on the Northerly breezing sleeve of winds that never leave this soul..

Buy me gas for a lighter head..words said,spoken from those tortured lips where sadness slips upon the oily streets.
Young girl sleeping in the rain..soaking up more pain on which no passing eyes will glance.
No measure there,no chancing of a lady fate to close that wound..without a sound or with no sound to hear..her eyes quite clear in the evening air,laying there for all the world to see and yet unseen.

Another queen of broken promises of beaten faces,broken heart the endings are maybe not as good as when we start.
Another night unlike and yet the same for some who sway with dreams upon the warming sun that they once knew.
Another do or die another sadness yet to lie..yet and die.
I cry myself to sleep.

They'll be warring in space soon
about which side and what side the dark side belongs to,
the Chinese will lay claim and give it a name that no one will be able to pronounce except for perhaps a billion Chinese.

The cookie she gave me held advice which could save me,
fortune favours the brave,
I ignored it.

And then there's shooting stars,
because in space
you need target practise.

You think a movie camera follows you,
a film crew watching everything you do and so you play that lifetime role,
rolling down the blinds at number fifty one
you think the film is rolling on,
each scene a scene where you have been, each whisper that you hear is taped, replayed,
play it by ear you could be on an earner,
turn a page or two, do you think the audience is watching what you do?
do you undress behind the silver mirrored made in Hong Kong screen and have you seen the rushes yet?

I bet the editor has made the final cut, but you think they'll watch the film in which you star
if a movie camera really follows you.

Walk under no ladders and step on no crack,
carry some salt in your pockets
and do not look back.
If you see a black cat, jump out of its way,
today is the thirteenth and
it's Friday all day.

Sighs,
the day before the day before the weekend which always flies.

I'd like a stewards inquiry into why we are the way we are.

A lady suggests
'Stand clear of the doors'
I need no second telling.

Well in
the mood for a bowl of hot food
porridge will do

and wouldn't you know
the world and its wife want
to go the way that I'm going.

the sign reads,
Doors will open on the right hand side
pointless'
for the sighted.

and now the sign reads,
Destination, West Hampstead'
that's a turn up for the books,
quizzical looks,
I might be on the wrong train
or the right train on the wrong track
or the sign could be faulty,
being me I shall wait and see

lazy is good when you're bone idle.

I awoke at three
made a choice between
coffee or tea
and drank cocoa.

A tube cubed,
what's the answer?

Losing it
or losing what little
that's left,
doors still open on
the right.

Now under
London Bridge,
construction
box girder and
****** by concrete.

no garages here,
I hope I'm not having
a breakdown.

I know I'm good for another
few years
crankshaft healthy
working gears
the clutch slips
probably due to the
oil drips.

I identify as a Model T
and call myself
Henry.

Even as time yellows me,ecstatically it mellows me and I am unchained from the rage that curtained me,drawn and haggard though I be,
I bear it with nobility and sensibly I keep away from fights I fought back in the day.
It is the way of it and
I don't mind a bit,I turn into my ancientness with pride and some finesse,
I shall become the elder statesman,though without a state and freed from jealousy and hate there will be
no finer referee.

A statement from the floor.
'We,
the gentlemen abhor your rhetoric it makes us sick,you've picked the bones of all that was and just because age threatens you,are we to believe that what you say is true?'

The floor is somewhere that I've been before,in the gutter and I swore to rise above,not look behind and may I remind the one who gives the statement that one is able to repent and put away the fruitless tasks of yesterday.
I say with all sincerity and gesture most transparently in order that you may see that this hot air expanding rapidly is absolutely and sincerely nothing whatsoever to do with me.

Her tattoos echo Art Deco
tattood
on an easel to swoon for
for her
I could be more,
could see more than the ink
would be more than one
fragile link
in the chain.

I imagine again and again
I imagine if
life becomes nouveau
what would I do and where
could I go?

Her tattoos echo
Art Deco
I
bounce of the walls.

There is always the square root
the road to nirvana
the mathematical equation
that solves the dilemma.,
the indigent integer that
itches my conscience and the
point that floats before my eyes.

Triangulating my position on the road to
perdition, at least I know where I am.

If the cat's in the black box and the white box
is bare,
is the cat really there?.
The idiot in me says it must be,
seeing's believing they say,
what colour is the cat that's meant to deceive?

Equations flow freely through the nearly enough now
and the answers flood in with the mail.

It's just a ventilator shaft, he said, but they laughed as the floor fell away from his feet

and the Devil he knew, said to him, please take a pew,
the service begins at twelve.

We should not delve to deep into what made him weak,
but thank our own lucky stars that we weren't.

Mistakes can be costly and most mostly make them
the lessons if learned separate boys from the men.

Because I like it this way
this way is the way that I like it,
she writes letters in Sanskrit on vellum,
I take these words out and I sell them
because she likes it this way too.

At times I wonder who
we're trying to fool.

She schools me indefinitely
I adhere to her teachings
incredibly

well,
incredible is credible enough.

They think I'm a robot
but I got out alive
*** appeal sealed into
a mobile hard drive.

because I like it this way
I think that I'll stay and
you can wonder why.

she still writes letters in Sanskrit on vellum
I keep them now and no
longer sell them

I am learning.

Relationships that sink and yet
leave you high and dry, but
complications always arise when
your eye's not on the ball.

Ha
my eyes are on stalks every time that she talks
and she leads me astray at her will,
convention may rule but not in her school,
not when my text book turns into a *** look and she
says to me,
detention at three.

It's complex, concave, convex,
save me from geometry and the
angles that angle therein.

After detention a month
of suspension,
'could do better'
the end of the letter the
teacher sent to me.

We played
down by the canal cuttings
next to the sidings
which were no longer used,
but sometimes
I could close my eyes and
hear the wheels squealing
and taste the steam wailing
from the blackened stack pipes.

Mostly all gone now
not even a scar on the land
like it never existed,

the river still runs
and that was always on time,
in time
that will go too.

Is greed in society
destroying you?
it's destroying me,
slowly
and
methodically
crucifying me,

I'm dying,
not for want
or need,
but because of the greedy and
their many acolytes.

if I die a poor man
I'm sure man
I won't be alone.

(perchance to extravagance,
a chance to dream)

it's not Novello
and I'm not asleep,
just trying to keep
my soul from
starvation.

Once,
I was the teachers pet but
I was bad and now
I'm on the naughty step.

I rue the day that
Loki took me out to play those
naughty japes and jokes on
older folks.
Though I must admit that for
a while
it was great fun and made me smile.

I think on this upon the step and
wonder if being teachers pet was
half as good as being bad.

It's about the not doing it that does it for me, creating a myth that screws with the history,

the teacher said,
don't look out of the window when you're at your desk in school!
what were they trying to hide from me?
what was outside that they didn't want me to see?

Then it' all becomes politicised
the politicians tried not to
but lied to you
and we got used to it.

Now they want to ticket you
to let you through
border control,

Oh
roll me over and tickle my tum
nothing good will come of it.

Part two,

and you know who and what'll be there
the ****** devil. but
what do you care?
give him his due he ain't here because of you,though you'll do at a pinch,he's here for that shower what believes they're in power,he'll be calling down Whitehall for Ed ***** and Co,
and Labour may labour under the misapprehension that they are all in for a ****** fat pension,
but the Devil don't care what colours they wear he reads only his list, and he gets a ******* at toffs and the like and that pleb on a bike has no chance at all.
Whitehall's a write off
and we're all a **** sight better off
without them.

She stands her ground,
I come around to
her way of
thinking.

A headscarf, rayon,  
that settled the day
upon my head
Palm read and
anxiety fed

Breakfast
was the future
and the foreseeable
was I in my bed.

Them gypsy girls
flashing eyes
long black curls
turn and turn again
to read my lines
that tell of times
as yet
unspent.

She painted still life
which is still life and
she gave it the life
that saved my life
which is still life
and no doubt
a try out for the
life yet to come.

Waiting 'til night came
we played the ace card
and both win in our game,
still life.

I am conscious of the kiss and
aware
that even as I sleep
I am deep in thoughts
of
still life.


I remembered two lines which became
my 'uni verse'

From bad to worse?

The Greek with the olive complexion has
no connection with this
or the kiss
and I'm aware of that too.

Across the moat and into the keep
where the Queens keeps court for me,
I see no,
no I see
words topsy turvy
the hatter laughs
oh mercy me
Alice kisses and
she is good at that.

I watched a full on alien invasion.

I called the family to look
but
they just sat in their daydreams
and didn't give a

look,
I said,
aliens.

I woke into the light
peeped out the window and
not a Battlestar in sight

just a dream again
too much Irish Cream
in my coffee
I expect.

Hugging is cool
but
they're not teaching that
in school anymore
.
it's keep your distance
don't take the chance
wash your hands
forget romance,

we've become the
chemical cowboys
don't
forget the *** toys
business is booming
(not much room in
this
PVC onesie)

You can get a one-way ticket
for a round the world trip,

Oh my darling
I had to think about that one.

I don't belong here.

I

f
a
l
l
into place
and that look on your face
says,
I've seen this all before.

The meter on my imagination is ticking away
a second here
a minute there
a moment together we will share
and my imaginings take to the air
with wings as loud as if tied to a heartbeat
and we shall meet
to devour the meter
the sweeter thoughts that enter in
and grin at me
almost but not quite another fantasy.

And when
I ask, for I am like all other men
well
perhaps I'm not for my imagination has got a million ways to plan together days that we will spend
in sending bluebirds
songs of true words.

The meter ticks but I will wait
it's never to late
to state a case or kiss a face or lips that taste of honeydew.
I wait for you
and you alone
to take you home and make you mine
and in the tied beat of a heartbeats time
the meter ticks away.

In an art deco way
I'd say
she was beautiful,

curves where curves should be
dress below the knee
eyes in which I see
the lady
looking at me.

That childhood game.
'you're getting warmer'
how prophetic,

we were the seers without knowing.