Michael John

Michael John Aug 2024

i

i

the story so far:
grumpy boots-master
and happy his dog-servant

play out their roles..hapless,
before the karma of a blind universe..
saturday, and off to the soul doctor

and after?!an evening of western-
down at the pickled gherkin!
will grumpy find a friend?

will happy follow the dictates
of his nature
lost in the wild

of the primordial night
free of conscience and moral
turpitude?-(read on..)..

ii

q:so,how was the week
a:pretty much the same
q:were you busy-
a:same..made up a poem
q:about-?
a:a door,inspired by a dream..

iii

i dreamt about a door
was i in or out
was my life a jar
of doubt..

at the behest of an un-
caring universe
to fill a gap-a hinge-
a ***-to strange karma

iv

what does it mean
self explanatory themes..
your alienated and hesitant
you are not sure
if you are a door..

and if enterered?
a decision deferred-
what of the future?
what is in store?
just around the corner..

v

do you think of dying?
not so often
all the time or
middling-

i want you to write
a poem -
about death-
mean while..

vi

in the antechamber
happy chews the f out
of the carpet

boredom is worse
he thinks and stifles
a yawn..

Michael John Aug 2024

the glory of art is

the glory of art is
the difference
do as you like-
it is said there is only
good and bad..and heck,
what is the difference?

the difference is pounds
shilling and pence
or pleasure..
the singular import is
one of freedom-that is the
crux of the matter..

ii

carte blanche or
maybe not
what of obscenity

and what of hatred..
today offensive
and tomorrow-tamed..

as society colapses into
a decadent heap or
biggoted..

iii

part of the human dilemma
be a monkey or be
a sheep..

if we are really lucky
nothing will occur
sit and create a voice over..

Michael John Aug 2024

when young

when young
we were hip to jj-
the man
sipped tequila
while the med did
a thing..

Michael John Aug 2024

i

i

i scratch a little more
at the head
at the door
one or either-c´mon
grumpy..w**..!

why,happy
it´s you!?
no,it´s the arch-angel..
look,what you have done
to the paint-work-consider,

it a work in progress..
nice of you to come home?!
yeah..i was bored and hungry
passive/agressive one..i got
to sleep eat and dream..

mum,it´s happy!
he looks tired out..
i´ll give him a can
and a drink-o he´s all
wet?!-chase the ducks-man....(shakes)
sorry, got you in the mouth..

ii

dream o dream of love
the line with in one
and gone..

to cry to god
to have a friend
all written..

Michael John Aug 2024

i

i

mum!i´m back!
how did it go?
i have to write down
my dreams and make a
new friend
any sign of happy?
no-he did a houdini..
..your dinners in the
micro-and i laid out your
cowboy suit..sausage and chips..
crispy sausage?
a girl friend?
he did nt specify..
you re 53 now
you should be settled down..
i don´t dream..

ii

meanwhile,in the park
a call to the pack
aeons of domestication

bowed to human
dissapates the rising moon
come the dark..

Michael John Aug 2024

i)

i)

grumpy on the couch:
i was never loved, doc,
q:(a common whine-)

what makes you say..?
a:a void of feeling..
a vaccum..

q:you are defficient in
everyday emotions?
a:how do i know-

q:you can not communicate?
a:words, they hurt..
q:how so?

a:i try to relate..
q:you feel isolated..
a:i feel alone

a:i feel nothing..
q:you are repressed by
life..

a:i am repressed by life
i would hurt myself but
i am a coward..

i would die..i want to..
nothing to do but how..
life is pointless..

q:tell me about your
poetry-
i got out of bed

ii)

and in my head a
cacophony
that enticed and

bored in about equal
measure
mum,put my eggs on..

where is my paper-
the dog had ripped it
asunder..

mum,put the television
on..
i look out the window-

mum,when did you last
clean the windows..?
everything the same..

what about the weather..
rain..
in my heart a vacuum..

i have to vaccum, dear,
sorry..
where are my soldiers..?!

same as yesterday-where
is my life..
same as tomorrow..

iii)

meanwhile,happy does
a back to back boogie
with a little doxie

he met by rumblelows,
they look in the window
caught in flangrante..

Michael John Aug 2024

i

i

would it not be crazy
if we found our own voice
instead of why
we cried because..

happy howls f death-
i am alive..!
grumpy is at the psychiatrist
in the antechamber..

ii

i feel life pointless,doc,
the days pass with relentless
monotony
(not a word i use

lightly)
i have forgot how to smile
the world is crumbling
my only friend is a dog..

iii

i write poetry
this is called a bump on a log-
that is me-useless person number
three-what i say why,
i cry no-i mean no...!

better then red-dead
yeah..do i know-no
but i pretend,
a conundrum-a rhetorical
nowt..

dread and anguish in
my head..
a blemish or less
tiny spot-worse, can
it be worse..yes..super in superfluous..

iv

what ever they pay it is
insuffice and he is out!
the window-past the
gambling dens

and pound shops
past the fast food outlets
past the charity shops
past the telephone

and computer emporium
stops to inspect his ***-
ok..on!
past the pickled gherkin..

lugubrious *** the doorman
smokes a woodbine-hello
hap?!-hi ***!
examines form...

where´s the man?
inspecting his thing-
people..four letters
hap-lost in time?

past some polystyrene
past a puddle
past a moment
past a chip shop

past the sky
past a now
past the cop-shop
past the moon too..