How many times have you wanted some time for yourself and
been denied?
hubbub and hullabaloo I can hardly bear, can you?

and if empty vessels make the most sound then this tube train seemingly full is actually empty,
profound!

actually hubbub and hullabaloo sound like bears to me, what about you?

just messing about in the dressing room
give me a shout when I’m on.

(20 minute poetry)

Sampling the kiss and
the taste is of this,
sunshine and she's mine,
sampling the kiss.

When her eyes alight on me,
It is I who see
the beauty,
my eyes see the face
of grace,
and look at me,
a man out of place in a
place I'm not sure of.

She cures me if that's the right word as
if being frightened and love are one and the same,
how absurd.

I still sample the kiss which is more than ample and
continue to sample which only amplifies what
I see in her eyes.

If that is love then let it be so.
I know, but
I'm not telling.

I used to say,
me and God,
but God says,
it's God and I,
I guess that's
because God's
a God
and me,
well
I'm just small fry.

Then what shall we call them
if we are to become men?

shall we say,
'another day is as good'

It's a mystery tour around the graves,
the dead, only
Jesus saves,
the living can rot

they paint pictures
I've got some
Old Masters
and then some,
a mistress in waiting?

It is time and a bit
to ponder on it

reflections in mirrors are
scissors that cut me,

but it's not me anymore
that I see

is the door locked?
is the dog in?
these
questions begin when reality sends
me a love bite

sit tight and hold on
to the one if it's your
one
and let the world spin.

The air tussles your hair and the winds sing in your ears,
fear's just a word like caution and they caution you because they fear,

when I was six or maybe seven I used to get on the swing and try to swing myself as far as heaven, ( because I believed back then that Jesus would save me)
he had other plans in mind,
years later I woke to find my childhood gone, the swings taken by the rag and bone man,

'a cunning plan?'
well
not really Baldrick,

( sorry, couldn't resist that )
and
that was always the problem.

He's  
being interviewed by immigration
with a view to repatriation,
he's called for a solicitor
poor Santa's in a fix.

The reindeer are impounded and
put in isolation
the sleigh they say is grounded
pending investigation,
so
don't wait up on Christmas eve
it's unlikely that he'll come.

The ***** was a drunken old sot, a soak of a bloke with a cast iron throat and his purpose was plain once you saw through his pain where the shadows of yesterday lay,
two children play on the sand but the hand of the Devil or God, took them away in a surge tide that day,and
the switch on the replay is on.
Gone is the fine City Gent,where his wife went is anyone's guess, but she went in a mental asylum,suppose I would too,when the glue doesn't hold you and what life has told you is at the bottom of the sea.
He went through Heaven, bought his slices of hell at the seven/eleven until the money ran out and his heart wore away,but the replay is on,two children at play and then they are gone and the replay plays on.
In the street of a thousand desires stands a man with his dreams unfulfilled,time has willed him to stay though he'd rather just lay down and die.
He ties another one on and the replay is replayed until the replay is gone and the bottle is none the wiser.

See in sixteen shades of blue
how it could be
what you could do
in
sixteen shades of..

...you could be acetylene,
dream in the torchlight, a
blue shade of midnight...

..or..

..a
leader, lightning fast,
read the riot act to me and lastly
tell of
what you see
how it was for you,
for me,
sixteen shades of blue and
she
wants red.

When she wakes we'll celebrate our anniversary,
but for now
I shall sit silently, sip my cup of tea and think,
'oh lucky me'

I'm still pottering about the house
and making a general nuisance of
myself,
she still gives me 'a piece of her mind'
oops sorry,
I meant, she still gives me,
peace of mind
and we still get that feeling that sealing
the vows
was the best thing ever.

Mine is the mind that always fights against time and when in two minds about it, (one which would doubt it) the other one gives me the strength to carry on the fight.

A day might come and I might give in,
leave the living, but I can't imagine that
happening soon.

Difficult.

even when standing my ground the
hands on the clock seem to race faster
around the dial
and though that ****** me off
no end
I smile because time's really a friend
and I am in need of one,
time is ideal as one
and I am as one with it.

I dreamed a summer day today
but
it never worked out that way,

it's blowing a gale
time to put on our coats
man the lifeboats
we're
going over the side.

And it's wakey, wakey
someone takes me
from sleep to this.

always half out hanging in
and it's usually the end
before I begin.

He's having tea and by him
I mean me, but
too early to see who
I am.

Thinking it's always a Wednesday somewhere
but there's a place that I'd rather be and that's a Friday.

( and we all know about Crusoe, don't we )

early because I'm going to be strangled, there'll be no help from the wannabe crew, work ****** work, but what else can I do?
and anyway it keeps me occupied.

This carriage that carries me on the Jubilee is exceedingly quiet today, there's only the squeals from the knackered old wheels  
and the occasional whoosh from the doors.

I'm not complaining
( that'd be a first )

There's a tic-toc man with a beer in a can and a Timex on his wrist,
slightly ****** and it's only 05:39.

And a Harry Secombe lookalike who looks just like Harry Secombe.

Is it time to go home yet?

It's always nearly isn't it?
never fully.

It wasn't a real place and
that wasn't her real face,
hey
but we all wear a mask
until they ask
who you are
and then
the dream flies out of the
window
when you awaken and know
you're a no show, Awol
from your own reality.

Through the eye of the needle where necessity lies
and the horizon's a point somewhere off,
someone dies.
On the grains where the sand shifts the mountains away, where the land ***** crab sideways to gather their prey or the fields where the crops dust off MDMA,
I drop,
intellect fades
the night fazes in on sharpened steel blades.

Does anyone care about anyone?
there but for some grace I do

If I decide to put it on red and let the lot of it ride
or deal with the wheel on its spin
the chances are that I won't win
does anyone care about that?

And watching a Western with my badge and a vest on
doesn't make me a deputy and counting the drops in the clouds in the sky trying to figure out why the ocean's so deep makes me
weep in frustration

back to the pack
a black King and a Jack,
please
give me a Queen for a run.

We sharpen axes, knives and the occasional wit
and we don't do it lightly because
the grindstone is ****.

It's a job
It's a job
for Tom. **** and Bob
a likely looking trio if ever
a ******* was.

I go it solo
believe in my mojo
the grindstone is too
slow for me.

When you crept up on the morning after smoking the night
did you squeal with delight
Was it all you expected and more
haha..yes and
did you cough out the glue that you used to chop into the light
did it stick in the back of your throat when you threw off the coat that Loki had loaned, was it you I heard moaning this morning at about three fifty four
was it your door I heard banging
was it you that was hanging off the ceiling
was it Mary's boy child
that ever had it so wild
was the storm that ran through you fused with the voltage that the meter had metered
did Peter deny you?

Why I ask I don't know just guess my day's going slow
and I'm needing that build up
to get filled up with
the knowledge, this college or collage can bring me.

In the garage where I set up the microphone
and home seems a long time ago
and I spit out some words like the winter spits snow
it is cold.
Someone shouts out in the missing of midnight
I could have told you that
but his or her voice falls flat like some cartoonists in 2D
I hear only the passing in the passages of me and the stories that crawl out and drawl out
would hasten this end.
Someone shouts out in the missing of midnight
'where do we send the ashes'
all that remains are the remains
the staining of lifetimes on disrupted lifelines
and bones
haha..yes and
bones to make soup
old bones make you stoop
and look at the time
it's a quarter to nine
the school bell rings out as I walk in the door and home is where there is no home any more.

I'm unsure but I'm certain
behind the final curtain is a call for one more
so
take a bow
how we'll smile
Dial a cab and let's go
watch out for the words and the snow
you know that they'll
**** you.

You can run through to the end of it
pretend a bit that
the hurt eases,
pain ceases,
Strontium 89 has the line on it,
a chemical bite might
do the trick.

Or just go into exile
die once a day
for a while anyway, but
love's curt
tells you it's hurt
when you haven't a clue.

You can run through and pretend
or just end it
a bit like the lights going dim,
Knock, knock,
no answer
nobody's in.

We have to do it,
some are successful and
me,
I just blew it
straight through the red stop and the next stop's the last stop where the pit stop's the pit and you can go through to the end of it because no one will believe you when you tell them you blew it and who knew it,
not me.

Exile's a paradise,
but we still want to throw the dice for a double or quits or if and until the cap fits,
pretend for a bit.

Watching me
watching you,
day and night that satellite
up in the sky watches as we
wander by.

The pentagon
must have a file
on everyone
and the CIA or FBI
also watch as we wander by.

We can't escape
the state.
we can't take flight
where could we go that the satellite
has not already been and does not know?

Every camera still and frame
bears each and every persons name,
are we the fate which became reality
or what the **** are we supposed to be?

It was sometime last century
the last time she mentioned me
the first time I met her
back then.

Time travel
seemingly impossible
but
the possible
always is.

He didn't look like Willis, Wayne or Lee to me
but
she called him Bruce and I could see
he was the star of the show
and not me.

Quite sad really
I tattooed infidelity
indelibly
on the front cover
of a Woman's magazine
and
I knew that she'd seen it

and I caught
a bus
to Stockport
no fuss
just running away
and there'll be another Bruce
any day now

how does one cope
when this world that I live in
is the one without hope?

I could change my name
up my game and
call myself Clark
and
live down in Kent or
in the metropolis
but
I like being Cyril
really
I do.

My Father's face was a juggle of lines
stitched there by
the good and the bad times in his life,
his wife
my mum
made some of them lines,them creases that creased into
the good times on his face.
When he smiled and often he did he made more lines on lines and the bad times got hid.

I remember his face like a place in the map book.
I can find it whenever I look.

The colour's seeping out of me
sepia's seeping in
my hair is falling out and
my eyesight's growing dim
I'm getting thin too.

Age is just apparel that I wear
the more I wear the less the flair.

There was a time some years ago
that this was
a time I didn't want to know
I
know it now though.

thing's go on until
they don't.

Tell me about the senses and I'll give you instances that they never worked.

Lost in those turnstiles which clank round the windmills and tilt at no dragons I see.

'Leave me'. she uttered as I mumbled apologies,
it happens to all of us sometime.

They write of me in the penny look-see
I thought I'd be worth more.

When you don't see it coming
but you know that it's there,
the smell of the beast that
lays deep in its lair

two out of five
will
keep me alive

no touching allowed.

Snip a little from here
take a little from there
pluck out one of my eyes
and
cut a lock from my hair
but
if you haven't got the key
you
will never have me.

This day
unlike all the other days and yet so
similar in so many ways
splays out before me.
Outside the door
free,
unencumbered except by blessings which
I number one to where they go on
and
under the Sun makes a good change from
being under the gun.

I am being spun into thread,silver and led
to a meet on a street unlike all the other streets and
yet
so similar,
unfamiliar but I've been here before,
peculiar,
but I know well the door where
outside I'm free.

We could always go fishing, he said, wishing there was something else they could do, but fate had denied him the chance to have pride in an imagination that did not exist.

Stretching out
like a cat uncurling
flexing.
I used to do it if you can believe it

stretching out
like a flag unfurling
wrinkled,
I can do that.

Her voice
spreads like Marmite on Ryvita
rough
sounds like, that I'd like to meet her.

Oh God,
it's Sunday,
I said,
but he already knew.

We are collateral,
a forfeit
to be offered up
on the altars
of avarice.

The impact assessment by
the assessor of impacts
detracts from
the initial
impact.

You can't unbomb a bomb and
when it's dropped
it's gone.

This is like unkissing the kiss and
'the Kiss'
is something
one should never
unkiss.


The tower.

I fall into it,
climb up
just a bit
sit
and decide if
I want a better view
because we're never satisfied
with the things we get into or up to
and I go through
life
like this,
unkissing the
Kiss.

Well
it was the broken heart that did it,
she tried to hide it,
but me,
I spied it,
there's a knack to knowing
and
I've always known,
empathy
became a second home to me,

I see the colours fly
auras
do not lie,
they are the eyes that lay
above you.

Meditate
but
we wait
and go on
in a distressed state,

the mind is but the gate,
some are latched.

And broken can be fixed?
not always
because the break's still there
we just repair it
the best way we can.

Our moves become a ballet as we dance along the street,
our eyes meet in a tango and you sweep me off my feet
and if the sun comes mingling
I know you'd love the heat
let's go to the waterside

take a moment or take two,
time waits for no man,
but
it waits for you,
tell me there's a ship there
and I will find the crew
you make me feel
so young.

I see spots
lots of spots like blots of ink
which makes me think
my pen has leaked
but it has not,
where did those spots that look like blots come from?

I know that as spots grow they blot out all the sun,quite sad,
Does that mean that I should clean blots as I spot them?
or should I leave them there to spread and being led right up the path towards the garden gate and having fed on salad
would I write a ballad to a blot that I had spotted or attend a rite to a blot that got wiped out,
I can spot one more
a polka dot of a spot like a blot but I got it,the question is,
should I keep it or let it seep away.
would it blot my copybook if I took one tiny blot to a tiny spot I know to watch it grow.
I expect it would
someone would spot me with a blot
and dob me in.

Snowdrops drop a melody
and
she nods at me
quite casually,
I see
romance in her eyes.

the snow flys faster,
of the tango
it's the master,
but has
always been a mistress
of my movements through
this time.

I woke up at three
She was still laying next to me
Breathing lightly
I kissed her and held her so tightly.
She woke
And spoke to me,
"Can't you go to sleep"?
I wanted to keep this moment forever
To prove that it's never too late
Or you're never that old
To hold onto a dream.

The mistress of time
her hands are mine, but
the lady tells lies
see
how she flies and
devours the hours in my day.

One way or another she'll
see I'm her brother and
leave me to wind and wend
through her tendrils until
upon reaching the end
I end.

Do you remember when
you promised,

Dear God
I'll be very good if you make it the weekend now,
and nothing happened, it was still Thursday?

well
it never happened then and it doesn't happen now.