Shunted and hunted and chased by the pack..
I look back in despair.
There is no longer anyone there, it seems they gave up on this ghost.

Sometimes the things that you hate are the things you love most.
And now with nobody chasing I find I am pacing the floors..slamming doors..bored to the death of it.

But I shall fit in this groove..be unable to move...be tied to the millstones...no thrills in my old bones.

Someone please call for the Doc..I think I'm going in shock with the joy of it all..this quiet life is too much of a ball.
My heart starts to race..I can't keep up this pace..How do I keep a straight face when I lie through my teeth.
Good grief..this is a slow way to die..being as nice as a slice of stale apple pie.
I am really wondering why..
I don't break out of this mould..leave the safety of this fold and meet again with the pack at my back and the wind in my hair..when I just didn't care it was great.
Fate takes a hand..makes a stand and I am pushed to the ground..
Which is where I found
The answer.

Did you do what you could and
if it was good did you clap
did you show your
appreciation
for the creation of yet
one more did you get what you paid for
what you came here and stayed for?

if it was good for you it was greater for me
and we can sit and discuss it over a nice
cup of tea
or we can take a late evening walk
talk it through,
these things that we do
make it all worthwhile.

On the street edgings
spring
pharmacists,
fledglings,
peddling their wares and
nobody cares.

More people are done by drugs people have done
and it's not any fun
anymore.

I leave them alone now and get
by without them,
somehow
life seems a
lot better.

You can try to justify your policies
that is not what bothers me,
what bothers and is bothering me is
the fact you can decide on a policy
that affects our liberty,
is this democracy?

I cannot decide nor decipher whether
it's hot air or just bluster, but
buster
you'd better be aware
we all live here and I don't care if
Sunil speaks Tamil or gobbledygook.

I suspect this is not about the language
and more to do with the way people look.

j

The bells for nine o-clock
always ring at eight fifty-seven,  I think this is the vicars way of saying something about heaven, but I'm not sure what that could be

Anyway whether the vicar is male or female this premature tolling is a failing on their part

At nine o-clock the train is due to pass across the viaduct which is about five kilometres away and towards the end of each day I sit and wait,

of late it's been coming late but tonight it was on time, not according to the church bells though.

Perhaps if the world spun a bit faster we'd all get there a lot quicker.

I wish you'd told the young me
that one day I'd be the old me
and the young me could have
taken some more care,

and while I'm tuned in on your
wavelength,
how about a little more strength?

Now,
I know that you're a busy chap
with smiting, loving, and all that,
but can you drop by for a proper chat
I'll be home next Friday,

If you're willing.

Did you bother
to do it?
did you
do it?

was it worth all the trouble
you had when you knew
it was nothing at all?

did you bother to do it?
if you did
will you rue it?

..'regrets I've had a few...'
too many for you
to count.

but I never did not
when in a tight spot,
when the ceiling
was falling in
not begin,
at least not
to start it.

Sunday and that's no way to wake
with
church bells buzzin' in my ears
the 'called ones' playing on my fears
it's
because I'm old that they want me in the fold

the cry being,
'flock to me and God'll set you free'

Well
ain't it just the way that advertising has
subverted
'the truth, the light and the way'

well again,
they can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear
or can they?
which is another play on my fear
and I'm not falling for that old chestnut

It's not easy being locked inside the schizophrenia
I've been you and I know.
You want to go, I want to stay and it
always has to be your way,
don't say I didn't warn you when I told you
I was going,
sowing seeds of malcontent, well,
blow a kiss and you can rent the space I
left behind.

The mind,
mind you is very strange, it is able
to rearrange the facts the way it wants to,
you knew that and did not tell me,
tried to sell me something other than the truth.

The proof,
and I can prove it, is that you can't move without
my prior approval,
Schizophrenic I may be but you are one
more part of me,
get used to it.

I imagine
that if things do not change for the better,
of writing a letter to the Queen.

Have you seen where she lives?
what gives?
In a palace fit for a King there's a Queen, not that I've been,
I
was never invited to those black tie affairs,a statement it seems of my position in line to the throne.

I was delighted to hear that Prince Philip likes beer and Prince Charles likes a nice glass of Hock,then I was knocked for a six by one of those polo sticks when I heard who was third in the order of pecking,
let me tell you sincerely that it wasn't me,
not that I'd be averse to the role,I could see me in ermine,those robes made from vermin but that's a bit cruel, guess that's why I'm eating gruel and not freshly grilled trout,
and that's about it
though I'm not a royal, I'm loyal to the crown and though Liz let me down, I'll smile and not frown
but have you seen
where the Queen Lives?

Down the council
where I used to live,
they write to you in pencil
and erase you at will.

An appointment is the black spot that
they bomb into your hand,
every section or department is
a minefield and the snipers
who all own Audi's are working overtime
to pick poor people off.

They'll send you updates on the rent account
and the housing rates which mean everything,
and ignoring them brings another team from the
offices,
which we call the 'sting'.

Busy bees,
the bleedin' lot of them
poking in and poking off again,
it's time they wrote me in a ball point pen, thirty seven pence from 'Smith's' and then,
I'd feel welcomed into the community, feel I had a bit of immunity from the eraser men who only want me when my system falls apart, it really breaks my heart that I pay them part of my salary,
we should all be able to live this life rent free,
down the council
down the council
damage limitation, but I
got this inclination to ignore them and their eraser men, get a marker pen, paint my home with red ink, then **** the lot of them, let them send me South,
down to Marshalsea,
if this life's a fail
let me end up in,
that cosy place they call,
'****** 'all'

debtor's jail.

Don't want a Gucci
a smoochie
will do for me
well,
two or three snuggles
one or two kisses
and
a few cuddles
wouldn't go amiss.

The sun springs a leak and
we're left mopping the sweat from our brows for a week.  

Get a plumber.

Today,
you'll not find me at home
don't knock my door
don't telephone
I've gone to Brighton by the sea to catch a boat to Italy,
and underneath a pasta tree
I'll write a card to you
from me.

We're only tourists
here for a visit
on a one way ticket
and now they're
punching it

it's not ******* fair.

I never asked for short stay
I wanted long term.

Visa expired
as I will be
soon
but we're all only tourists
here for a day.

We live to build our Frankenstein,
one nut,one bolt,one piece at a time and
life is the nightmare that walks in the night,
that shakes us awake at the break of the day
and hangs onto us tight.
If we'd taught Frankenstein right
If we'd given him a gun
If we'd taught him to shoot we would not have to run but
we didn't and we do,
he'll catch you and he will catch me and he'll chop us all down,
we are the branches of the tree we build,
we will be killed.

(20 minute poetry)

That rebound sound and you know that we fear it,
the slingshot ricochet that moves me closer and you further away.

When the glue cracks and the sides come apart and the seamstress is on vacation
who will fix this broken heart?

I travel vacantly
unaware where I'm going or what I have seen.

It seems that the consciousness stream has been dammed as if this was planned in my own private foxhole because I know that it's war, she knows it and knew long before me,
knew of the towers that would fall in my wake, knew I'd be awake
sensing each sunrise, waiting for her to open those blue eyes and explode.

Every root I expose and each shoot left to bloom leaves me less room to decant my ancestry,
is it me
am I feeble?

She scribbled my name on the tips of her fingers,
I quibbled about the time that it took and this is the reason I'm reading at bedtime
a book on my own.

Taming you
trickle by trickle
we're taking you
and
you'll dry
on the hot stones
we're making you
obso
so
obsolete
that's neat...

..and we have to
tame you,
prune you and make you
a ******,
you never had much of luck
did you?

When we're through with you,
we'll get a new brand new newer you
and you
never had much of luck
did you?

There's a 3 0 3 somewhere aimed at me
who's going to pull the trigger
who's going to make the bigger splash
who's going to cash in
my chips?

Monday slips into its pace and places me
in the firing line,
one more time
who's going to pull the trigger?

It could be something other than this
and I'd probably miss it.

Looking around me where some people still fail to astound me
or maybe it's me never able to see
the passing of time,
is it stationary?

belatedly I get a seat
a nice young lady got
to her feet
helping the elderly?
I
didn't see that coming.

Wednesday
already?
you say,

time is ticking
must get stuck in
if I'm to survive.

If I get out alive to
see clear blue skies
I'll give praise
where it's due
but
who would it be due to?

'An inspector calls'
just as I'm reaching
St.Paul's
' tickets  please '

and here I am
a 'coming out'
from the underground
oh man,
what a relief.

Now I'm older
I told her
I can stay up longer
or should that be
later?
she laughed and
said,
goodnight.

where heartbreaks are commonplace
and not worthy of mention
where dreams crash daily
while the uncaring go gaily on
their way
I pray
I pray
to find a direction
a meaning

which means
I'm down on my knees again
talking to God again
and trying to hear what God says,

The wicked lady with the whip
strips my life away
which changes rapidly and just
as casually
stops.

I counted my sins,
emulsified or was it mummified
in myrrh
that was then and there and here
is now.

The linens wrap me tight,
*******?
which could be right for I am
bound into the endlessness
of what might be the
brightest light or the darkest night
I will ever see.

The wicked lady with the whip
puts on high heels
it feels like I've been here before,
'whatya waitin' for',
she says,
and casually
stops.

Sat on the sand with my life in the palm of my hand and in the other a razer,at times being the star gazer is not nearly enough,not when you feel that things are cutting up rough,
but the blade is the ***** that will dig you a pit,why sit on the sand when you can be a part of the land?
You and your left hand with the right one not knowing if you're coming or going and the razer,
the razer like a laser light will cut you a piece of the night and there'll be no return,what you plan to do,you don't learn,
you're a fail,go back to the start again,it's your chance to begin again and feel more pain
or cut.

Shopworn
and
spoiled
second-hand
and
soiled
it's all we can
afford.

We're no more the master
we've
become slower not faster

the irregularities of an age.

A Dallas theatre is always
that near to you
and
a rifle shot cracks open the air.

And I'm always amazed when
I gaze at the stars
but
they take no notice of me.

Cheap's the new
leap of faith
and the mantra
to help you keep face.

Upon reaching the age of majority
passing the milestone that
marks my maturity
I'm still looking for some
seniority
and find only a form
of senility.

This poverty of spirit is haunting me
I am adrift on
a lifeboat in a
lonely sea,
reaching the age of majority
didn't give me the key
it
just bothered me.

We built the snowman with white bricks
and a sheet of blue tarpaulin
then it started snowing,
that's sod's law.

Ebeneezer, he's a geezer that we know
and not a character from some old
Dickensian tearjerker
stopped by to say hello and collect the
rent.

and then we waited for the sleigh bells
and we waited
and we waited
until all hell had frozen over
so
we went ice skating instead

**** that idea of killing the monsters you fear.
.
They survive, even thrive, in your darkest despair,
in the intentions that you never share,

Monsters
will always be there.

In the final analysis,
psychoanalysis
it is.

Then I entered a prize draw, but with no chance of winning, I can't draw for toffee and now, with my eyes spinning in the back of my head I'm gambling that this night will be merry, but what do I get? two melons and a cherry, ( the cherry courtesy of the all-seeing, me not being able to )

So,
is it a beer or should I have wine
a cote de rhone
or something from the Rhine
a
bitter,( which sounds German
or
a
Biere des sans Culottes L'ambree?
which is a mouthful in any language,

they make Fridays for these moments.

Tammy,Tammy,call your mammy
daddy's run away.

Buildings built of stilton cheese and Wilton rugs,bugs that run round in my head,silver diamond ten gauge thread to tie my eyes up.
Tea leaves tell no lies,
I've seen them in a broken cup where broken people all look up to watch me fall.
I call the Master of Ceremonies,also made of Stilton cheese,eaten slowly by the mice,made from chocolate covered rice cake crisps and baked in ovens,gas mark seven and ask him,
where did daddy go?
he doesn't know and never did and slowly drops off from the grid,
in hidden thoughts behind veiled red eyes where riots run with teddy boys,who ride Italian imported scooter bikes,
twenty thousand Facebook likes for what,
a **** *** underneath the bed?
more bugs that run wild in my head,
another silver,sugar coated thread to wrap me in when I am dead,
but I'm not there yet
I've got to shift the fuzziness,the interfering laziness,be blessed twice by his Holiness,undress the dressings I am wrapped in,bleach my skin and reach inside to clear my mind.

De-clutter.

They're ripping down buildings to build up more buildings which fill in the spaces when the old buildings have gone
and the new buildings they build are then filled with new faces.

One day when I'm new they can put me in a building and give me 'a room with a view' nothing in black and white to see, only me in techni' inspect or expect me to be calling on neighbours
borrowing some sugar.

Starlight,
but no scope.

We don't see if we don't look
can't read a book unless we open it,
and
hoping it changes never changed a thing.

'Might' is the most powerful of words to use
it might mean anything, nothing or everything,
we could all use a 'might' I might use one too.

I think
not always
only now and again
blinking on and off,
I am
binary code on an
unmarked road
just
starlight
but no scope.

You look in and
you want to swim in
but her eyes are
closing.

The stars go out
and
light does not shine
her eyes were mirrors
reflecting mine.

Love is dark and dreamy too.

It gets personal in
the old mill town
there's
no pick-up truck
to pick me up
from my breakdown,
not a fukin chance
for an ambulance
and so I head off to
a place that I knew,
but I can't remember when.

And I suffer then
on the naughty step
head low down
feet getting wet
but it's not my fault
though you'd disagree
and say that
I'm to blame for my
own misery.

..and then I start to cry
because,
well you know
why.

dear friends who pass beyond
I wonder where they go,
for them to know and
me to guess.

I miss the laughter
the beer and after a
walk down through the
town
the
getting down
to the real business
of the night,

just saying that all this
is playing on my mind.

Let me try,

oil's running dry and yet you're gassing to me about mass immigration and the lack of community,
The desert's expanding, the ocean's contracting, we're backed into corners and you think we're all acting in some soap on TV and you gas to me about oil.
There's a change in the climate, is it warming or cooling and who's fooling who here?
More tax on the beer, an erosion on freedom and the right to a voice, they're taking away choice and you gas to me about mass immigration,
you give me a serious case of indigestion, my question to you is what are you going to do about it?
sit on your fat **** and whine?
tell me one more time about immigration, about the masses and  your speculation that the end is nigh and I'll tell you why you're a ****.

The satellite might
have been the saving of us,
but it was jacked
by the suits.

And they talk of international co-operation
while we know it's just the 'corporation'
giving it some spin.

Lockdowntown, conspiracy,
free men just a fantasy,
if
we're all trapped in this misery
we may as well make the best of it.

No one can reach you because you only are what they teach you
and what they taught you has bought you this solitude.

You are at the juncture of halls where the mask of men falls and the sea rushes in to meet them, where the future denies them or greets them,
where the glitterball spins in the disco of Kings,

but you know it's not you,
you know
you're not in the dream,
this is the high school reunion.

and you wake into commonplace
wearing that common face
that nobody notices,
no one talks to you
and you wonder,
is that taught to them too?

Whatever they say
about Wednesday

I'm trying it anyway.

I have saltpetre dreams
explosions of scenes
up until now I have woken to
the sound of the clock
sometimes
I wished the alarm had
been broken
and I could sleep on.

still
it's all downhill from here.

I'm trying it by prying my eyes loose from
the dream that devours them

the radio plays because it's still young

I make toast, burn my tongue on the tea,
too hot for me,
I can cool down in Stratford town

Wednesday and I get my way
still fun and I play like the radio
because I too am young

My way back is blocked
the front door is locked

I'm out and about now
ploughing the furrows to make
new tomorrow's

I'd say that Wednesday's okay
so far.