As ever sobriety turned the night late
ever panic twisting like a harbinger
once rolling tumblers contained  the torrent,
but she's fending her weary stance
to regain control, sharpening  the razors edge
the tiresome inordonance!

There is a fissure in time
its a long streak ever widening,
even the candlestick maker senses
the future.
Serena is the odd one out in the village
with an enchanting garden backing on to the forest
but the land grab is on
and the houses are a coming soon.

Huevos Cabreaos
followed by an Americano,
taking respite from those morning Lowry figurines with their bon bon shopping priorities.
A Puerto Rican girl has just passed the La Tasca informal interview
and is immediately hugged by her awaiting friends,
life is so fast and we all think like wikipaedia, fragments of momentary knowledge ,
even the menu here has a photographic memory lock,
outside a Big Issue seller makes his first sale
the broadest Lancashire accent,
can soothe somebody's day,
here is the reality of listening too.

The night charade and other assorted chimes at the Bedford,
sometimes I stare at the moon,
it cannot comprehend what is going on
lost devotions, hedonism, no bulwark,
it stretches as far as the Wandle river
where a
once rusted supermarket trolley spoke as an epiphany,
for the immemorial down trodden.
Maria agreed, hope is transient,
perhaps unaware of the allusion.

Peter windowsill had a one track mind,
crystalline thoughts vexed him
a  suede  fringed woman had him smarting, but he's not the worrying kind.
Oh to be a Postman the best things come as future vermilion diaries
but birth mother's never recall their clams,
she's as attentive as a Cuckoo
sounding her new hatchling.
Peter window shop resounding
a chip off the old block

He wanted to take charge of life again
and use slide film with his Canon EF SLR this barren year,
and give long stares to all those Tripod Digitalits
outside Victoria Station
creating their own version of affordable youth,
thinking pixel dust would swam them along.
He felt the strain of believing in the recent past,
please intentionally use your typewriter and record player
you need to create 1982 again!
The Christmas meal would on the 21st
like a flea in a dog's ear
too near the exile of Christmas
He feared the break would make him stir crazy,
2013 would emerge
surely more of the same.
A risible Tory Government
perhaps alternative comedy was far from dead.
"Splitting Image" would be their neutron Bomb,
Such thoughts made him want to love the common people again

The Fanzine said it would be something for the connoisseur a la mode de
glue sniffing Leeds yokels rampaging Bournemouth,
even the away supporters taches already looked ropey,
until the 'Pool headed in the only goal.
The claustrophobic fury was clearly palpable
and this feat would be sealed  later

The prehensile snout of a Tapir
is  posturally renowned,
but  I am no caricaturist
unless I required Rhinoplasty
Neither am I an
Air Force Major or a Fireman,
never having shot or doused in anger
never clanged quid pro quo,
I am a wordsmith, without  a necessarily  dangerous  course,
a wedgeless door stop this side of juxtaposition,
trying for a profile,
riding on a buzz,
to think so few images
could  conjure so much verdure

Who is amused?
there's primordial ivy clinging  on my brickwork
and an incident of blank verse at my poetry club,
possible unemployment rearing its head for moi.
Before my downsizing commences,
I've  been busy buying more CD's
but that's my contre jour
befittingly everybody else is into  iTunes,
I can only listen to myself,
even if music be the devils tune
I'll  soon be home for more,
burning fossil fuels willingly
of Mesohippus's and other three toes.

It couldn't get any better,
Minolta's flagship  XM system is launched,
Gotta have it with Kodachrome 64 ! Meanwhile
Fruupp have their "The Prince of Heaven's Eyes"
Ted Heath's  "U" turn has unravelled  
and the Liverbirds are on the pill,
for some the revolution is complete.
There's next year before the EEC referendum
with the chance to make the right  decision.
I'll never forget my Dad's yellow
"Ford Cortina" before the Datsun
become a better prospect.
Roll on Kolchak Nightstalker
you're Chicago's last saviour.
United Nations resolution 366
has something  to say
about South West Africa.
But at least  Jessica Harper was
"Special to  Me".

Ailsa Craig, Ailsa Craig. Ailsa Craig
Why can't  I have you instead of
Kelsea,Kelsea,Kelsea,
what a favorite of the showbench.
Give me Leak the Lyon anytime
in favour of Pendle Improved.
Onions are for eating,
flavour is more important
to hell who wins on the show day.

He died with his boots on
but he was no hero of mine
he was the famous grouse
and hen pecked husband
of a cuckolded wife.
having made the stickleback and
jaundiced  Moon resolute .

He is not really happy.
having studied Scaffolding
but for now he is un-waged
and unlike codeine, pain becomes  an inverse release.
He focusses thoughts on the past
and somehow  thinks
Manchester City F.C 1955
were an in-form team
and 1971 had the best sueded hippy chicks
with names like Sheila and Madeline
But believes in his heart, post Jubilee 1977
was when the purple  patch went rotten.

Who is special ?
I only see gustier, cobweb and coil.
My slide film captures the hues of Autumn perfectly.
Mordant is an unfeeling word,
Sometimes I think a November song is moving

she walked beyond
fearing the last creature
by her shadow,
supple palms - she forgotten
what had caused
her denizen to perceive
more than what was allowed.

stet and stumble,
both wavering excuses.
I never meant to re impose,
the scars you carried
as you set out  with your new retinue,
denounce in lieu of reclamation
if you wish.

EFFECT and cause
recalling that motionless gust,
surface to air fails .
what about you?
dormant  before roused.

She cared enough to buy him
apples in the rain.
Mena his jasmine,
the love of yesterday
repaid by images of simple snow

The lost Sun dial bears no shadows
bramble is its crown
plinth weathered

You're a Street Map that has to be believed.
George Street 1975 then a jewel in everybody's  Crown, Mister K too.
Croydon had it all, the weekly Safeway shopping -
Grants , North End, Greyhound and L & H Cloake,
even a Manhattan skyline -
Shop girls  I was too young to know
a la W.H Smith's Whitgift Centre
with a surfeit of ready Queen  albums!
even the YMCA  
would have done Disco
B.T Express's "do it till your satisfied"
I believe,
and the always evergreen
Van Damme Bar.
The Tavern in the Town
fondly recalled.

For fity miles
she rode on a  rare Steed
to show her endeavour,
never saying whether should would dither -
a hearth must be prepared with care
a heart's evermore if it is sincere,
dreaming of the future under a
Trestle viaduct,
she recalled tact,
your typical daughter
with thin waist
and flaxen hair
could be changed by the World,
instead she had the courage of choice,
to embroider a kindred yarn
and perform revival folk
to kinder Columbine kingdoms,
perchance early to rise?

The shrill wind carries  through decaying buildings
pits loneliness, despite "London Pride" blooming
like it did in the last Conflict.
Philistines journey home on Circular pathways,
we are all  in a dearth of orbital now,
is there enough opportunity
to resurrect the heart, that neon centre
before the People barriers whittle .

Turtlenecks are insufficient for walks on  dunes
as are gifted sandals without enough Dubbin
but I am gazing at your familial wrist, longing on a soothe song,
trying not to imagine a life without you
possessing your smile
with uncharted goals.

I watch her and know my friend's Cat has a soul
why greet me and chase away the strays ?
Go figure out the unity, it last
and you will realise
there's instinctual maturity,
the pride of her groom
the health regime of cat grass
prawns auto reckoning !
the decision that Rock N Roll
is a tacky tail, is gracious,
her class suitably ignores
associated man made discordance

Colours buy silence.
I publicly deny Prussian Blue was my first,
the colour of a Paratrooper
but my Lover bequested the time.
I subterfuge the lower end scale of green,
like hopeless moss
coilling my Adversaries dreams
I am sunk with a kiss -
deeper than quagmire
she will obtuse my decree,
home is the tireless winds
further than the cut of her high cheekbones

String vests with spittle trailing
Budvar to invariably show independence,
they snare the spectacles of the respectable evenings sheen,
later calling the night *****, and kicking  hoardings
as if they had wanted to disinter the dammed.
The former love of parakeets,
by once fine people,
also released Yellow to this New World
matching the jaundiced jab
of a hooligan denying  his head

I used to count the Acers
honed red striped wood,
offering hope in depths of February,
aeons of breakfast wishes
played changes that cannot be backed down
any more than my russet creations,
I long for companionship
as earthy as bottled Bordeaux ,
only if my crocus mia pathway
enfuses with the sound
of the incurious  contendedly arriving

The Lead School is almost draping over the Highway,
they laughed at the boy who fell behind
printed words and pointed letters,
it felt like suffocation,
young almost cubs, but they knew how to hurt
then an instinctive kick in retort
gave exaggeration flourish -
brought the flesh and shin back
and they bemused equivocalness.

Another day passes,
amounting to wishes forever gone,
moderation commending  self control
Down tools for the Sandman, in sympathy,
if he could at least meet his Golden Stranger
and orchestrate Kites for Dreamers,
he'd steer us all, assuredly.
But every year is in the same league
uncertain before it's began.
The highs and lows just worn
to create  pools of impassiveness.

After a while even Heaven fades,
exalted tube journeys
and flourished delicatessens
helps change the mind.
Weekend Bed sits in Notting Hill Gate,
regaling stories of  her missed A levels
and dreams of being an actress,
before being misunderstood,
in turn he intended to go to Polytechnic,
two potentially interesting people
future's denied by defenestration,
too late in building bridges
learnt by confirming hurt.

The singles game had the power to change,
all it requires is believability
and prosaic earrings with stories about Turkish exes,
welcome together in a taxi to Blackheath
home to Father's Anchor butter
and her  tireless Cat Stevens dreams
an open secret she's got an addictive habit.
Gin and on off days  
Tobacco for cultivating asthmatic lungs.
Could never understand was this an
altering cry for help.

Headland and Flounders
drift alongside the edge
and what is excluded
bitter vetch, its famine vouch.
Life was then hewed
on a cusps of Moon,
their points return as
Libertines and Rakes.
Born from the same ideal
with choice to inform
and saddle the consequences.

You don't look a day older than bad manners
Remember to let people off the Train first.
Old fashion common sense has gone,
we are generating our everyday Cleopatra
where the private  is as imperative  as the  public persona ,
unbeknown nail polish is on a reconnaissance mission
for  blase solvent effects,
and as for Gentleman  I cannot think of a
suitable Mass observation survey yet,
but if i did,
there wouldn't be enough Stradivarius volins to avail.
Note too how bus drivers aren't generally slow
and bicyclists are veering militant
driving instructors take chances through the red  lights,
city life is
not necessarily construed as a public safety issue,
but everything  is considered less relevant
in the pursuit of balanced manners.

That watershed moment
when the eye goggles comes off,
is akin to winning the Burleigh Horse Trials
with the much coveted Trophy.
Meeting a Rambler as an equal
on an arduous fog clouded valley
along the Devil's Punchbowl,
or a French Phrase Book
that's almost perusal by nature,
under the Arc de Triomphe
How I long to be accomplished
as one of the few, rather than a
casual follower of Velleity .

I fear for rusted Anchors
my World is losing to groynes,
the high Tides now poses myriads of questions,
all those categorial compartmentalisations
by my friends who recalled their Spring.
every different nuance uttered,
unless its guided by the future
I will shortly never share in their words.
The submission of responsibility to learn as much
sweeps the tide of the unquestioned awake

Stay put Owner occupiers  are now envied
corners of smudged wealth,
suburbian renters isotope
brandish new England
more the continental model.
In derelict public houses
inside weightless Box Rooms
every blade of concrete counts.
I shall play in once Lavender fields
and usher questions.
How many times
do we render our knowledge?
ghost town forms are in submission,
again recession chimes
more than a lack of opportunities,
but who are these  newcomers arriving en masse
to once bespoke areas
with money earned
from former unfashionable abodes ?

Into free-fall, there's stymie and no rhythm
the grasshoppers fly around in circles, unaware,
the flow is as soak grass
burnt by the equivocal scorching sun,
wonder waits still for recognition
that will dissolve, unremembered
as soon as we get second wind

He  never wanted
to be stymied or recalled.
If the Spiff could plough through
enough people as a blasé traveller,
he would bag their yesterdays.
But looking through their Zebra glasses
over time , whose  skies are really
outdone by the proverbial
"mind your own bees wax" ?
it was always the same, the arcane strain,
like overhearing variants of Serbo-Croat
on an unheated train to Chippenham.

asunder any new thought
and garish now my name
wax lyrical over all we ever spoke,
flourish with those  wind dancers
vying the whispering ledge
expediting with the pine and turtle dove,
your lodestar was decidedly second class
he could never ascend,
to find himself another Spire.

Threatened curiosity rhymes better than I
A panic attack infused with sinusitis
Willesden digs clang its tentacles
into blobbed concrete.
Cringing as I walked by
Anita scrawled her unsavoury - mercy.
She could not endure a Son of a Publican
on a weekend jolt,
a hand washed duvet potested,
pitch and putt compressed
too many red lines crossed.

I used to project cobwebs
much as I had gelatin laces
laced  in circular jars

Scoffed Pink pigtails nestle on rusted wire.
Captives  and their butterflies,
borrow hope till  dawn .
Way back they surrendered their dignity.
Hallowed chapters of  Collegiate sobriety
tussled  wearing a dress like a **** of hay.
How can they un- burden future  perception?
I know of the fire storm back home
but the expectancy is forgone
Extended with shame
Pink Rayon complies disparagingly
already moribund.

Her aspirant heart once ventured
and then she was gone
No bugle at dawn.
The Songstress's cascade
bedeviled by the World unknown,
ivy festooned Water Towers
languished by the winds screech
siphoning the brasses cheer,
the pitch standing hollow
no longer lustral
merely a speckless  whisper

She had always been a dreamer
never believing 5"2 had been the issue.
A Napoleon comfort complex cultivated
Believing personal leadership was inevitable
St Helena would never be an option.
Her akimbo pose was to die for.
ADÉLIE, of  sometimes higher ideal
your eyes gaze without feeling
across the Channel deemed possibly truculent.
Blinded by this scary Palladium
you should only untangle due blame.

the cryptic egg is the custodian
the egg is greater than the seed
the seed is the dynastic interpretation

Commonality we've surrendered
the Public House now a seeming  relic,
we've been paid with others speculation
and remember convenience always gate crashes,
neighbourhoods now meekly surrender,
still November is our mono chrome
a telling time
stating past standards did exist,
the corner shop is now boarded
primordial no more:
the proliferate supermarkets triumphant
advertising opportunities for local people !

The gaze feels suited under reflection,
catfish know better
than the bullfrogs haranguing it alone -
Midnight's rupture
the star Edith blazed her Gospel voice
across the Phoenix Star,
those podagra Svengalis mill
perpetually serenading this their dollar sign,
due graciousness lasts as long as the
peyote nostrums
parfum de la maison