i

   you touch on the duality
of laughter and tears-even
when you laugh the sadness
does not leave your eyes..

she says, she does not write
pointless-in you there is
hurt that will never be ex-
tinguished..

like a child they were one
but for you nothing..
you will fish
the last thought of dying..

ii

sorry i spoke
sorry i breathed
sorry for sorry..

funny word
repeat it
what you got..

i would like therapy
i would like to be a tree
(i am lily..)

i would like international
peace
i would like to be paid..

i would like a comfortable bed
love and understanding
co-operation..

i would like to be young
no,i would n´t
yes, i would..

ii

i am lily
i am free
as a breeze..

it´s just not funny
the tears run dry
what will be..

i

a time of learning..
and incredulity..
a time of non stop

blah-blah-blah..!
how it could be?
how a stone goes plop!

in the cool pool of time
and washes your life up
on some distant shore..

where you stagger about
sea **** in your ear
salted with doubt!

(like a bunny-hop..)
and you think well i never
saw that coming..

ii

and you sit minding
your own
(maybe a little ******!)

and come it done-
(everyone knew but you)
and that was the end..

i

i meant to stay a week
23 years ago
i was heading east
sleeping on a strecher so-

such is life..
i kind of found belief
enough just to know
a time of plenty..

indeed,we would all be
insane if it were not for
creation..

the destruction of kali?!
-the imagination of harbour´s
safe haven..

one of your angry ones´
lily-?
i like to let rip occasionally

creation can be release..
like what to
could be hit by a bus..

why do you expect something
from me
do i owe you something

you would n´t give me
the pickings from your nose
if i was starving..

poetry is not like
a bus and yet-
lily taps her foot

when i alight
upon the light
and the lights

go ping-
the driver asks
if i want a ticket

and where i would go?
i think of goa
and all the other

pretty places-
i consider space
within and without..

i consider him
his shining dome
general design

after all my life
his hands..
change-(that word

again..)and up a
spiral
while accelerating!

and breaking
up and back and
on..!

above the trees
the brown plowed
fields

to sit at my seat
like boiled owl
lick my ice cream cone..

every man must have at least
a place he can go-
(crime and punishment)

fearful sentiment..
may i never know
and you also..

poetry is not like
a bus or anything like
it lily spits-

unless,crayoned purple
yellow and red
displayed

with love and pride
sun tree and seagull..
on the fridge..

he was the epitomy of
the tortured poet-
too dumb to spell
but innocent and beautiful..

(the harder he cried
the more we laughed..)
until it was all too much
for his genius..

resorting to monologue
reasoned to us:
his philantropic motives
his life´s work

(but he just wanted ***
of course)
as he championed every fashionable
cause..

hated by all his friends
and loved by absolutely none
he never capitulated
never gave an inch

(unless there was ***)
and there was his mother
everyone liked..
only child

just a little boy
read us a poem, rick..
take no notice-
be yourself..!

what to do
when the plug undo
es..?

three pieces quickly
become tears..
a space ship

a spinning top
the centre of the
universe

with centrifugal connotation..
and there is me-
statonary..

i

i can´t eat your smiles
or your silences
(we have been down

this road..)
for how many years..
lily, here is reality-

ii

reality is boring-
in a tea-shirt-
you don´t work-

you don´t eat..
(and if there is no
work..?)

iii

we signed on-
about 19 pounds a
week..

a giro came once
a fortnight
usually on a friday..

iv

(we were lucky?!)
it was kind of boring
it was hard to know

what to do-
there was the punk
scene-

(about the only thing
that made me feel
young..)

a girlfriend slapped
me with a book-
crime and punishment

so i read it-guilt and
sickness but no internet-
the future looked grim..

v

war raged (unofficially
of course)
things got rather *****

i said eff this lily
and went to greece
where i knew nothing..

i can´t..
(no,you can´t)
does n´t matter

how clever..
well i might roam india
with loving bowl

shave my head
and save my soul
meet beautiful people..!

ii

like a blue bird
-life is magical
(that´s an option)

choice is imperative
open winged
through the midnight..

i

i get bored with the clever
(not trevor)
but they whom look down

from no particular height
(i have an opinion
just like them)

i say light
they say dark
reactionary, lily..

ii

me?
not you-
money..

say money..
money..
now live without..

on a stone:
i was bored..
t´was time!
(of two-four..)

but i waltzed around*-
head a cloud and
now i´ve gone..
-too a bone..

is boredom a modern malaise
asks lily painting her toes
or the privilege of kings and queens

from days of yore..
expectation thwarted-
am i bored and don´t know it..

bored again-is it a
tunnel to be traversed
for some a curse

and others unknown
what bores you
quite interests me..

your passion
my yawn
blow on these..

ii

feet
eg..
an animal

can be..
some indeed
choose rather to die..

tommy our cat has nothing
to do-has he read the small print?
what you put in
you get out..

my father said the same to me
the flowers in my window
are my soul freed
what to do..

iii

a song
seventies kitsch
how long..

one of them
made us wonder
why

not when-
thousands of years
of civilization

three minutes to
eternity
the same name

as the clown-
god or the devil
up and down..

ii

you´re not very tolerant
lily..
the devil got in..

through a panel..
i thought i was going up
but was stationary!?

(well it happens..)
a child with teddy
in hand..

something went
wrong-lights went out
and hysterics ensued

there stood a strange
man
reciting strange words

a man called stu
it was called
so i hid..

stuck in a lift
with stu
what to say!

a title..
lily ***** her pencil
he recites his poem-

a poem within
a poem within
a poem..

love within love
within..
within a lift..

you think-think
can it get any worse
and the lights go out..

i

two characters in fiction
compare the modern day
to the medieval:

bells, says lily-chimes
any event of import
was announced by a peal

or a single knell..
and today?
telephones..

ok..what else?
-bling and excess
jewellery on eels!

?
an addiction to mythologies
-in computer games
star trek and such


love(the legend of arther)
designed to free but
enslaved by babble..!

thankgoodness
for the renaissance!
advanced by english..

ii
prior
there was no detail
no grey area

it was either
good or evil..
punishment absolute..

god or the devil
cruelty unbounded
and now..?

silence is of course
only silence
and does not bother me
one way or another

but perhaps you might
comment on my poem
or am i all alone
an opel stone..

a thumb up or
a heart or tears
(do they have that one)
or don´t bother..

silence is of course
a lost horse-
what with the noise
aeroplanes

and cars and power-
tools and telephones
and all the rest..
more is truly less..

silence is of course
the best-
(here,we say it always
wins)

it does not really have
a sound
though it is said sometimes
to deafen

is there really such a
thing
in the desert or
in space

in my heart
there is always  some
trace
or perhaps an echo..

no need for artists
any more
(they were a pain
any how..)

1234-i want a
nimber
something to rely
on..

bow
to the inevitable
love is dull
here´s to how..

-there is enough space
enough rope
many ways
love and hope

there are enough days
isotope-
nice word
now, legalized dope

in germany!
course,
there will be teething problems-

how to say that?!
i remember down the reeper bahn
you could walk into a bar
and buy a spliff-

so what´s the difference
i don´t know
have a dance man..
forget about it..

i

when the performance dies,
and there is no aplause,
what then?

perhaps, we point to ourselves,
(just once)
and say,****,

it´s us!
stop the train
i want to get off..

ii

who wants to pay, lily,
(not me)
we all want free-

the difference between
avoiding and evasion
and stealing..

is a hair on your ***
sometimes..
nice eastertime?

iii

yes,it rained
so i played mandolin
(or tried)

watched old movies
and argued
so on..

i

i have been making
pots of soup for forty years
now (and still not bored)

they are like writing
(each differs)
poetry-every word..

time is ticking
salt like tears
and the pepper o lord..

ii

all the signs in-
and questioned ear
a bubbling sword

o the wine!
vegetables to fear
green and red..

iii

primeordial
dragons
loup-the-loup..

the sun whirls..
reflections
in my soup..

iv

it did become a trifle
formulaic
(to tell the truth)

but with a spliff
and a song to sing
time renews..

v

order can not be ignored
(you just can not begin
at the end..)

acceptance and love
(and try not to cut
your finger off..)

vi

and then they will ask-
what it is
and you won´t know and

they will say
what is in it
and you can´t recall..

(they may seem ungratful)
but it is substantial
bellies full..

vii

more the merrier
(some one gets your plaster..)
soup is never dull..

o under the stars
gets better
long ago then..

i)

nothing beats kindness
one for gravy stones
all alone


lily smiles,
i thought i might go
through the vowels

but hunger and without
got me..
sometimes

i imagine a world without
hunger
(and what food has become)

ii

once only the rich were fat
a hobby or passion
we eat gold

and try to thin..
the price of an onion
tears are sold

the price a cocked
hat
nothing remains

instead of roundabouts
we might eat
but not

(they might go round
twice
etc..)

and the numbers climb
i heard talk of
trillionaires

they said nothing
remains
what price

a bowl of soup?
i can make one
for one euro..

(hey well a
onomatopoeia....)
a poem of soup
a soup of poem
if only
only if
salt and p
pepper and s
bread so crunchy
crunchy bread
hot and spicy
thick and red
thick or thin
in my belly
on me chin
down  and down...
so-so
soup for you!
soup for me!
(enough said..)

i put an e string on an old
guitar yesterday
we used words like stretch
and fray..

and then the ****** sky
turned orange
and that is one of the words
that nothing rhymes

with..and thats alright
for tomorrow
there is free paella!
ola..!

i

many thought e was the answer
lily examines her hair
well,that was yesterday

and today..
the generation of mdma
how do they fair..?

ii

hard to say what might
have been-
easy to dream

cornered in the dance tent
lifes spent
o middle aged..

someone lost a feather
how many beans make five
or

the beginning of eternity
the end of time or space
the beginning of every end
and the end of every place..

the answer lily
is e-
now we have the string
theory

we would say:
how long is a piece of
string
(which is probably

nearer the truth)
if your an eagle
(or a sparrow)
then be..

he does appear an amiable
kind of chap-
not a genius!

but looks are often deceiving..
though anyone who sees angels
is aces..

ii

perhaps, he said that
to sell paintings-
angels are passe

now of course
how do we promote
ourselves today?

iii

their is a saying
that says
if you want the world


(and everything in it)
to know (a secret)
go whisper it up a mountain..


iv

get an agent
or have a big ***
*** says lily..

what is so great about blake
i can just look at his pictures
lost in the non existents-
faces from night-mares

and genius..evil and
innocence-it is said,
he is a supreme draftsman
(by those who know..)but

(he was largely unrecognised)
see how dodgey the art world is!
failure only a matter of life and
death..

i do like william blake
says lily
and sticks a spliff in
her mouth-

what would he make
of us?
put him in front of
a television

the cars and airoplane..
(he saw angels anyhow..)but
still killing each other
so no surprise there..

lily licks her doc
and says laura has  moved
to candleford-driven there
by her father in horse and cart
(everyone waves her off..)
she has gone to take up employment
with miss lane who runs a post-office
/ farriers..

(my father ran a post office but
unfortunately not a blacksmiths)

the telegraph is sent from post office
to post office
and delivered by minnie next door or
one of the smiths..
they have a meal and bed provided
the telegraph takes precedence..

the customers bring her flowers and she
covertly reads don juan
she likes her life
and they like her..

i woke early and remembered
the days when i drank
waking early when the alcohol
had worn off

and it occurred to me
it has been thirty years
(this year)
a recovering alcoholic

febuary 12 th 1994..
(some kept a bottle by the bed)
i tried to taste wine again
in my mind

and i recalled how i could
not envisage a future of
any kind..
but here i am..

they had no words for
today and tomorrow
they had no clothes
and no house or land..

they had no livestock
no pottery, yet they piled
huge piles of sea-shells
up to thirty feet high

often aways from the coast
covering huge areas
and no-one knows
why..

we look out the window
and then we balance
everything that´s been
and all that is to come

a tiny shoot and the
majestic universe so..
all that is outside and
all that´s in..

micro and macro
o
here we are
little stars..

a bird flies by
the mail man smiles
a moment so sublime
and yet ordinaire..

i have nothing to say
on this monday morning
i may pray..
(dreamed have gone)

how do new age pagans
pray?
i don´t know-
we look out the window..

for  it is  written..
(however, i like that little
round feller that cleans
the floor..  
otherwise, i
don´t know why we bother..)

are we not smitten
by our acumen
our ingenuity-
technology is our
lead in the barrel..
we will be happy when
there is no difference-other..

i

robots,what do you think
about robots-
they creep me out
even the dog..

man ought not to play god
and indeed god should not
play man..
but creation..

ii

is beyond us all
music or football
what else..
fool or genius

but robots
i think not..
let us be natural
what say,lily..?

i

yes,why not create
are we not gods..
how is laura or
flora?

she stifles an amused
smile-summers
are spent in candleford
a little older-

she talks of a fast set
decadent-hatless
they rome the heath
bawling swinburne

and omar khayyam-
refer to themselves as
fin de siecle-disillusioned
and weary..a lost page..

ii

her friend emily rose..
and returning to larks rise
she is again home
charmed by simple lines

knowing but not knowing
too much..
growing pains..
times passing..

what amazes me lily
is how diverse poetry is?!
but i suppose one may say
that about any creation-
look at the difference
between god and man..

and then of course
there is why..
that one takes up many
a life time
-laugh or cry..
o come what may..

ii))

transference is us?!
and living by denial
i remember breakfast
by the nile

i was only seventeen..
it was nice
though  not very well
so beautiful..

i))

people love to impart their prob-
lems on to you-
they like to tell you their secrets?
it´s a way of listening
without seeming too..

they want to manipulate
and end manipulated
for,if they are not manipulating
then,in some obscure fashion-

i am pulling the strings..
and this may be an end or dawn
like eyes meeting accross a crowded room
like some wave crashing..

the ones to watch out for
are the ones who want nothing
ippity-bippity
serendipity..

lily waves a finger
a spiralling trigger
the quiet linger
never say never..

ok, we will give money
and death a break
lily,what of love?
you are the sort

stangers confess to
loving at first sight
do you trust them
no..

so what is their motive
*** or worse
poo!
that is their problem..