They've all been naughty boys
so
we take away their playtime toys, but
cabbages can make such lovely kings with
brussel sprouts for diamond rings,
they've all been naughty boys.

Images that toy with me,
the boy inside can see
the future's not what it was meant to be,
no coco pops or jam for tea,
they've all been naughty boys.

The trees may tower over me
the Sun may shine above
the mountain may not come to me
but in this land of love
I am the giant.

Texts to Berlin.

bottles of Geneva gin,
deals done over Haute Cusine,
scraps on papers
all obscene.

Going green with solar envy
watching **** on MtvT
drinking in polluted air
Texts to Berlin
everywhere.

Fish that glow are fish that know that
Nuclear's not the way to go,
I'm switching on to video
we all will in the end.

Would you place my life in photographs on your mantlepieces
Show these pictures to your nephews and nieces?
I think not.

There are many amends to make..
..I have fallen into the fire..the grate is hot
The coals burn
The teacher of life and its lessons can be awfully stern.

As the smoke starts to rise..up the chimney and into the skies
As I meet my demise
I turn for one last loving look.

I should have shuffled the deck
Should have wound in my neck and not been so shortsighted
Would that these thoughts had alighted
When I was in the thick of the storm..
..these thoughts come fast
I am caught in the updraft and am swirling away.

This day would come..and for some sooner than that..
..now I chat to the birds
I am just..jest to their words..I am..

..Not quite sure now..I can't see myself..how could I tell?
I wonder if this is what people call hell.

Not seeing where you are..or where you've been..or is it in the unseeing..
..when you realise what kind of being..
..you were.
As I became once..or was I really there?

I share..but care not for this state..in the grate it's still hot
A little snapshot
Can you not
Spot
The loser.

It's as cold as a witches *** tonight
do not ask me how I know
how cold that is.

I fly with the black cat
wearing a black hat
on a broomstick.

Hocus poke us
Beelzebub
smokes us
hell's just a joke
to us witches
tonight.

She wakes me with the coming of the day and
lays still beside my pounding heart.
What a fabulous way
to start
a
Monday.

It's dark for a reason,
no one wants to see
when the night becomes
a succubus
making out with me,

daylight defends me
against that which would
drain me.

I'm going to go now
to show how
fine the line can be.

Hypertension
not to mention
higher cholesterol

Stress?

I would think the older one got
the less one got it

sadly not so.

I go amongst the meek and mild
a happy child but wild inside where
mustangs range and ride
under my skin,

breathe, hold, release
repeat
until the voices cease.

yeah,
that'll work well won't it?
when you're ******* in dioxins,
toxins,
we're just rocks in
the pond and sinking, I'm
fond of saying it and
don't you know it,

London in its abandon has
abandoned me,
shoddy practise from the Metropolis
where they're adept at
*******,

did I mention hypertension?
a thousand phobias and 'isms,
spasms and a constant tic
it
makes me sick

Doctor's on the missing list
have missed me off the patient list
and
now I really am *******, but
it's Sunday and a day of rest
I'll try my best to smile and say
have a happy day today.

Not much point looking back if you're one of the pack
only the leader will see anything there.

Functioning in a dysfunctional way
could be the 'new black',
that's if you're not looking back
at the sun as it rises.

I used to and used too
and used you
to get through, but
never saw into myself.

But it's because I was
prime time and that time
was my time to
shine,

not shiny now and
no longer
looking back at pack.

Fight to the end
send the night round the bend.

An Invitation,
To all the arseholes of eternity
come fight right here alongside me and join the battle,write your MP see if he'll come too,the more the merrier to ferry the dead across the Styx.
I pick and mix the chicken gun and with carrot and stick see how they run,all a bit of madness,fun for some and for some not at all as they fall into insanity,spouting out profanities,words I've never heard before and I've heard many sworn.
One day the day before I'm born,nice and warm,another cell,one more division before I add up into hell,I never slept to well at all,just thought of being and the fall.

RSVP,
I'm waiting here to see who will arrive,who will survive,who will have madness in their eyes and we all know how fine that line becomes when playing chicken with the guns.
Bring a friend and he can join us round the bend,we're all going round it anyway,but I'm ahead of the game.

******
neurotic
got an exotic disease?

I'm affecting a disorder
not exotic,
but on the border of
the line between
neurosis and the
madness in my eyes.

If you've an illness
and you're pill-less then
it's time to shop for pine
take your time and
dovetail joints
believe me everything all points
towards the graveyard.


Death's like Don Quixote
only slower
and no windmills
always battling the shadows
'til the sun goes on your evening.

Standing yet again and on the tube that gets me nowhere
and tomorrow it will be me
that will be tilting,
not at windmills though,

I'd like to stay on even keel
and keep things real,
so
peel your eyes or peel a grape
it's never early
I'm always late
watching Peter at the pearly gate
and he is watching me.

Time reigns
it smacks you in the face and it scrambles up your brains
until you think you've had enough but you need a little more
so you hang on to the second hand
as it sweeps across the pool hall floor
and the hour glass is halfway full
so you pull a face
but that's no good, you can't see the forest for the wood
and you can't cut it down.
Time laughs and laughs at you,
the clown
and the clock spins on in the Circus
reminds us
we're mortal
but made of more than flesh and bone
that gave a home to the time invader
the raider that loots the hours from our day.
One day he'll pay
but not before we do.
we who
are stuck in the seconds that turn and bump in the minutes
and bring us to a final conclusion
where time being fused
in the time we have used
and any time we had left
we had no time for that.

I put on a coat and an old trilby hat
pretend I'm a spy
but time has his eye on me
time stands and spies on me
what
irony.

It never chimed at midnight
it never chimed at two
it seemed
the old clock in the hallway
was through.

I saw the Sun rise
and watched her
blue eyes
watching me
I saw the shadows
elongate
stretching to get free,

The phone became a highway
talking **** and stuff
which I did my way,
pretending that the only way
was the way it had to go,

and in the end
I didn't look to see
that the eyes
I thought were watching me
were watching me at all.

You taught me to count and I counted the days, and the days mounted up and still I counted the days and I got old and tired and lost count of the days.
I can start again,
I can number the drops of rain that fall
I can count them all,
you
taught me that.
But
you never taught me about time
about how it is wasted in fruitless endeavour
on the dumb and the clever in equal quantity,
a pity really.

It's a disorder to order the order of things
and much easier to see what disorder brings,
chaos or not?

A plot against Kings and those who hold dominion,
those who drag us down and pinion our arms
to tag us with lasers and pull out our eyes.
A plot against the lies that restrain us
are you with me?
chaos or not?

Still counting,
being obsessive possesses me,
a demon ******* me
a succubi for an eye?
or is the sleep that builds up the bridges I see,
ready for me?
I have numbered the pages and each new leaf I've burned,
counted,
lost count and returned to count once again,
all drops of rain in the end.

Time and the beads of its abacus feeds on me,
I will count the beads one
by one and one day
fruitless or not
I will have got the
number right.

Between Brighton and Hove and New Cross gate, when all is still and time can wait.

Kaboom.
Kaboom
Kaboom.
I
thought it was a magic spell to break the link 'twixt time and Hell but
just three words that make no sense but still,
kaboom,
I tried again but still
the same.

The beads fall into line and like a Rubik's cube, time falls into place,
if I see the face of my creator
if I dance with Marilyn on the moon
if once again
all is all too soon but
if I mention,
mention time after time, then
perhaps I'll be allowed to stand a little longer in the line that gets much shorter and time will wait to see the words which freely flow from me,
if not,
I'll be seeing you all on the other side.

John Smallshaw
Just now ·



Oh
but you should have seen her in
a Sari
what a queen and
what a burden I must bear.

In an Asian night
she might have been
the beam of light
to light me on the road
to this
the kiss that says
it all
the rise
the fall and
I fell
she knew it
I did too

we don't dwell
on things like this
I kiss her
and she doesn't know
oh
but you should have seen her.

I started writing
to let some light in
and then
I became blinded
which again
reminded me
of why
I started writing.

I see it as a therapy
to get me through
the darkness.

Eventually the daylight sets me free
the nightmares fade away and
the sun will show me
what can be.

Each dream a dream of a nightmare seen
a place I have been before
each day a new door that I hunger for,
only the daylight sets me free.

It's that Bombay Mix of tricks,
a treat.
A night down the streets where few return but
the sun switches on lights in my nightmare
of nights and
the daylight sets me free.

I woke up
and
that's a decider
to get out of bed
( adding a rider)
only if the sun is shining.

The dream if
it was the dream
came to me
garbled as usual.

And I lay here still hearing them,
the ghosts of dreams come dressed as men
I don't fear them
only wonder when
they'll leave me be.

She calls,
'tea's ready'
and the sun starts to shine.

In the black holes where my mind goes
I have starring roles in dead end jobs,

it's a job though and it keeps me from self harming.

The scripts are ripped off from some sixties satire
as is the attire I tire of wearing,

But when the universe is bearing down on me
and what I see are
cataclysmic eruptions disrupting communions,
what real problems do I own?
not even my own
they're pawned to pay the rent.

On the other sides of the side I see
there are many,
many more like me
who look to see another side
when all they have to do is
collapse into a black hole,
take one of the many
dead end any job will do.

enjoy the ride
it's the only real thing left.

Ultimately
there will always be
in the fruits of our yesterday
the future we see.

We can,
alongside of time
become
what is ours by right.

The light at the end,
yours and mine.

Ultimately.

It may be true
that twenty twenty-two
is a sign
that the end times are near,
maybe they're already here,

Holidays.

the work brigade are already
doing a raid on Whatsapp,
what the **** wrong with them?

I'm trying to chill,
but losing the will
of the won't he,

someone whispers,
don't he talk *****,
and
that could be right
if I write it as well.

Inconsistent in my consistency but ever consistent,consistently
I am free from mediocrity and revel in my autonomy.
Books.

are fun
go out and buy yourself one,
from A to Zee they let you see the words in our vocabulary.
Insist upon one instantly
and there will be up on your shelf
a world of wealth.

Nice at night
when your breathing's
just right
on the
telephone
telling me
you're home
and
receiving
me
loud
and clear.

If you need to learn,
first
you've got to burn all your books,
turn on your eyes
switch off,realise,
that to switch on your brain,
you've got to train
and feel the pain
as if knowledge is a gymnasium
you need to exercise your sight to gain an
understanding of what might
be the answer to the questions that you pose.

No one knows until someone does and that
is patently true
but
'who dares wins'
and as the eagle in me grins,
I fly away.

heartening to think that when they blow this planet that we live on into a million pieces and it's blasted out across the vastness of the universe, I could end up as an ornamental rock on an 'aliens' bedside table,

this and the thought that someone or something will be given the job of finding the pieces and rebuilding this jigsaw of a world to put in some galaxial gallery,

the piece that's me will still be on the bedside table.

they haven't got a fukin clue
about
the things that I've had to do
shot through
seen through
been through
and *******,

you're probably thinking,
who's rattled his cage
who puts the poet in such a rage?
but
it's just poetry
making things appear to be
what they are not
and I've had lots of practice
doing that

uncomfortable
dreams
are
it seems
'normal'

but
uncomfortable
doesn't sit right
when you're trying to
blank things out and it's
the middle of the night


at the house of the fallen
she comes a calling,
the tea is cooling
in the ***.

The old Bill rang me
tried to press gang me
put charges on me
well
**** 'em
boys will be boys
and the boys in blue
usually are
so
I got in my car
( which wasn't mine, but that's
a story for another time)

I met Sergeant MaClief
who was a bit of a lad and
more than a thief
he said,
your names on file and
also on the wall of cell four,
the one by the door that
leads to reception
and that's the reception I got,

they threw the lot at me.
the page, book, the whole
****** library

I got two to ten
in the penitentiary,

well
**** 'em
and **** 'em
again.

Hidden
between the flames that
flicker across her eyes
are the names of every man
she's ever known.

I contribute to charity a
tithe which in all honesty
I cannot afford
but it affords me some
comfort to know
that the contributions I make
will go
to a worthy cause.

I had fish for dinner
they are starving in India,
full of ideas,
but with empty bellies.

When we were
Pangea,
one people
one idea.

In the 'third world'
( a man made distinction)
they survive on
little
I can't survive if I
don't get a
Budweiser.

A tithe I may moan at
but I am happy where
I'm at,
trying to spread some
joy.

Christmas is almost here
and
I've only had one tin of beer.

Now
everyone who knows me
including David Jacobs
knows that I'm not one for
moaning,
but
only one flamin' tin of foaming
( because I shook it up )
ale
aces the fail test.

Two different people to
different people too
who are as different from me
as I am to you.

Behind the face that wears a mask
inside the ivory handled cask
I ask myself the question
why?

two different answers
to different people,
one will live and
one will die,
laugh or cry it's all the same
two different people
with one name.

So,
so if there's no God up there
who placed us here?
what chess master moved and when,
to put us here and then to disappear?

there
must be some explanation.

he takes a vacation?
well that might be so,
so
how long is a vacation?
about as long as it took to
create this creation?

seems to be gone a long time.

Digging it.

Every day I'm tunneling
what else can I do
I try to keep on channeling
funneling too,
I'm heading down,deep down under the earth,underground,
and the sound is all around of the creatures to be found
in my new place
underground.
I met a slow worm yesterday with slimy skin he looked quite grey but his eyes were red and beady too
he looked and said,' how do you do'
'Very well' although surprised I had replied,two centimeters to the side of him a termite sat with a glass of gin,
'Hello' says I, watched by the beady eye of the worm,in turn the termite waved to me and I could see he wasn't one for saying much.
Such a nice place underground,I should have found it years ago but took the wrong road to the sky and dug a tunnel five miles high,
Heaven and hell they are one and the same just a different name in the same old place,but here I stand with my hand on a ***** and I'll shovel forever until I have made,somewhere to call home.

You can hear the sabres rattling from Westminster and the Kremlin meanwhile the locals they're all trembling, the soldier's teeth are chattering, someone's in for a battering and I hope it isn't me.

it's not likely to be
because I'm at home in Blighty
with the missus who's sat beside me
and where fighting is taboo.

We  will all soldier on because that's how we're made
one more commando
one more daylight raid and we soldier on.

Long after we're gone and the archaeologists move in to dig up our lives and try to begin and understand the way that we ticked
the way we picked fights,the wounds that we licked,
I'll be in somebody's sights as they examine my bones,searching for clues,considering how I had lived so, with a body abused and wondering if time had it all his own way or did I have some say in the way that I lived and the way that I died.

In the glass cabinets of museums the people will peer at me and what will they see but an ******* of bones covered in rags, a bolognese of a man all knotted then cleaned up and slotted,pigeon holed, allotted my own private page which reads,
'this is a man from the second dark age'
and in years to pass when the glass cracks with the weight of the history inside it
I'll step outside it and continue my soldiering on.
But we'll all make the raid until we're finally laid
at rest,
waiting for the semaphore,the telegram,the history man marches on.

Time,
and time being our greatest asset
what do we do with it?
we
pass it around like a bag of
Maltesers,
it eases the pain but puts time
out of joint.

Let's face it
if
time is curved like space it
comes back
doesn't it?

Don't we recapture those
moments when rapture was
moments away?

Play time
school time
home time
work time and time
to grow old
with a mouthful of
chocolate.

My first instinct was
to
update Facebook
status

I want them adverts
to track us,
to know exactly
where we are.

A quick post
of the coast
and
I use Instagram
because
I like that the most,

a titter or two
on Twitter
do you
use it ?

Soundcloud and Vimeo,
Youtube
and off we go,

not sure where
but
when we get there
I'll let you know.

We ponder on the inevitable,
and wonder why we are so miserable,
we should party on until the end
add the inevitable as a 'plus one friend'

I think I'm going around the bend
can't wait to see who else is there.

Friday on the Jubilee
no Central line?
no
not for me.

Heading West into the den
of bogeymen.

This tube train's quite deserted
I blurted out in glee
but
no one here that heard it
only
me.

Canning Town
two stops down
ghostly
in this light
she
might get on
but
no
I'm still alone and
off we go.

I could get used to this
kiss
the Central line
goodbye
but wait
North Geeenwich and
the hordes arrive
all going to their
six to five
( they tried nine to five
but it didn't pay the rent)

I might alight at Waterloo
or Bond Street
who can tell
it's so nice to
get a morning seat
and sit down for a
spell.

It's full now
heaving at the seams
and
my dreams of solitude
are gone

same faces going different places
and
more suitcases
nutcases
and in case you forget
I'm still to get to the den.

I can't decide,
Waterloo
or ride it through for
three more stops to
Bond Street and those
fancy shops
which
by the way open earlier
on a Friday
or maybe not.


A Roman contribution
Nero and hot coffee
good for the
constitution
or
so they say
but
on Friday they'll say
anything to get your
blood pumping.

What if it doesn't snow
how then will we know that
it's Christmas?
baubles and bangles that dangle
don't mean much
without that touch
of magic.

But
the homeless hope less for the snow
and more for the Sun,
I understand the predicament
they are in,

bin surfing is
like sofa surfing
except in bins for food and
not on sofa's for sleep

I keep that in mind
still hope for snow though

does that make me unkind?
I don't know.

I saw elephants who
thought they were
flying ants,

that was some trip ago
when time went backwards
and how was I to know
the future?

Sinbad on the hill standing
still underneath an Arabian
sky.

Why try?
i read the writing on the pillow case and
saw the look that turned her face away
felt the breaking of my heart that felt the fear
of one more false start,

I don't go there where it all began
it was not me
it was some other man

an excuse lifted off the shelf
to kid myself, but it doesn't
work