Like a cat, that's been out on the tiles
the morning light with a squint full of smiles
comes strutting across the bedroom floor,
reaching the door it climbs up the walls
and falls lightly like rain on my pillow,
it's Monday again and
I need a shave.

Saving the best 'til the last
now that the weekend has passed
I rise
wipe my eyes
scratch a bit here and a little
bit there and I'm
ready to share in what the
day has to give.

I wonder if I qualify for
something that will get me by
and what would that thing be?

A magic lamp would cramp my style
I
make the moods that fit my day
a genie would get in the way.

I wonder if I qualify for
something,
maybe I'll just try and
trust in luck.

Dorothy,
what are you doing there, behind the curtain where a Wizard waits,conjuring fates and certain only of the uncertainty as much as any Wizard can certainly be.

I see Dorothy in red slacks with sling backs and yellow hair,she doesn't know that I'm there,watching her,watching him,
I begin to sing the song,you know the one,and all hell breaks loose,she screams,'it's a dream,I'm home on the farm'
The Wizard says,'keep calm' and pushes the intruder alert,which I have to admit hurt,'the Wizard's a twerp' I cry out angrily,and Dorothy sees me,knees me in the green emerald halls,
Oh *****,
I think and slink away.
What was I thinking of going and drinking with Wizards and Witches, and that little krap toto is chewing my britches and where were the stitches in time that I needed?

I fell through the pavement when I went a courting,sorting the girls from the boys that they went with and Poppins went with me to see if she could be my beau,but Mary's quite scary and I quite like Dorothy,and a spoonful of sugar does not do it for me.

The Scarecrow that I know is really quite bright,ask him for a light and he'll tell you,'don't smoke'
The tin man's a joker and never been a smoker,so him and the scarecrow are friends,
it ends with the lion as is usually the case when he growls like a ***** and I laugh in his face.
and I laugh at the Wizard, who turns me into a toad and off I go hopping down my yellow brick road.

I see her
Maria
she's hiding from me
not very well
but
how does one hide
when you're the belle of the..
..call me a softie
I pretend that she's won
and I cannot find her,
she carries on
hiding.

Well being, being well and seeing as that's okay make me well as well, but a well can be deep, can it not?
so with that in mind I've got a long rope.

Also
and there's almost always one also to add to things that I also don't know
so
I put also into the algorithmic mix and get
answers in the form of equations which mathematicians expound on at length whose length is as long as the rope for the well that is possibly deep

I keep going round the houses to get to the place that I want and the place that I want is well being and all being well I will get there.

I pulled a mussel and that's what happens
when you go jogging on the beach,

someone said, teach yourself to spell,

I might as well
they obviously never got the joke

Cash me a coupon,
it's cold,
I need some soup in my thermos,
I won't make it through unless you do this favour for me,
He told me,
The coupon's done, out of date but not by long
So I went home and hungered for sustenance.

Providence pats me and cuts me a slice of tomorrow, sleep is the main meal in everyone's eyes
I wake to a giro from
the ministry, a
man called Tom and he sends me his
kind regards.

Pardon me waitress can I have more servings of pancakes,
hunger takes more than I know and then I settle down, can't afford to go to town and I cut more coupons from magazines.

They will all tell you
what they think's for the best,
go for a test
don't go for a test
get vaccinated,
inoculated,

get flucked
( Grammarly tells me no L,
well
it's not a flucking Christmas Carol
is it?)

but we have to do
the right thing
which
may not be the same thing
as
what they all tell you,

has that made it any clearer?

Over the mountains and crossing the sea
searching for my love
who'll be waiting for me.
She will have eyes that are shining
I'm pining to be,finding
my true love
who is waiting for me.

When it stops and all
is still
when the clocks cease
ticking
I'm sure it will
be time.

in the nature of evolution
we rise and we fall
each to its own hour
rallying to the call
of progress.

Occasionally
there's a hiatus
a wake up and wait for us
to catch up
and
we patch up the cracks in the
stars up above
lay down our lives for the ones
that we love
and deem it worthwhile that
we tarried awhile.


I have through the darkness
seen oceans of light
though the
pinpricks of night stabbed my eyes.

But these reminders
often behind us
are the patina of life

and on these billboards,
hoarded,
misers advertise
commiserating
telling lies

and all would seem stars
in my eyes
if I didn't see it
wasn't so.




If it be will
if it is so
and...

...and I shall still
miss it all.

So we give it another shot,
land on a comet that's
whizzing through space
and look what we got.
DIZZY.

In ten billion years time when time
has been round the block
the results will come in..

..as expected
this thing's just a rock.

Early
Late?
time won't wait and that's a lie.
Time,
flies by, and yet goes slow,goes fast
Time,
the last of the greats waits patiently.

The line of time runs straight but
what
if it bent like light to turn the day back into night
what then?
would scientists get ******* with the papers that they'd need to write?

Time and nuclear clocks make dreary reading.
Random seedings leading to the links they seek.while minutes poke and **** and leak into the atmosphere.
Time
so far,yet near enough to taste and wasted on the thoughts we think when in a blink, time ups and goes and how time slows the nearer we become to learning how and why things run the way they do.

Time,
and when it's through it starts or ends as in the blinking lights it bends,distorts and catches us quite unaware
and as we stare it waits and still is time,there is time still,time is still,one day I will begin to walk those lines of constant and of changing thought
but now
my fascination overrides of how time bides its time  and bends itself into my rhyme
I have all the time I need and yet have none
before I know it
time has gone.

A billion's a lot
not more than seven billion
because that's a lot more.

I wonder are they Chinese whispers
are they really real and if so
where do they go when the
sun goes down?

seven billion's a lot
they wouldn't fit in the town
where I grew up.

I'm getting sick of this pick and mix chess game
I feel like a pawn with three ***** on my head
a billion's a **** lot of people
all living,
but soon they'll be dead.

(20 minute poetry)

Under London
brain off
auto on

avert eyes
cut ties

In a cocoon
soon be there
soho square

life is rife
in the
West End

under London
this son's protected
eyes directed
at the floor

can't be any more than a bystander
when the seats are full.

Workmen and Women
all swimming downstream

I go with this flow, it's
the glue you get used to
the one that I know

smell it?

I can.

No one high
they all try
to be
inconspicuous

can you see them?

I can.

A swarthy gentleman who
smells of paint

a lady who ain't
what she seems

a tannoy
announcing,

mind the gap
doors closing.

Dreams

a beach so close
I could reach it

daiquiri
dearie?

a
bolt from the blue when
lightning hit you

a meadow
a hedgerow
a time to sit
and watch
the grass grow

but it's time to go

Soho

I walk to the sound of it
in the mood for it
now.

In my ears,
I hear bells and in
the church they are whispering
I cannot listen in because  
the bells keep on ringing,
they may be the harps that are
Angelic hearts or it could be
the Devil who is
bringing me home.

Under the grey blanket of a greyer sky
with a coffee watching them go by
wondering why
I can't relate
wondering why
the welfare state
wondering why I'm always late and
wondering why my coffee's black
and not au lait.

It rained last night, but I expected it and so made sure to find some place to go for shelter, no one here to help you when you're on the skids, ended up in a dark doorway with some kids from Manchester, more homeless with dreams unfulfilled, already skilled in begging cigs and looking sad and tearful which in some perverse kind of way made a future for them look more cheerful.

I left before the day was born, opened up the crack of dawn and looked inside, no hobby horses there to ride and so I walked alone into the town square,
sat there and here I am,
wondering why the sky
is grey.

Do we like it?
Yes
we do
when the working week
is through,

For a living
I dig tunnels,
escape
is always possible
if you put your mind
to it,

conditions being as they are
with redundancy, cut-backs
and the economy
I never get very far,
but I
really dig digging
so I keep at it.

It's all a side show
we
get ****** in and go
with the flow and
wherever it's going
we never know in
advance.

we should tell them to
shove it
and yet know that we
love it,
it's the pain we can handle
that stops us from hurting
some more.

and after age sixty it doesn't
hurt like it did
when I was a kid of fifteen.

Friday's fantastic,
but it's only okay
when you've been informed by the boss that
you're working on Saturday.

I looked at her
and
she acted like it
was a missile strike.

Bombs away
or
just another Monday?

If the leap of faith is
a quantum one
unexpected company
wants some
and
John
could be
strategically insignificant,
legally
deemed incompetent,

I
rest my case
reset my face
and place an order at
the bar.

My Sunday
so far
so good.

The mirror becomes an extension
reflecting that which we no longer see
and for every person that looks within
the mirror's reflecting 'me'

sometime a lake
or a river in flood
sometime a desert
sometimes it's good
not to see.

Too many Kings and
not enough Queens,
Halloween's to blame for that.

Everyone wants to be the devil
that shocks
not one of you want
to
dress in
pretty frocks,
such a shame.

I knew several witches that brewed,
bubbled,
got drunk and troubled they
stewed in their own juice, but no use
I believe on all Hallows eve
to me.
and the party
begins at
twelve.

The bed is calling,
quietly,
because
it's one of
those
Silent Night.
mattresses.

I met a seer at the bingo hall who seemed to know the number of every ball before it rose up that perspex tube.
It is dubious sort of man who can predict four corners or a line and then have time to prophesize about what prize he's going to get.
I bet he was such fun to know before he felt he had to go and spoil my day.
And I don't like bingo anyway.

Buy a car
insurance for life,
a holiday
get a wife.
Advertising everywhere, adverts even for fresh air,
they advertise the day you're born,
breast milk best keeps baby warm,  
all in one and one fits all
advertising's off the wall.

It's on the telly
on the street
on the shirts
on your feet
it makes me sick to think that I,
just buy and buy but I know why
and so do you,
Like sticks of rock were all wrote through
with slogans selling
logo's yelling
telling who would hear,
buy, buy, buy.

Demonstrations on the street
disrespect from all quarters,

definitely not
what mothers taught us,

They'll move along
they usually do
and
find something new
to get their teeth in.

Breathe in and smell
petroleum
exhale and find you're
one of them,

just a nightmare creeping
up on me,
this is not what mother
taught me.

For every snide remark
or quizzical look
there's a man in the crowd
who
'don't give a ****'

clean air act?
you've been bushwhacked
if you swallowed that,

clean air's for them up there
the one's in the enchanted
castles
we're just extras in the fable
(fillers
if you will)

I've been to paradise
once or twice
and
it's very nice,

but we sold it off with
the silver plate
I
think I should
demonstrate.

Shadows glide through shopping malls,

(old battalions,
older pals)

and on to where the show begins.

they say that he who dares is he who wins,
they dared, they won and when this day is done
they will have won again.

Faded in old photographs
Grandad laughs
his great-grandson smiles
and wipes away a tear.

I scroll up line by line,
every flamin' time,
it's as if
the screen is too stiff
to move any faster
or
I'm a nosey *******
and I
want to see it all.

Sunday and
one more day to drown in
the frowns of the righteous
and in the gowns of the dubious.

In the refuge of the hopeless
they pray even more and get less,
where
the air is infused with make-believe
some
make believe it'll be okay.

I salute them,
the women and men, who brought us from the gutter,laughter.
Those who buttered our bread with the words said and sung,
those who hung about bars
those who died in fast cars, and
after
all that remains is the laughter they gave,
the laughter we'll save
in our memories.

Slide your fingers,
crossing keys,
unlocking looks that
please me please,
make more
music,

I settle in the spin again
and sit out in the rain to feel
the seal of nature kissing me.
In this stripping spin
I find the place
where I begin
the commune,
and those who have passed beyond all thoughts are amassed in this place where I sit and I spin once again.
There is action to follow but it echoes around me,
the hollow is in me,
I will come what became and
I spin once again.

Some night when it's right and the moonlight reflects off the dew on the grass,
all will pass and once more will be
the hollow in me.

Would it suit me to do my duty for
Queen and country when all around me
what I can see
is the crumbling edifice of community
and the remains of a once
proud history.

Army?
and we become salvation, but for whom
if the bell should toll in that dreadful way
should I stay and fight or drift off into
the calamity of what is the endless night?

I dress in suits of many types
(he writes)
yet each suit is the same,
as underneath
there is no change
and the questioner remains.

They're churning out the same old,
same old
and it's getting on my ****

in a file within a file
we're all just ******' bits

Well I can bite and
I can growl
howl at the moon and such
so
the same old, same old
does not touch me
not so much
as it used to do.

Don't wanna see cats that krap
dogs that yip and yap
babies howling
lions growling
how to use up unused dowling.

Give me something I can chew
something I can sit and view,
without having suicidal thoughts.

You're like noughts without the crosses
the caber no one tosses
a lump of no good tree
it's no wonder
that you're free.

I'm going for a tea.

(fed up near Felixstowe)

This lobotomy turns out to be not such a shock to me after all, I fall and I rise, sleep in my eyes, but the days work is done even though a new day has begun. This lobotomy, this excuse for me is going home — travelling to Stratford, London Borough of Newham from Tottenham Court Road London Underground Station.

he lies to hide the fantasy and sits inside constructions of his juvenile delinquency prefabricating scenarios that she would see but only in the fantasy.

waiting to let fate in and watch dreams go out the door
trying to hold the tide of time wishing he could grab
some more,
Tombstone.
when this plan's revealed
and all these thoughts
are sealed in with me, it
will only be the beginning of
another lifetime and its fantasy,
but she knows that.

I thought goulash was on the archipelago but it turns out that it's not.

Mistakes are what we all make.

I make apfelstrudel, but once, I thought that was the name of a travelling minstrel, see how easy mistake are to make?

Your heart
beats me
into
submission.

Some wait for a lifeline
others wait for a lifetime
I wait for a number nine bus.

It's true,
we can trace ourselves back as far as Methuselah and why, what good would that do for you?

I'd be more impressed if you could tell me what's next.

Not one to be swayed by current opinion, though I can bend to the winds from whatever direction,
if imperfections were a pass to the club, I'd be a lifetime member,

but it's Friday which is my way of saying, two more days and the faithful will be praying for five more days to rob us blind.