shingle
varnished
by seawater
fade as
dried salts
prove the
Sun's mettle

hungry
children
by beach play
quieten
when chips
polystyrene
pools salt
and vinegar

sharp
defences
cut bare feet
sharpened
nerve endings
paddling out
in salty sea

you dared.
the night ruby.
tight furled and guarded
by fangs lined
green and brown.

you came.
a delight in
in light unwrapping
moistened by
drops of a
dawn that rolled
your curves.
shimmered in
your folds.

you held.
on my
darkening bleed, spoilt
and drying hard,
on your soft
vermilions.
*****, holding
you too tight.

Turning to Uncle Dai I wanted to speak
but

Motes flew sticking to his hat, greasy
and soot blackened. Third generation
drivers hat made from good dirt.

Embers, hot, stole the air from lungs.
They orange stars underfoot so
surely had the tunnel transported
us to the Southern hemisphere.

Steam and boiling water releasing
valves, driving pistons after clanging
gates. Ruled over all and any
utterance
until

That single silence born on the
flash of ivory in the fireman's
face. Son of the driver. To
I playing role of grandson
to follow
and

Dai's dar something in
the smoke.

tears have welled me
curtailed
cut up
cupped

pure hope is
they remain
vesselled.

in me or in vial.

as tears dry inside me
the one dropped in
glass
is just water

the others ache
behind
vitreous

lips part, two strings, the puppet master yanks
in eager yearning to see her smile,
he laughs at the blood spilling down her cheeks
she laughs back. spitting and swallowing in turn
biting on hooks. shift to point; she spins.
wires tense straining at any held purpose.

gritted and mounted to station wires
cut deep into flesh, fat through bone
until cracking free to fly with severed
manipulators and flowing blood.

the stage set slippery. sanguine
Bambi skids and falls. Disney
without the artifice. The mother seen
to die the exhilaration of death vivid
in the killers eyes.

the final cut. hooks join chummed
with jowl and tongue.

as one the audience stand.
****** silent.
faces lit with praise are but stitched arcs
applause a vacancy of hands.



............................
The writers Iniquity and MrQuipty
collaborate again
©

lines mark boundaries
scratched by gunship
cannon fire
crossed regardless by
their smoke .

preserved on haze made
horizon from concrete
ministries bunkering
a fissionable peace.

avant garde fighters
control as shoeless
fashionistas
brokering fear in a
'retro' style of blades
and system spooks.

working poor garb
in fake labels
preferring sim-culottes
to any daring
protests against
themselves.

we are all Benetton
and on message hating
colour or hating the
hating of colour.hungry
habits of the two tones
chimed by the 'we all bleed
the same' brigades.

shop the same, perhaps.

standing in queues behind
logos made of corporate
programming dependant
on the modern gunship
smoke territorying our
lives.

we are all under arms.

ultra spectral radiance
captured in faceted
eye

lure, in curve, of stoop
stops
looping flight

here is sweetness
to be teased.
I will wet you
then
redress.

now I am favoured
go savour, honey.

butterfly
leaves dead wings
early fall

brick pointer
arrows empty sky
St. Somebody

man limps across
busy street the cars stop
standing for attention

Hard brittle lights.
Faked without heat.
Hurts eyes driving
home words. Finger
sharp pointed pixels.
crack sleep little.
cold and floored
glow of heat
calls

me giddy and on
gentle pads I secure
myself to a rapture of
rest and a heart beat
be love
be love
be love
to fall away again
under waxy light
slowly burnishing
my analogue world of
slumbers

shaken by distant call to rest

glare of harsh blue
white is softened by
day. heat lifts
and maintains
fight back through
bitter coffee.
digits are soft coloured
and in laundered whisper of
emotional thrill
as fortune and dreams
call out softly
let
us
g
o

sinews taut running
tendons stringing muscle
to bone

armour front
and haunches
lowered menace
mechanised into form :
fangs
spittle
ears flat
eyes adrenaline wide.

viscous red tongue venting
between growls
gut deep.

yet and twisted

rolled on side the
frame is supine. flattening
hair stiffened to bulk
to frighten

hormone rush is now quivering,
racing pulse and, throbbing
veins exposed under
flesh shy of bone.

near gutless .meat offered
to fangs wet with it's blood.
ears folded hear the howl.
there is silence and
a final pathetic yelp.
platitudes.
To the pack standing
in lines witness will departing
in the
blooding of a king.

sure, *****
strut a pace
with the
subtle
redirection
of the
head.

spurs sharp
and maiden
blooded.
plumed fine.
head and chin
the red of
warrior men.

when set
to crow. cooped
low, this beast,
beak pushed
against
farmyard feet.
no.

wandering is nothing but
distracting.
the pace is rhythm
making and recalling
music and verse until

eyes focus on juxtaposed
man with club foot and
pan bottom black eyes.

discordant dismissed song

they're not always there
, breaking,
when wandering .
the percussion stops
in crowds . Revery then
a swarm consciousness
of street starlings
part one mind part
mindful of pickpocketing
magpies

one can always leave
spin the record back
and step on as just
you.
wandering about in
rhythms is a mercy
from deadlines.
a must have time
to pace to
when you have no
destination.

placed in hand tenderly
and double squeezed
security

the bond ready to test
road crossing
duress

heads, pairs of eyes
scan and swivel
on senses relies

bigger foot hovers
little starts the
bother

of learning to cross
from his big brother

rebars rust splitting concrete at irons cost
grey dust falls away from exaggerated wires

urban decay promoted by grandstanding
youth atop another. marker pen names .
inspired rap crap anonymity shouts
I woz here ( to those in the know)

sterile pens these days not even sniffable.

brains over and out on wifi . WAN faces
from vitreous messages blinking out
hate and spite for structures. Scenes
are augmented hunts of ghouls.

next addicts in line: petting in play
gyms on street corners. Cartoon
wars have no conflict?

clouds of vape a new narcosis .
in stupor we watch them
swallowing grey bytes flaked
off the cable networks of yuff.

dragged hedge marks
outline of decades
old scratching

soil marks parallel
and perpendicular
are not hare tracks
and are hare tracks

so subject to vaguery
of climate and fashion
a hedge makes
near squares
from afar

closer it is the
edge of the world.
fledglings chance
on dragons
and cubs
smell territory
on the wind

lustre worthy
of Murano
and industry
too

desire of the
impossible light
in glass that
crystals it's edges
is absent

want

is the song.
the pure note
of blown
glass.

music made
when gently
struck
in time with
ebb and flow
of it's water.

sing. I am response.

something about a little street and pigeons

past the road crossed by

pigeons driven by fear

of hurrying commuters

or hunger for fast food

bags

is the last shop



It's forever open door sentried

by wine soaked owner

unsteady on the

edge



pavement and narrow

road bottlenecks so

that with some relief

customers hurry by



Yet. So like the

books he sells

there is no world

until the page is

turned



that door frames

a world of change

that a simple word

unlocks



instead people curse

the pigeons

and worry

about clocks

shouting

departure times

a meandering we will go
like winds hunting sails
the after love love glow.
stops. two hearts it fails

strangled on it's own
cord cursed stillborn
blood wetted down
less hair more devil's horn

shoebox size coffin
barers slapping hands
lest grief is forgotten
loves fire buried in sands

there is pain but absent
blame: dead love is nascent.

ragged complexion nearly
distracts from his eyes
the staccato of his limbs
semaphores his battle with
demons

I urge him silently to shout them out

it shames me deeply
and my turn to blot
my skin weak.

like a human stutter the
crippling in him carried
him away

too slowly

crossing the road in looking
back my demons
play patacake on my  spine

tulip heads droop
low and before
petals drop
in a sickly
wind swing.
knell their
own end.

drawing in
final air the
bulb swells
a Summer
long.
It's Spring demise
but a charm
to entice
single flowers
to bloom bright
and, in colour,
ring out their
nights.

people cower
under a liberty
sky
sunken by a
war of fear.
lost and
counted in
innocent corpses.

skins are thinner
than ideology

bones cannot
bare hate

eyes cannot
un-see

nothing corporeal
can fight fear

that war is lost

let gentle kisses
change your shape.
smooth words
are but tender
tiny cuts unfelt
until you bathe.

let's bathe together.

you draw from a hot
salty spigot
determined that hurt
forms and is desire.
sculpture cuts away
there is noise and
loss.

cooling to blood.
I will enter water.
see I to have cut.
small bits of me
mix with you.

no pain.

the potter lifts
out of mud.
gentle fingers
persuade and
shape beauty
with utility .

no loss.

now, let's colour,
in a slow
hardening
over fire.

a twisted
fence
our place to
hide
galaxies.

tadpole and
black-eye
just two

on a paper
we that
night fold
and intern
names.

birds on roof
scream some instruction
flight club

baby seagull hides
under a bench
mother sits on wall

dry insides that
rasp on
strained forgiveness.

augered goodness
residues cake that
is bitter.

changes are not
all the same.

pressure makes
liquid out of nothing.
screws force liquid
out.

one magic the
other tragic
and spent

sparrow hops
onto fence
with broken gate

tree shadow
stretches over sundial
time stops

pebble
alone on path
shingle

curved and stretched
tiny sinews rub
tendons

opposite prayer
hands open
to the sky
catching drops
tiny droplets
water dropping
a blessing

too small for
such abundance
river running
ruining modesty.
run. You chase me.


arms pumping
water moving
liquid bodies
pool in glade
pulling off me
moon pools burst
you fountain
on me.

strawberry field
so many tiny hearts
touching dirt

hidden high
a barrels' smoke drifts
hatred spills
on streets marched
white with black, is red

taken by rough hands
makes me fearful
but wind whispers
me silent.
timbered in arms
tendered to lull
trembling heart

nearer a gentle
coolness drifts
on a wind
carrying bell charms
sweet flower bells
belladonna to lips

dappled in light
and death dreams
water in nose
and lungs
I fight the demons
and fight back
flight away from
black pearl

alone
half drowned
half reborn
I gather up my clothes
I gather up broken
pieces.
pieces that are
my
gathered shroud

In lee of the Ash
'twould be me
hiding in trees.
bare arms held high.
raw from rubbing the bark.

breath a ragged whisper,
the language of dead leaves

lingnen umbrellas once shadow makers now of the dark

encased in abandoned shade,
stability is a fabled illusion

colours of autumn fade.
forms become skeleton.
dirt is fed.

earthen daydreams corrode,
fertile nightmares,
demons grow in place of daisies

their eyes are hungry in a barren place until the ash buds swell

dried petals melt to gravity,
possess my naked frame

under the low sun after dewy drapes lift.
green blessings distract

undulating bodies,
supplication of sweet release

'tis what demon desires and to have must part with pomegranate

the seeds of damnation,
lament dearest Persephone,
your cry shall reign all dominion

a Bentham call for the utility that the wood be of seasons

colors of autumn fade,
forms become skeleton,
hello death's wintry mistress

colours of spring wait.
Morbid redress

leaving hulled seed a heliotrope with skying ambition.
Brethren in tumultuous glory.

Bask eternal in tumultuous glory.

nothingness from Khaos:
us.
far-reaching apes
throwing complex
machines
at rocks.
Kosmos laughs.

risen by tracing
a relief of you in silk
Venus razes dawn

almond eyes lowered under cover.
hands stained red with dirt are held.
wantonly, widows lift veils, waiting
for sheet flagging a ****** crossing

scratches marr the mirror
rain rivers my window

so much is tangential
in my view.

my yearn is to know
truth
learned from fidelity

what substance have I
when straight ahead is rivered
and reflection scoures
me

hooks hang from me
catching stares
on so normal streets

hooks cut from
lines baited with
bits of dead lovers

I carry on. rust
marked aware
of your barbs

once rocks .
now weathered
stones inclined
by wind.
something
devout
in that vane
stuck
gold
and facing
forever
south

elephant silently
steps past
slumbering
baby
by
trees,
by
wind,
humming
lullabies.

gently she pushes
in that shy way

"everything you had
has been taken
today"

pain is absent
in this flow

somethings 'tis
just to be let
go

patiently the
touched rested

stoics to be
truly tested

holding dear
to abate fear

faith

that wreaths
return
on
Styxs tidal water.

Beyond bewildered that one of class
empowered by playing politics.
Dare now to claim ground so far distance
from democractic vote as good practise .

Rule; a shameful parade dressed in colours
and ideology popular hued
resplendently stained by party failures
to engage despite pressed powers used.

Influence from Baron's of paper print
devoted to preserving the city state.
Machiavelli and power of the prince
Used against democracy as vile hate

That we demos, the people, maintain
the laws that protect as one, the same

self indulgence the poet's
right
or plunder.

colliding emotions
into passages
set drifting off
flounder into
minds

and

canker in their own juices

until

they monster out
reborn in another .
alien eruption
howling of what loss?

fine, poet, to spew
into your mouth.
to purge.
swallow.

ruminate and then compose
Your self.

stinking rag piles
human effluent
with no
sewer to
sanitise.

I am the purge.
pocket of
gasoline
a spark in
the night.

screams call the victory
of
sweet vapours
over
living ****.

I breathe it in,
off my fingers,
as I leave.

affronted
by words
crafted to
incite
a gale howls
in protest.
I temper.
response to
goad is
your lead.
I set leeward
in spite.

smug as June's rose.
pumped up pride.
there she goes
with
sisters side to side.
hands clenched as fist
and holding feathers
white. The gist:
'cause you shame
our fighting brothers.

eyes are haunted
though.
the love she
hides for other
than her soldier
in Flanders
who beats her
sore
when ashore.

so brave, bearer of white feathers,
where is your courage tethered.

bird carcass
headless
a trophy someplace

I am the
rainbow
fish.

I fly
from
the
ocean,
conquer
sky.

Of land or
sea
my promise.
a wish.

pax pacis