lily does her yoga
she drifts into the paranoid cloud
what do they want from me?

that´s what i don´t understand..
she puts the music up loud
you got me pretty deep,baby..

you need money i need money
man,can-not live by poetry alone
bbr-bbrr-the telephone-

not-in leave apoem..
poppies in july
another from sylvia

little poppies,little hell flames,
do you no harm

you flicker,i cannot touch you,
i put my hands among the flames.nothing burns

and it exhausts me to watch you
flickering like that,wrinkly and clear red,like the skin of a
                                                               ­                                    mouth

a mouth just bloodied.
little ****** skirts!

there are fumes i can-not touch
where are your opiates,your nauseous capsules?

if i could bleed or sleep!-
if my mouth could marry a hurt like that!

or your liquors seep to me,in this glass capsule
dulling and stilling.

but colourless.colourless.

lily does her yoga
dictates a letter:
thankyou for the poems

by ms. plath had to laugh-
age and insanity..!?
(in her itzy-bitzy-polka-dot-

bikini..)she goes into the
laughing monkey..take down this poem
mj-

once your in their mind
then,one burrows-
like a small animal

with red eyes and fearful tail!
no limits, scream the signs..
it is with siege mentality-

to break down and
into the hysterical!
because once inside?(the middle)

the pain IS the brain
one takes a suitable stance
and stays..

ii

read it back mj..after we spent
a long night on the beach
the sun was a rose

and we climbed a hill
that was red and hot
with little or no shade

barefoot and sore..
we made a cafe after three hours
and it was only us..

from her purse..
she said i have this
it was a bud of kerela

i said,pourquoi pas
she said how do you feel
she said she was too high

and i agreed
so we went for a swim
then we walked in the heat to

our little house and laid in
the cool.
and fell asleep..

read a poem
i got another one:
mirror

i am silver and exact.i have no preconceptions.
whatever i see i swallow immediately
just as it is,unmisted by love or dislike.
i am not cruel only truthful-
the eye of a little god,four-cornered.
most of the time i meditate on the opposite wall.
it is pink, with speckles.i have looked at it so long
i think it is part of my heart.but it flickers.
faces and darkness separate us over and over.

now i am a lake.a woman bends over me,
searching my reaches for what she really is.
then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
i see her back and reflect it faithfully.
she rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
i am important to her.she comes and goes.
each morning it is her face that replaces darkness.
in me she has drowned a young girl,and in me an old
woman
rises toward her day after day,like a terrible fish.

by
      sylvia plath

exactly-crow as we know
has to eat and lily is rather
chilly..read on..!

(brrr-bbrrr-telephone..)
the tape playing-hello
i am not in but read me

a poem..it´s me-i got this one
at the bootsale for 50 cents
selected poems by sylvia plath..

mrs drake proceeds to supper

no novice
in those elaborate rituals
which allay the malice
of knotted table and crooked chair
the new woman in the ward
wears purple,steps carefully
among her secret combination of egg shells
and breakable humming birds
footing sallow as a mouse
between the cabbage-roses
which are slowly opening their furred petals
to devour and drag her down
into the carpet´s design.

with bird-quick eye cocked askew
she can see in the nick of time
how perrilous needles grain the floorboard
and outwit the brambled plan
now through her ambushed air
adazzle and broad shards
of broken glass,
she edges with wary breath.
feeding off jag and tooth
until turning sideways,
she lifts one webbed foot after another
into the still,sultry weather
of the patients´dining room.

nice one-i am sell my possessions
at the next flea market
due to starvation..
see you soon..

ii

hello crow no reply
since time mormorial
the world has considered

the artist starving-since vinny
chopped his ear and no doubt previously
which is it hunger or beauty?

while the fat little bourgeois sits
in his shop and gets off free..
myth:anyone can work in a factory..

but good luck and don´t be greedy..
but be lucky little birdy
l..

lily does her yoga
the snapping turtle
examaning her reflection in the dusty
window-she says the world does n´t
care for me-why should i care for the world..
all i see is greed lies and hypocrisy..

the lone tree-at least has respect
the insect does not practise torture
the cat has real pride
fish have feelings
the serpent endless beauty
birds their song
and telepathy
i care for them..

i have come to understand effort
once i would just give up
when teacher said no such word
as can´t-

i would scoff..but it is the act
it is the love..we put in..
and somehow get back..
the leaf is thin..

i remember pushkar!
our balcony overlooked
the sacred lake and carp raised from
the sky seeming to smile
could n´t beleive it..

then we went on a camel trek!
3 days in the desert-roxy on
the head phones .. buzzards
on high..how fine it all was..!
we had our dinner round the fire
and slept beneath the stars..ahhh..

how hard is life
how hard is death
o thin as a leaf

how long before
you regarded me, miriam
and said,

what i wanted to be?
(i wanted to be more ******-
stop bugging me..)

i wanted to be a muscian..
you were an actor or are
a star!

you look much happier!
(this makes me happy)
i did n´t know what to say..

i felt so empty
i felt no future
it will be ok..

i never thought of that
but it´s been no pick-nick
but neither would i want it..

i have learned to talk
mainly through books and music
and the odd thought

and i stopped drinking..
just like anyone
it is ok..

i

o crow
you are a sweet-heart so
when i come across a dead bird

on the pavement
i have a broken heart
it has gone but to pardise..

meanwhile we have become
hustlers-a pitza or a book of poems
by crow called tomorrow..

but fall with love-to die
in love..perhaps a cat..
a suitable epithat-

ii

just like that..

thankyou for your honesty
sleeping on a crust and
aa is not for me, i need money..

i would sell my poetry
but they are so effing cheap
probably waiting for me to die..

which might not be far off
feathers and feet
in a neat little pile

my eyes open in a final vinelle
goodbye cruel world
with love i fell..

atmosphere
i burned my ******* finger
did nt look any better
on paper..
but no crow,
you´re not getting any money..

a dim epicurean
fat and lazy..
(you will only want more)
no longer my window but
a closed door-
a vista innocent but a blank cheque..
not hope but to let..

yes,you will soon cease to be real
you won´t know how you feel
hello,my name is crow..
a nameless jackdaw
with plenty but no soul
25 and old..
i was once a diamond..

lily ***** up-your face
i want money to waste
howl at the dogs, go!
called tomorrow..

all the days
flittered away
i will buy that though
i don´t want it
call it tomorrow..

yeah..what is now
i don´t know-yesterday was
poo-could n´t give it away
i want money
call tomorrow..

what for-big house
new car cruise-
nothing to lose
plenty to lose o
you and i we know..

she scratches an itch
and says man must have chaos with-
in
to give birth to a dancing star-
(thursday is a day for nietzsche..)

creation is the residue of war
between passion and reason
so you can call names and point

a finger or create a masterpiece
all depending..someone at the door..!
disembodied voices:

god is in your heart
technology and nuclear war..
keep your family safe..

lily counters with did you know
a shark has the same intelligence
as a rabbit-why..?

what to say-she invites them
for a cup of tea but they are
to press on..

she returns with man petting
lions and another poem from crow
called tomorrow..

i did nt like mykonos
i knew the islands or some
and this was my least favourite

it was a police state with windmills
flamboyant gays
back in the eighties there was paradise

and superparadise beaches..
like living in a wind-tunnel
woken by police dogs and my bags

stolen-not like anyone cared for the
merchandise waste of time..
i liked crete..

and so we turned to television
blue peter followed by the news
and the war in vietnam..was on..
nothing new..

atrocity..followed by the weather..
dixon of dock green where the bad man
was brought to justice..we had faith in
the policeman..

i had no possessions apart from a bike
and a bell-no telephone or lap-top..
there were fields to play, like
we sold apples door to door, so..

lily chats with the cracked
actors-is your life finding out
who you are?

from abused urchin to glittering
star..there are so many..and as for
the wars..

the stories..we would **** ourselves
but we are worried the silver screen
broken on the wheel..

i)

she wakes and says eeyore
has lost his tail though blissfully
unaware

she has a cornflake stuck to her
cheek above her  lip
which of course is libertine-

though blissfully unaware
clever rabbit is unaware and scholarly
owl too..

so they look and pooh calls
at owl´s house and pulling the bell-rope
thinks he´s seen it some-place before..?

owl says he found it over a bush
and through and after endless conjecture
it´s current use..

pooh sees what it is-an empty mind
is valuable for finding pearls and tails
a clear mind hears the birds singing..

so, pooh returns the tail to eeyore
and he feels much better..
(there he is pictured doing a handstand..)

ii

tao a philosophy which became
a religion..music is the space between
the notes..

said debussy-a man who knows
living in harmony with nature
a simple cure..

i

hitting on last night´s wine
the book falls from her hand
what is she reading?

she says,the more it snows,
it goes on,
the more it goes on snowing..

her head like a magic wand
sleeps on the table..
her knuckles scrape the lino..

ii

carrying on the theme of accumulation
positive begets positive
when roo swims in the dangerous whirlpool

to save a life-
eeyore dips his tail but too late-!
pooh, finds a stick (because it was there)

thoughtless action it´s reward..
a cake and a *** of honey
the donkey hestitates..

di nada di nada
and perhaps that is true
our day to day behavior
eventually accrues

and becomes what we are..
but surprise like oo
when we glance in the mirror
like something new..

a whistle  on the auntie
mable-ryhming slang-an epistle
on the table..dear lily..

nothing to say today
lily nothing new but
power in the darkness
and i love you..

nothing to do but sweep
the floor and true
stars above-stars below
i love you..

nothing but to fly
the magic sky through
turn lead to gold and
i love you..

di nada di nada
but love will accrue
blue and red and i
i love you..c..

if we don´t pay our musicians
and artists then we´ll end up
with a load of has-beens and
glorified karaokes´..

(o dear, lily has donned her hat
of controversy..)she says she is
feeling nutritionally-challenged-
hungry..

what is for breakfast?(i recall
baked-beans on toast
over an open fire..in the olive grove
a car seat our pride and joy..)

(boredom
the moment in anticipation
or unawareness..)

as the poet lu yu wrote:
the clouds above join and separate
the breeze in the courtyard leaves and returns
life is like that,so why not relax
who can keep us from celebrating?

i)

boredom
nothing as beautiful
as a flame

is it the relentless advance
or the colours
or the pain..

ii)

my mythology is dodgy
but when your man gave us fire
the gods chained him to a rock

and vultures devoured his liver
same time same day for eternity-
ow..

re:boredom
when you come by
say arn´t i special..!?

and bored i answer
yes,you are..
the tatt is your mother?

and your lovely long
hair
ah,you are an artist..

i can´t sing
i can´t dance
and i can´t play guitar-

i will be a star!
yes,you will..
a question of belief..

re-boredom-lies at the heart
of all sin-if not all
then nearly all-and part
of the human tragedy..

i am never bored
i remember as a child
i was bored constantly
so i know what it is..

but it went away
don´t know how or where
glad it did..happy..
if i may say..lily..

i never bothered with alcoholics
anonomous-no doubt a fine body
but listening to other´s problems

was  too depressing
no doubt there could be solace
but i thought i got into this mess alone

and i would get out of it alone
no doubt they had habits that i
could share say-group therapy

no doubt,ended in a big arguement
and increased the pressure
the problem was of course, boredom-

ii

boredom
when we were young
and when we are old

bored to sobs
man´s concentration so-
eqivalent to some of the more

advanced insects..the difference
is ******
i was bored

boredom is a tunnel we must
travail
when we were young  

they said machine
now,they say green
or telephone..

have we become too much
too much time
too much mind

an iron glove
a soft touch
the hieroglyphic sign

plain
pain
insane..

iii

lily, i have believed in balance
and acted accordingly or tried to
the stars above-the stars below..

so to the silence
my heart on the wing
your birdy song-

crow..

have gone out of order
must have order
the first and the last

the present and the past..
make the best of what we´ve got
nothing and nobody is useless..

we discover our inner nature through self-
reliance..how are we to find who we are?
a mote a star..

la la la
send more
blah blah blah..

hitting on last nights wine
she puts her book down
what is she reading?

the tao of pooh-(an eighties
christmas-stocking-filler-
do you remember..)

the way, according to pooh bear..
tigger and eeyore
owl, piglet etc..

she says,
one disease long life
no disease short life-

ancient chinese medicinal saying
those who recognise their limitation
better off..

for example,
when the storm blew and a tree
branch trapped them in owls house

it was piglet who climbed through the
letter box and saved the day..
use what you´ve got..

ii

the trouble with tigger is he thinks
he knows everything but he is a
bouncing half wit-

someone at the door-
owl is the scientist who knows nothing
and pooh is charming..

she has a letter
who did nt love roo-?
and together they question

innocent questions
unanswerable and deeply philosophic
full of love and wonder..

-it´s from crow-have gone
out of order-we must have order
what does he say..

i don´t feel age-
i feel younger now
than when i was 21
there´s nothing like talking
******* when it comes to time..
they wonder if there is such a thing-
no time no space and so on..no waste of
money..no birthdays..or cake..

but i am miffed when they split
a second into tiny bits..i think we
were happier before-sunrise-sunset..
if we die in a second..when we were old
by forty..ding-****-****-crow..
o lord the stamping of the clock-card..

glastonbury seems an eternity
some old comment or timex
with a little nodding head of minnie-mouse
with a leather strap that left a mark on
my heart-that went where ever they went
somewhere..

ask me who i have talked to
lately lily preens her self
who-why should i tell you..

information is power-you see
the price of a hamburger at glastonbury-
16 pounds..

for tea i had a bowl of pasta and
sauce for a euro..i feel old crow-
then,we watched *******..

i thought i might rent an
allotment if such socialist concepts
still exist..land..

we live and die on the land
god´s not making any more
so i´ll put my name down now..

lily,you see the original glastonbury
ticket was a pound now
it´s nearly 400..

and they can´t pay the artists..
hey,my heart is free
yours,till the cows come home..

c..

what comes with ownership
is the pip-it is mine
it is yours

(we have war)..build your fence
high and keep them out but
there you are, with-in..

you, there in prison..
for flowers and vegetables
we sell ourselves..

if i had a garden
how happy i would be
how to begin..

some kind of general plan
there a flower here a tree
borders and what not..

perhaps a herb garden
a little glass house in
the corner then..

some potatoes and a
wheelbarrow
little bits of string

all colours!facing
the sun and something
for autumn..

winter blooms!
some wild grasses
for the little animals..

economy would be..
and i believe what they say
a rockery..

i

sorry about that
a bottle of black cat
some absinthe-

artists can´t think..
we leave that to the scientists
and where has that got us..?

ii

thankyou for the feather and sack
i nailed it to the wall and put the feather
in the middle..

the collective unconscience and archetype
an example there of..
poem and garden..?

dear lily,

?

dear crow,

wish dream as below
so is above or so
a balance too

natural magic know
the imagination-the will
o..

the simple and beautiful
from the weather to a feather
humanity and co..

ii

you are a little boy
flapping his hands
at what he wants but doesn´t..

crying and crying..
you want mummy´s hand
you want to waste..

when you have what you wanted
o dear-you don´t want it..
lying on the floor in the supermarket..

driving in your little car
o peep-peep
look at me..!

exactly the same as a
bottle of coca-cola dark
and clear..

and crow, who is to blame?
someone over there!
poor dear..hamburger..

iii

still,there is redemption
an uncarved block-
a mirror..

there is always the sun
love literature and love
agree to differ..

others like you love
yourself..learning..
etc..

wish, is imagination is will
is reality-yes, lily..little circles
of smoke are civilizations

that rise and fall with the latest
weaponry-a knock at the door-
she come back a parcel-

is it death?no,a single black
feather..and a note love and war
and a sack..

**** casting spells now..one word-
archetypes, it says..
she spreads her toast..

dear crow

i wished for nought and
that is what i got but
in nothing..

there are sweeties and love
laughter and faith
integrity..poetry..

as goethe once said
be careful what you wish for
in your youth for in middle-age
that is what you become..

i don´t know if that´s true, lily
i wished to be a millionaire by the
age of thirty-hum..
i was a ***..well,

i studied literature and music
but where did it get me..
drunk and living on a beach
still it was a niche

not rich but interested..
maybe,that is something money
can´t buy-it put the i in i
and a blue sky..

dear crow,

you are naive now
my little fowl-
for every free nourishing

bowl(of soup) there is a sad
hamburger deflating in a polystyrene
container..somewhere..

profits before people-we
are to storm the bastille
naked starving before anything

is done..not that i preach
violence (only to be betrayed again?)
i suggest you plant a garden

and write a poem..yours,
lacking humanity and any sympathy
lily..

the, i mean, system seems
to have got very mean
for the hungry there is
the food bank-now, says crow
i know nothing about banking..
but generosity and compassion
are not usually attributes synonomous
with feeding the hungry and a bank..

perhaps a different name..but by putting
food and bank together..perhaps-
there are images-like collectors
at the door-we have come for our
mince pies and assorted canned goods-
sign here..another name..stop!are you and your children hungry..?
zero per cent interest

or a cafe where we can get a bowl of soup
and wash up..philantropists can do..
volenteers and the community so
i can make a bowl of soup for o
a pound-don´t say this would break
the bank..no..

dear lily

i take it is a no
some time so-money
and it´s accessibility or
civilization..

for some it rains and they
hate and for some there is none
and they hate..
probably..but everyone must..

no excuses..need first..
eating-name-of-game
and a roof over one-
food and shelter-and as this
so-called civilization falls
like many before..

their difficulty more accute
homeless next to criminality
hunger tedious..?the fruit
we harvest bitter truths..
so what to do..

ii

crow wants mercy or
something-where has he been living-
some dwell on the stars..

he wants something for nothing..
why should i
why should you-

don´t give me that empathy
humanity dying strains of a
forgotten waltz..

dear crow-
honey lasts and love
so-if your brains have fallen
out your snout and how.

l