Now on ocean floor
We garden with
Complete freedom.

Fantastic vines produce
Polyps, jellyfish and
Squashy pumpkins.

The old ways are forgotten

Speciation, classification,
Removal of forms from
This or that all undone.

Dragons laugh
Spitting fireballs
Which sizzle and lard
The sandy land.

Fantastic vines
Cling to surface
Tense and *******
Sun

Peach halves reunite
And passion fission
Fruits new flesh

And riding dolphin
Is the only bus

Now on sea bed
We reform our lives,
Give endless seed
Back to sky

Twin turtles
propelling gently
through warm oceans

Flipping belly to belly
no need of oxygen

Growing plump and huge
tomatoes on sea beds

Some days
anything is possible

Batcherlered
yes I miss you

But it goes to the brain

And here it goes

Breathing sgain

Flower explosion

What can we do

When it goes into
the dark?

And all I wanted was a kiss
Vast emptiness
nothing

Empty empty space
and all I wanted

Was you here

In security
and comfort

Full flowing

All growing

Flower of compassion.

Those struggling,
cut their bonds,
for you have power,

Cut their ties

Set them free

All I wanted was a kiss

GRAVITY

VAST SPACE

SPACE

Needle a *****
in atmosphere and
allow spirit escape.

Flood shared space
with something like love.

Burst the bubble and
go, earthlings,
dandelion seed on
cosmic winds,
go fertilize the planets.

This the freedom of generation

Mud skipping fish
blowing lung

Tentative reach beyond
self and the
oceanic goodness
of being

Walking,
talking words into being

Never noticed the stone
up ahead.

Stubby toes, let
rock remind,

Look around, watch
where you go.

Stood on one leg
clutching clubbed foot.

Old stone on the road,
thank you.

In dank imprisoned mind,
cellared,
thrown against a wall
by guttering candle,
huge monstrous thing
clawing at the stone.

On palmy beach, timorous,
hiding in sand, stored
Under feet in noonday heat.

Drinking wine with
the moon,
the three of us
flaggoned,
aliened underneath arches,
faintly there, drinking
out time away,
girding our *****.

Merged with She,
sheet crumpled, replete
with lust.

In every space, nook, cranny,
in qiuet contemplation,
thought myself alone,

But you have never left me,
capricious, morphing,
paranoic delightful
shadow of mine.

Yes you
you know who you are

Would you kindly return
the bleeding heart
(is it bleeding yet?)
you ripped so tenderly
from the gaping
chasm between
protuberant man-*******.

And perhaps
(should you be so kind)
under another cover
also post
the rib you broke
removing it.

Send it express,
the weight of life
support expels all
the air from my
spirit.

Should you throw
yourself upon

The mercy of the world

Beware the hoof
that tramples.

If your heart be pure
compassion perhaps

Some angel will
flap flap

Lift you above the
onrushing herd

Mystically shelled
snails in slime
embrace

And in vast space
galaxies spin
and dance the
fractal same

(On flat dead
man stone
lovers tongue
entwined play
the same nocturnal game)

Drink deep of lethe

And try to forget
that day

When the flower
bit the bee

Crawling across the earth
one of many creatures
crawling through the garden

Where is your dominion
termite mounds built high

Too many bonfires!
Too many bonfires!

finding a voice
canary singing
in the mine

finding a voice
prophet crying
on the mountain

finding a voice
sighing
lovers arms

and I am deaf too,
and too dumb to speak
kind, loud and slow
to your yearning ear.

and also too blind,
with distance unsighted,
this burgeoning love
too readily blighted

no language too pure for
your precious flower
no sentence to capture
our rapturous hour

dissonant rhyming
and unstructured versing
metaphoric tussle
empathetic cursing

who is it that dances through
the dawn?

that plays the tambourine
that drinks and loves
and lies abandoned?

it is this I that has no truth
no sense of self, this role
play in a suit, a tie,
hard hat or shorts.

who is it that lives in
sunny clime or winter chill?

it is I, not I
no self there nor there
ever was

not I, the I that rarely
is, a diamond rough,
cut of stuff ineffable.

who is it that sees me now?
why you, mirror of my sigh
and you are you, who you?

the void
is not void

every direction

spun

hang out the washing!

this springing day

Sat on grass
beneath canopy
leaf

under body
seedling grows

fifty year
immobile
tree grows high

wide

sitting seeing far
with tree high eye

It is a long hard road
my ancient brother

I see you packing your back
with what you may need

Or not.

The long hard journey lies before you

It is a long hard hard road
my ancient brother
would that I could
walk it with you

Wheelbarrow heaped
with drywood
chopped for grate

Pyramidial tripod
iron ***
hanging

Boiled water rolling
steam and
soggy entrails
of some unlucky animal

Roots shoots and flowers
arrive in woven basket
from long grazed field

Dogs circle
wary, hungry
sniffing at scraps

In a cave
Madmen spit ochre
on hands glued to walls

Cavebound
mad mike scribbles
his civilized mind

Was your baby
an arm here
torso
head over there
some other limbs or
organs tomorrow

To be stitched together
in a week or year
or two?

And was that baby
(perhaps ugly as sin)
beautiful to you?

Pah!

You come out whole
my little wordlings

I kiss you on your
knotty spine and
leave

Bon chance
bon voyage

Have a good life
hope some reader
loves you

Unique tribal and
undulating forms

Even reverie has limit

Better yet a borrowed phrase

Force flows within
purple wilting flower

Torrential abuse
Fish battered overfried

Such power obliterates
the past

Explosive reaction
chemicalised

Dawn prevaricates-
reluctant to break

But mynah beaks open
their cacophany amongst
rustling bamboos

Dogs stretch and yawn
nuzzling to run in the
relative cool

I wait

Let light encourage
Snake to slither home
to burrows, fat from
night feed
in they squeeze

Full moon round as cheese
sinks stately behind
the promontory

On turning
sun drips honey
over greened mountains

Five islands sit-
their time will come

As mine, alas
has gone

In the world cannot erase
the tedium of an english
seaside suburb where
old colonials retire

Cricket and warm beer
the elongated death of
the english gentleman

John Arlott describes
scattring pigeons as the
ball rolls idly by

A gentle ****** of teacups
(bone china) and
Betjeman on the wireless
1,000 years of Malmesbury town

Of elegant languor
with a tint of sepia
melancholy

The romance of
vague longing
and nostalgic bloom
a fading chrysanthemum
perhaps

Taking the promenade
panama hat and shades
suit sewn by hand and
long corporate umbrella

Macintosh and overcoat
by turns repel the
damp and cold

Cognac by the fire
and wistful glances with
widows in the hotel bar

Strolling on with
meaningless purpose
toward Edwardian
disaster

Sleeping little girl
face of never been kissed

Waking sleepy eyes cloudy
with dew lips stretching
to smile

Rutting face flushed
contorted pleasure
good big bad girl

Morning face open as sun

Working face furrowed
in concentration

Evening face made to
melt in painted splendour

Myriad facets of one
beloved face haloed
by tumbling hair
and massing gravitational
pull on one helpless man

Lincoln green robin
hoodwinking the
greedy rich

Feeding the poor
robin red breast
flaunting credentials
robbing the lady
marion
the little birds of their
flimsy
filmy honor

Little boy little
man-child john
little mowgli
conquering the jungle
conquering the tiger
riding imperious
the stark grey brown elephant

And backscratching bear
sleeping in the greensward
dancing with milady
tucking into supper of
fast arrowed stag

Hung out and dried
between devil trees
and huts afire

Across the brittle
yellow beach into
the deep blue sea

Speared by humiliation

Burst bubble
ego de-ballooned

From desolation row
give out the
phoenix call and fly

Flapping through the flames

Office girls hitch their skirts
craving lunchtime sun

Rabbitting salad
admiring slender thigh

Prince charming rides by
his charger rearing

This evening the ball
is all in cinders

Dawn sweepers out
clearing the
detritus of darkness

Chaos and disorder of
night giving way, reluctant,
to pretence at industry

Wantonness abandoned
until the black silk sheet
renders revellers invisible.

O passions
you are
what you are

Logos and light
you may merge

And crave the gloaming

"Be in the present
in the here and now"

In arrogant black still
sure
very still

Equanimity, equilibrium
yes

But Godwin please your
be here now
ruinous to stillness
to meditation
rupturing the pre-dawn silence and
self-reflected perfection

What it is like
now you are dead

To realise-
pupil sometimes equals
fool

Candelabra of chestnut

Aroma catches back
the throat

Conker on a string

Battles and innocence

If you have
contemplated
suicide

You are a good person.

If not
a fool.

The world is mad
not you.

Stick around

This too will pass

The deeper you feel
the higher you fly.

Meet me here
in the muddled middle

It is only natural
to use your narrow logic
tick box
and categorise

To hold this freedom
in your mind

Resist resist
this logical temptation

You are not
a number

You are free

Found the land
map peters out

No hole
no treasure
cigar burn on casket.

Hand Robert Graves
fondling
jar full of marbles

Hand writing

House making
never mind.

Trench breaking

Old Homer loves you

Truth teller

Blind and sunned

You knew
you knew

Marble margle
pirate treasure
small boy treasure
skull and crossbones

Mappa mundi
treasure treasure
take me captain
morgan
take me home

Land and women
land and women

Fertile land
fertile women

Stop

Fighting for
land and women
and status
and land
and women
and

Stop

Telling me
to grow up

You grow up

Pulled from earth,
clothed,
unable to connect.

vicious people

waiting

slimy silken cord
of family
finally sliced away.

has it really
come to this?

Every syllable a shock

reminder of genes
chimpanzeeed in error.

aberration of speech
worm-holing space,

frog-splashing time,

Homer not gone,
****** calls to battle

and the siren song.

anyhow
that was the day I gave up everything

one thousand hotel mirrors
well travelled.

train Milan, cheek-kissed Maria.

cognac. A man. Unconsumed.

Guylove dance, marketplace Castries.
Lord Jackson, Victor
Calypso kinging.

Anyhow
that was the day I gave up dancing

Jack lighthouse, broken glass,
spilled Guinness never forgiven.
Named my son for him.

Anyhow
that was the day I gave up talking

crew cut Poughkeepsie, émigré fashion
boarding cockle boat, Dunkirking
Queen Mary.
Nero sunsetting on piddling empire
wallmap fading red to wilted pink

scouring the bottom of titanic bucket,
glorious lido summer, dear Liza,
got a hole in it(torn piece of rubber
mnemonic for a mother)

anyhow
that was the day I gave up ***

now come the restoration of the king.

London shall rise again,
borne on tide of flying,
infinite darkness,
osmosis of light.

whisper saint Paulus,
de-clocked, unthroning,
myriad swimmers swarm
canal cut channel,
(furry animals cluster, cuddle
in unlikely couplings).

quavering timbers
blowing and swaying,
queen lay dying, long live the king.

anyhow
that was the day I gave up my mind

Small cave in the
western cliff

Monk cell in the
western cliff

Waiting
waiting
patiently

Small cave
high himalayas
boyhood dream

No puff puff choo choo
whistling steam
no red as fire engine

Small cave high mountain
tiger company
deer company

No ***** *****
boys a' marchin'
no kick kick win goal

Small cave
Small cave
chill air
and smiling

Gipsy take me

Away away

Far from bethnal green

Ten years old
wanted away away

Near sixty lord
let me go

In a dark house
a dank cellar
I dreamt my death

Ten years old
and dead already

Near fifty years on
oh lord let me birth

Cobbles wet
air thick
unviewable.

Feeling the weeping
victorian brick of
railway arch

Warm fug of
pigeon feathers
ammonia droppings
and the playground
of houses ruined
by bombs in the
reign of hate.

Elsewhere london
swings-

A small boy lost in pea soup

(in the grate
banks of coal
glow and flicker
pictures, movies
of the soul)

trod lightly to avoid
disturbing leaves fallen
and feeding filamental roots
of fungus.

these puffing spores,
teasing the nose to sneeze
a spawning mushroom love.

wherewithal to breed,
hypothecary of suspension
neither dead nor alive, hung
in the balance, forests outweighed.

you soaked my love in your hand
kerchief, adjusted outdoor lipstick
in the mirror forever ready in the sacred
pouch of bag.

you like to love in the woods, on the beach,
in that castle and on the bus
carrying us from Paris.

thrilling the thought of capture,
a sudden lens, natural rapture,
fecundity of trees spilling carefree nuts,

of hairy bee legs moving the future,
whole species in a shuddering buzz.
hairs in my nasal passage protrude,

never have money, the
necromancer said, reading this face,
portraiture of fortune.

but in this new forest
on bedded lichen and moss
scratching and soothing, intermittent
I saw you, naked as morning joy.