i

give me my lifes´
the day crowded bright
and the night sumptuous..

give me my pretty wife
where love at first sight
bind us..

give us two souls blithe
fused as light within light
sweet bounteous..

let us soar and dive
like content swallows might
time in lost happiness..

( and let trouble and strife
bind-us the more tight
like our first kiss..)

give then to two one life
white to white
whole as stars

as love unto death
might break apart
and ride the cosmos..


ii

the jonah by james herbert
a heist goes wrong and a colleage
is shot..

just another debacle for our hero
in a long list
that has him transferred to the

drug squad and east anglia..
to live in a caravan..
keep his eye on the locals

and drink strong beer..
ellie his partner
makes him eat

and they fall in love
though various tentions rise
due to his troubles..

some flash backs
a left baby in a toilet
sadistic stuff at the orphanage..

bullies and dodgy collars
his step father is strict
he is an ornothologist..

there are drug related incident
a dead vole
a us pilot bites the farm..

some little boy thinks he
can fly..
the water supply
some pilfering

some heavy knocks
some bad lies
some kitchen

small potatoes
but all part
of mr herbert´ s charm..

a huge storm
the spooky old mill
a wild trip..

and regression
bad men
bad men..

lot´ s of struggle
the raw products
towed in by trawler

assembled by the knights
torn
and a lost twin..

a monster in the flood
where others die
a maitre d..

a ***** salesman and
his girl in a caravan
the fishermen..

helicopters and
victory for
the forces of good..

and the jonah
gone and all
is light..

the end..

well that was lunch which
was preoccupied with such
thoughts of the typical poet
eg why does the world want
to cheat me..

what is the point and what
is for tea..my lover´ s eyes are
burnished fields´  of wheat
i thought of love
and lily..

a small blue bowl of vague
reminded of a broken heart
and since stopping smoking
marijuana has my art
suffered unnecessarily..

or is it better some clue
must tell the difference between
the placid and uncontolable rage
the compatability of lasagne and rice
the oxymoron..

the pollution of serviettes..
with our destructive urges
laced with inexplicable
flat cola and
creation..

not unlike hunting for
searching salt to will
made in our own likeness
cold soup to chips
to explain..

what is this thing called man
chapatti and jam..
we have to have to tell
we have to work
and then stack
to clear them..

begin again
the thoughts
of a typical
poet and soooo
end..

i

why don´ t they just make a machine
that does our living,lily,darling,
save a lot of messing..

we live all these years and then
slowly our memory depletes them
(though they say all memory lives within..)

if we were programmed at the beginning
some kind of limiting of emotion
ambition etc..

alpha to epsilon
brain washing
soma..

*** but no reproduction
endless fun
order..

is belonging
art gone
the way sure..

simple dogma
love or go
love..

ii

lily says
love is meaningless
unless we are ready to

die..
who is..
would i..

i
stood
high
to the very

devil..
fall over
weebil..ha..

but to die
and see sun
rise no more..

little bird
sing
in

the silent
dawn
sweet voice

eternal greeting..
blithe angel
o children

of the future..
messenger of
the gods..

loyal gaurdian
to ever
and never..

outside
and know
a silent cosmos..

be born anew
to heart
be found..?

through-out the poem are references to the
brilliant novel brave new world.for which i make no
apology but as a mark of respect to great talent of
aldous huxley..

when i talk about my life
there is the grandiose and pathos
there is the depths of song
the tragedy of the lost word..

i say i can see the way in silence
when there is too much if..
but other than that gain is loss
one consider´s just might be..

(this i think is understood by
of all the sparrows
but i will not stand for their nonsense
i tell them naughty ones-)

it is my life..and for me to say
no better or worse than anybodys´
when i remember it is my heart-
how the f do you know how i felt..

i

i washed up for a living,lily,
for a while there
this is something george
and i have in common..

on the whole i was treated
decently
pearl divers are a breed unto
themselves..

mine was a life of ease
over eating and boredem
it was ******* the spine
and knees..

a piece of cake compared
to digging holes
(surrounded by the boss
and his extended family..)


the pop wagon on friday
cement as a whole
the olive oil factory or
carrying bricks..

ii

the pop wagon on a friday
took only two hours
brevity
that was the answer..

the cement truck on
tuesdays
took two and half
hours..

but ended in tears..
the shift in the olive
oil factory
could last eighteen hours..

digging holes an eternity
carrying bricks up stairs
works up quite a thirst..
never mind soon be..

be in pauli´ s soup kitchen
where wine smooth and cool
as honey bees..
chicken and macaroni..!

iii

the cement was high in lime
and invariably chafed the skin
and in that hole it would set
to be picked out with olive oil

and a pin..drunk,the screaming
and carry on..
we laughed and held them down
better digging holes..!

it was so painful..!
down and out in paris and london
by gearge orwell

my grandfather from liverpool
and my father too
sat in the kitchen
and discussed nothing  new

tired from a long day on the busses
he fell into a trouble slumber in
his arm chair
he thrashed and fussed

we his family would quietly gather
cries of protest and stifled incredulity
cut the warm air
the great grandfather ticked..

(before television
or we listened to arther askey)
he was a proud man
with right of way..

he told the boss to f himself
if he were n´t a gentleman..
what he would make of this
world today..

so,he went through his day
and we tried not to laugh
the man who earned his wage
tired of this *******

i guffawed and he woke
he fixed us with his pale
beautiful eyes..
and later the next morning

in  the lovely little back
garden
in the hushed roar
he said we would be friends..

i

i think why not to let
but proved the query set
a double somersault-twist
or kiss your sweet lips..

can  end in cold death-
still the birds in the trees
go cheep or not at all..
i have reason to not question..

ii

i have memories return from the crib
it is all just part of the aging process
we beetle by saying that can´t be right
the lights´ get bright and bright..!

birds talk to us but i don´t hear voices
we become preoccupied with prices..
i recall four blackjacks  a penny
dying has a long curious way..

i am pretty sure i am someone else
absolute and completely and yet
these early feelings as blithe pictures
remain constant..



iii


more work less ******* about
but creation is just living
some absolute and indistinct
(it is tough being a poet..)..

iv

lily says,for it is her,
you don´t play no more,
only i say in mind
the years don´t lie
content´ s fragile store..
repetition dulls the brightest
core..eventually a silent purr ask´ s why
not why not..

v

why write poetry says lily
because it is a futile act
of achieving something perfectly..
we like that..


or like stubbing one´ s little toe
a rabbit from a dream hat
in a vain effort to retain what
remains of my memory..

lily why not or why bother..
lily red diamond from her
eyes sparking like a star is
just a ******* star baby..

she half nelson bottle wine
why do anything..a sign
a metaphor an hieroglyph
love and hate lily..

or the little bird in the agaves
i would like to shoot that one
hate and love lily
porquoi-pas..

vi

i read o twenty years before actually commiting to paper
not much but i knew the stuff i loved and kept there
i know it was charles bukowski i loved his funky gear
thank you norwegion liz for lending me his books dear..

ham on rye and factotum you say don´t lose them mf
i swore i would not lose them i would not lose them kf
kind friend..but i lost them i lost them..df..
dumb ******..


i leant them to someone that swore the same
they suffered an horrendous head..crang..
on and the books lost the books got lost..
there was scant satisfaction in plaster form..

maybe they went to a happy home
so not my fault that his drunk poems
god is he fun liz i hear your laugh then
such a wild sound ..generous so!

you said i should write and thank you
only human to encourage me true
and always a good drinking companion
you bought decent wine..

i adored cognac o..that was my poison
you always attracted van gelis errant tounge
unpleasant but one had to watch him..
that was his fun..

and then backgammon
goes a bit faint then..
i would like to say i won
you told me roland was cheating..

i think it was fun to play him anyway
esspicially on cement truck day..
not that he ever bought me a drink
not that i liked cement..

i lived with roland actually
this stopped any conversation
i met him by accident in eilat
that place was a laugh..

i think i enjoyed the second time
first loads of day jobs though i
played in the streets..and living with
the russians..

that a blast lily..my immediate neighbor
we never spoke..and the police pulled his hair
and yet not a squeak..a match box of grass cheap
i went to silently get a light..

he did say never run boy..
i thought alright for you
alright,
who was playing late night
in the soft quiet night..

so i was nosy
within the deepest hush
a glass and bottle jungle
impossible this silence

and i could hear him swallow
once the army ran through
i was tucked up in bead reading
by hopeless candle light..

i met roland in the peace cafe
a misnomer if ever there was
he picked me up and tossed me
around..

hey mike we got ****** and under
the landing planes roaring down
aint had hash like that in so many
years..

there was the red lion and at seven
free food and a drink and a movie
i read miguel cervantes..they
play the eye of the tiger later..

then the hard rock cafe with killer
egg and chips
i worked with an architect and made
a few shekals.

vii

i got out of there man i went south
dhab a quiet hut and goats..
that is the life right there..
o the corral beauties..

the stars as glimpsed through the palm..
pretty carpet and soften-songs of balm
brain blown and fly blown
and then back to town..

which came as a shock then
i had a drink and a very nice mention
for the cafe at the bus station..
i salut the the patience of the librarians..

lily is bored
she is best ignored
she wants to be adored

and so she will by sun
that adorns her skin
she will wax and in

diamond and pearl
crazy colourings
grow

suddenly say
spread
oil on herself..

indicates
her impossible
pretty

(i will grumble
for
i am working..)

shoulder
and roll a stick
of marijuana

and sundry other
stuff
and that far from

enough and now
the sun has
gone..

behind a cloud
getting loud
fire is out..

lily wears a pout
where has the sun
where is her this

and where is that..
what is she reading
memoirs of a foxhunting man
(siegfried sassoon)

and goodbye to all that
by
robert graves

two great poets from the
first world war
she acclaims..

and carol ann duffy
she is flitting like
a happy

cabbage white
tween the three
waiting for

the light
on the one hand
the death of civilization

and carol´ s fun and dark
determination
between courage and courage

i cream her smooth opal covering
and push a cold mohitjo in her grip
she wonders how life changes

she lights up and picks at the ways
that divide and separate us
just let it rip she sighs..

what choice do we have anyhows
**** hit the fan
what to do..

i


upset an oxymoron
of little interest
(not strictly oxymoron
either)

but we do our best..
the sky is falling
like the old nest
pick it up

look through the holes
and wonder of
our lonely existence
in stone..

ii

consider the moss
and the random
beauty of it´s
elegance..

question it´s
practise
and comfort
which is set

in your hand
now
like any
lost crown..

iii

no oxymoron
no doubting
here is love
and here is thin

reason
make up
our minds
in a few sands
here is faith..

i

today we dress as cowboys
and the ladies look charming
but still is there justice
you are asking..

well,arn´t you the party poopers
up there is the moon
blow it  a kiss
and down babylon..!

ii

do i sneak around and steal
from you
no..

do i sneak around and spy
on you
no

so what do i want..
you ask of me
i don´t know..


iii

well lily i think
that is just you
being paranoid
hell is this that
kind of world..
you scary cat
steal from you
spy on you
a kafka void
we must look
to what we
know as true..

iv

well i am not
here to hold
your
******* hand
i thought you

were..
no, this is war-
long periods
of boredom

interspersed
with inexplicable
fear and
emotion turned  

on a sixpence..
we can´ t be
together and
we can´ t be alone..

that´ s true
so,we drink
smoke marijuana
and have ***..

isn´t war hell..?

placed indecision into your opponent´ s
heart-
an affair without end or start
but a cunning infinite!
a wheel of endless doubt..

a labyrinth of love and hate
that waves from the nights
and make past the very moment..!
suggested in  plain silence..


and the stayed magic of third word
light of rhythm and humoured..
-soon a rat inside a box
-thinking outside a box..

a vortex
lost
another´s thought
caught..

the peaceful revolution begins with ones-self
so they say
what do you think that means lily..
well, maybe,since most revolutions are
betrayed-
be true to oneself..

like when you do something with pride and love
cooking or sitting on the bus..
and then things for us
will go dot to dot
like a tiny wove

in a great cosmic carpet
that is our collective conscience..
gosh, it´s hot
is there ice..

a sophisticated double negative
ensues a devastating clarity..
and a few lines on a train
why comely

fine england
touched by an
autumnal wand..
song

to barren sparkle
gold the shiver from
the gods..
(prom
around the bend
come by dream´ s winter..!!!)

astrix..a child´´ s poem..another
good one from twigzy..

i

machines giving order
getting in
closer

twirling over
mother nature
my mind

gets further
from here
o dear..

(marijuana
whispers
centre)

i

lily says she is the very epitome of sad
her heart distant on some abstract crusade
the pain of man etched in purple braids
hung her black eyes lost to dissolute and
laid out before a death of finite rainbows..
that is just sunday afternoon girlfriend

i say,the cabbage white that circles our head
flutters and settles like the love fades
but will ride smitten the cosmos allows
indestuctable and possible to near..
no further abundant like gods own bow
lily my sister..

ii

all around this blighted globe
people are told to get go
mostly by fear and guilt..

so,
so they went to the new world
so called..

but now on the whole
for the most part
that is ****** too..

the moon is still too far..
hard to say
what to do..

i must practise my
flipping guitar
i must *******
to something original..

i must smoke marijuana
cause i have a gammy leg
and asthma..
music and grass

and a hot mug of tea
is there better
in this disorder..
this lost universe..

i

there does seem to be a lot of nosey parkers
things can rapidly become darker
a momentum of their own
soon,again,be traipsing across broad

fields of fresh bone..intellectuals are
usually the first to go the written word
suspect decadent art the smooth hand
and on till we are all looking over our

collective shoulder..work worshipped
lord what we believe in the name of
collective security and a bigger better
future..!?

ii

the goldfish in our park pond however
seem very happy together
they patiently wait their turn
and take a small bite as required..

they know they are many small smaller
all the various colours and the big ones
but there is the sun and there is suffice
they will circle love and say ola..

*
inspired by executing society

some of our teachers were awful nice
and the harbour of sweet peccadillos
(having to deal with us every day
would make anyone crazy..)

and i suppose they took refuge in
their insect collecting in abyssinia..
(pasttimes tinged in the exotic
and a nod to the sadistic..)

but  love of keats and wordsworth (etc)...
miraculously remained undiminished..
(while demonstrating lethal aims and
a plethora of different pain..

one used the leg of a chair and another
gave his weaponry girl´ s names..
i guess they were just as bored as we were
how the season´ s waxed and wained..)

they still retained their soulful natures
a wonder of testament to the great genius
of elliot yeats and so forth..!
their fundamental faith undimmed...

i

i thought as admiring a star
it´ s it´ s proximity or colour
a quiet orange nectar
i don´t recall..

but near went through my
mind seemed true
amusing yet profound
kind of far

like trying to recall a dream
or a woman
the more i tried
the further it was..

ii

i thought as admiring
a star in supplication
touched my heart in return
for this life won..

imagine the vista on
and in the silent burn
the great sun ascending
from a night bleeding..

the same nothing
and in the end
so it was
..

i knew the moon too well
over familiar
from her arms i fell
like the water

in an ancient well
reflected her
eternal
earth mother

a mired hell
her purr
her smile
a lover´s

shell
a lost word
a rat´s spell
never heard..

i

now,whose
the ******
lily,this
confrontation
is such a bore..
there is no wine
as sweet as thirst
( to paraphrase
edna st.vincent millay)
little mr. thought for
the day-
a potato is a potato..

ii

well that was lunch
inspiration is rather
dry to some petulant
spring such is day three
of the fiesta..

iii

but here anyway..

iv

i would rather dig my own
grave with a numbered spoon
then go to a bbq..

v

sooner play the blues
than go on a cruise

vi

better loose both knees
then visit disney..

vii

lily leave me
stop this carousing
the love tree
has become winter then

our spring lost and gone
when blossom hung
sweet and glittering
in the free

summer found us
in sundry doldrums
pitched again to
the  roots of done..

autumn now the golden
days lay like a stone
where we sought ourselves
anew..

toward the equinox of our
o and to no where
particular but love  and now
we me yo..

i

there is still a bottle
of cola
in the freezer..

ii

as i have grown older
i have loved more
which must denote
success
although i read in
luke rhinehart´ s the
dice man that this
might indicate
regression..
for those unaware
of this classic
a bored psychiatrist
throws a die and each
number has a different
directive..
he is a ******
he is christ
he suggests
that the idea of self
based on consistancy
a fallacy..happiness
is a fundamental
of change..

iii

if one is a tortoise
reluctant to emerge
one´ s bleary eyes
from one´ s shell
a world spent within..
always asking why..
worrying about what´ s
been..or what´ s to come..
a crepuscular hell..!
there is no i
only a difference..
so flap one´ s little
flippers and make
a change..!!

i

just a liitle reminder
there is a bottle of cola
in the freezer..

ii

i have a translucent
ellipitical ball
small
it is what i want..

(excuse my oxymoron
y´ all..)
your heart is not
round..lol..

neither is it small
and i do not stick
pins into it
that would be futile

you do that..
though it is wax
and it is sweet
and knowing
but unknown..

i carress it gently
and keep it safe
sometimes happy
sometimes a stone..

at night before sleep
i tenderely give a kiss
and tap again my teeth
say your name

and fall to dreams
encapsulated
warm and smooth
love´ s silken ways..

to smooth oblivion
when held by your
hand in mine
we walk alone..

division is the topic
under discussion
one can never
(sic)

be greedy enough
discuss..
(babylon by bus*)
our heart a daisy

one to marvel at
on a busy highway
grown fat and pretty
through the tarmac..

nourished be our root
blue and wise the
firmament
the passing admire

our brief and filled
life of universal love
soon enough time up..!?
sway and dance..!


a great album by bob marley

i

gosh,look at the time
half past two
must dash
bird lime..
moon cane
how are you
purr
i´ m fine..
i´ m fine too
even so
sun frazzle
brain..
yes,
you love
you love
**..
then
gone
do
stone..
more paper
how life
has
changed..
how we
manage
bird lime..
blind
we are
the stars
dazzle
moon cane..
only yesterday
we did our sums
and today
we are the sum..
birdy
doest thou
dwell
on tomorrow..
moony
the sun
will
shine..
in our mind
will be
see
will..
hope
and
glory
scissors..
and joining
a great
hand
in your´ n..
god
bless
it takes
genius..
never taken
the eye
off
the ball..
for every
ladder
a fallen
snake..
things have
a way
of even
and out..
can i say a
colour
here
gray..
or rather
grey
is very pretty
bird lime..
moon cane
is that the
time..
gone three..
we never really
untitled
no
no named..
lol
cared
did nt worry
oh no..
stoics
burning flames
kind
and unawares..
or war
one penny
four blackjacks
and a blooming
sweet twilight
to boot
things were
different..
moon cane
seems so long
and yet
very brief..
know what you
mean
every word
a lost diamond..
a dew drop
in the early
morning
sunshine..
long as you
have
your health
blinding wisdom..
moon cane
bird lime
i mind my own..
do you..
and what do you
do all day long
flip,look at the time
drink wine..
lol
those were the days
think
says or said..
argued with everybody
easy a bell tolls
off stage
my life has been..
yes,a curious affair
there were so many
occassions
so many closed
cages
moon cane
and do you know
what saved us
apart from a
******* clad
don´ t
sixth sense..
go..
bird lime
stuck
along
then..
silence
is the
most
listen..

ii

we held our tongues
he was a screaming hushed
silent jungle
quieted throne
moon cane
all alone
never mind
the time
a diving hippo
crocs slip in
and birds
flap away
ever silently
baby
beware...
here is a
cross
some so
there lurks
light like air
then sweet cruelty
you hear that
less that nothing
lurking traps
the day quiet
why even the trees
beseech in prayer
still rapt
listen a sigh
the fear is held
like the rose
tween rot
in the silent
in the variance
move real slow now
and listen
we know
nothings glisten
do this waiting
what is to wait..

i


the neighbours like to shout
while the sun  come´ s out
lily is off her pretty head
to the sky dangles thread

soft she spake no doubt
how did this come about
lifted shyly off her bed
and to an alien wed

(they resembled trout
that fetching pout..)
so i was duly bled
and impregnated

soon a mewling brat
star blown and stout
multi eye and headed
plasma fed..

saviour of the planet..!
born to poet..
born to lead
man is saved..!

ii

well the world is in a pretty
pickle
if waiting  for her alien love
chile
the sun has gone in
awhile
the sunday sea continues
a smile
hovers upon her red
lip..

iii


lily a dream
cast her leaden
glance sky
wards..

lily takes from
her sleeve
her treasured
cards..

a **** on her
******
and she´ s set
on ward..!

the future
laid bare
a seer
a bird

a bard
her face
drops
bad..?
bad..

these strange
recollections
inducing
sad

reflections
caste one forth
to endless
circle-
mad..

nothing about
strange
that
but this
my god
free heart..

and the majestic
lady..
buttercups
to
her eyes
what is it..

nothing good
a wild wood
any black
blood
now this card
is usually benign

the goblets of
wine not poison
but swamp
and sunk
and choked

seems clear
not here
a hovel
and a grey
evoked

still trees and
stiller eye
there is dark
that walk
abroad

behind and
away soon
cries like
a unique
word

and yes
black coagulation
while meek
and there
struggle losing
purr

if we knew
the end
or even
this card
and this one
so little
cur
normally
a staunch
friend

souls want..!
you will get
what you deserve
this skull says
crafty devilry..!

another cooling goblet..
lily..a strong pull..
upon
the
pipe
of
love..

i


zowie doodles
maisie may
mali the bad
lily lu lu
and tommy tune..

ii

i recall thursday
in cold blowy bushes
hopeless
and late victorian

chairs..

a rather shoddy future
which got worse
helpless
victorian morals

and worse

and what then
a succession of
error
a word a curse!
woe to us!

silver platters..

but upon
my hairy shoulder
youth laughed
but a aways
harsh

wastrels!

and you think
and you think
timeless ways
and suddenly
i was 30..

jesus..

an elephant in
glass
unemployable ant
boats and stoats
and factory
malaise..

wish..

work in progress..
the seconds digress
like love and stars
not even a war

go fish!

a dance with a
great magical
door
called wishes..

and then 40..!

son,beware the
cat lady
beware
the graceful

smiles..and
whipped 20
by
or be

since..

and strange things
like comets
come and go
by

which

if character been
fate
is
typical..

of me..

as forecast by
teachers and towns
but unknown
music

grin down..

and by golly
close shaves
around corners
stuff and poetry..

some round..

lithe plain
and of course
why
not made a million

yet

but all
is
still
a sweet card..

a great winding
returning
empty while
of some

shiny circle..

some fundamental conclusion
that is what we are searching
something beyond doubt
and beyond reason..something

beyond love and loving..
some little thing beyond
music and the stars..
a thing above chocolate..!

something that will bring peace
and more
forever
(something not tried before..)

something less then everything
faith in a can..?
more then a walk in the december
air..

something that says and the point
is..
something like bowie´ s eyes..
some thing like can´ t
something like can..

a fine week was had
the day a married
black candle mass
time dawdle
our loved stalked
angel and demon
the devil called
heel warm-
a fly born
and in squash
and in *****
moaning no..
fiery ****** tongue
take the bride upon
the stair
the groom served by
sundry elf
while maiden scent
his self-
spit of toad for
potent
death watch for
content
goblet of newly
born blood
and saw the
dead born
watney´ s pale in
an eight pint
can
red and gold
before the god
the revellers
kowtow
and the girls
vie for a smile
so ennuyer
etched
across his face
evil always
some distraction
a turbid dracula
bored
vice a hold
the betrothed cam
sweet innocent
like starsky
and hutch
naked and bloodied
to the dark one first
rites
right is right..!
crazy horses kicks
off
donny makes a
come back
o scream the tree
crack
through
the clamor
witchs hover
ashine with mire
o higher the crying
the exultation..!
evil the mad one
ah..!
evil made persona
the couple sworn
at each end
scant hors d'oeurvre
to the masters
seed served
cold the
young old
and old..
wine flows
strange going on
in the coat room..
be loved *****
shared..reverence
and shy glance..
our old ice cream
man
strikes up the band..!
thus man and wife  declared
tied and together darkness
with out end..
all cracked raise to health..!
something by sinatra
in the sky yon moon turns
to aversion
the forest weeps
there then the fire
in the eye of
the songbird
there then the
cleansing sweep
of the blackbird
to flight..

here a sleight prayer to the gods of precipitation
for the garrulous little swallows in the agave
decorating like trifling bits of finery
whilst the sky waves and waves come crashing..

thanks be to the gun metal of gray
a cheery wave to the non existant horizon
hooray,for the cooled southerly breezes
while day cries our scorched and when

yesterday but the day before and now now..
the collection of sighed the changes so
say cool and the sweet perfumes..
the relieving rain rains down..

exclamation

i


all in all
when it comes
down
at the end of
two parts
a smile
or a frown
a brick wall
a white line
ends own
a choice
a refusal
a moments
consideration
smell
silence
the birds
all taken wide
and around
up down
soft stones
i know you
no sound now
have a break
take her nice
and easy
somehow begin
do not sigh..

ii

you take a deep
i want to high
do you recall
o the rail bread
the sanctum
the sunshine
the water crashing
and that small calm
said why
what did you do
no..
yes
i will not say
you will
no i will not
why should i
you say
no you
it is taboo
you
no,you
god
the devil
me
we
they
ah yes they
say
what do they
say
blaspheme
pray
do
don´ t
it
at
that
what
you know
ah,yes
infer
no,call it
me
yes
not they
no
you
no
where is the fun
gone
where
don´ t say
conspiracy
oh ****
here we go
pirates
china plates
when did the rot set
in..
kite
tasty
with a key
and zap
i might have been
happier before the
four stroke
i´ m not sure
it is hard to be
certain
but still we are just
a blooming accumilation
of what has been
and some of that
is not too pretty
if you know what
we mean
but of course
who does
words
are now
and will be
for ever
superfluous
silence wins
that is a common
platitude
lewd
****
yes
can be interpreted
as no
best say perhaps
i think that
is lunch..

i

if mental illness
become glamorous
(when glamour
is fear)
could see here
or little green
men peering in
our collective *
in the mirror or
on a flying star..


or there
which statistically
certainly are
in doubtful reflection
alien sadness
fat or thin
their self
nothings to
**** probings
regardless colour
!

is it Thursday already
sheep all move
he is cocky
that catched rat´s tale..

it is balm that sooth
firth of forth
in my crib
i laughed..

lime in the coconut
ad lib..
i broke down
on this day..

and turned to
sound
it was somewhere
to belong o..

and two legs
sure sanctuary
a beauty of vistas
your eyes..

i

let´ s be birds
repulsive creatures
though they saved
my bacon i
on a few
occasions

when in the jungle
when there is silence
lily is jane
i liked hairy women..parenthesis..
i found their gossamed armpits
a delight
fine as a bird´ s underbelly
ah yes birds
prophosize the future
so when you hear their
happy little voices in the
morning

ii

excuse me i am trying
not to go into shock
i was bitten by something
my hand is bright red
and pained tingling
runs amok..
in the jungle
there are so many death..parenthesis

iii

a few years i was bitten
by a snake
i was trying to help
and grabbed it´ s pretty tail
you will be happier over there
yonder green..
but the ungrateful little *******
sunk his fangs into my hand..
and i eased the back of his delicate
skull like a miracle from god..
and prised his delicate jaw asunder
i thought that will teach me to interfere
put him in the grass..


iv

birds..
let us be..we have a lot of blackcaps..
quite a lot of jays
though it has been years
since i have seen
then hoopoe
i like them
man bird
who does not
love and fear the
waxen wing..
the sparrows laugh
the blackbird like
some gibbet´ s shadow
outside my window
the pyramid
and golden eye
the seagulls don´ t care..
sometimes what sit of
goldfinches arrive like
gatecrashers and it is
a thunderbird..lol
****..we all panic like
detroit..
i watch the crane
like dinosaur
slide across the sky..
there is a stray parrot
abroad
our ducks were murdered
one windy night..
but the parrot silent
once i thought about a robin
and it appeared
i thought that weird
and it said well
we have some vulture
lily stop that
no
we
don´ t
....

v

ii


is ´ nt banksy a riot
shredding his art
after a million
i would buy him

a pint..
make´ s me proud
to be from england
lol..

ii


lunch


iii

over lunch i chewed
with my few remaning
while glancing in the mirror

and i saw myself
for the first time
as i truly am

and somethings
slid into place
i think they call it

an epithany
i have been trying
of late

through various discipline
and just catching
dissapearing

but memories one
would imagine lost
have come

to explain and
raise further
questions

in my pursuit
of me ..in
knowing oneself
there is taboo

but what to do
but in my reflection
just for a moment..

recognition

i

coming splintered across the
crossing they compared
telephones and i recalled
how we exchanged
our playing cards..

some were stills from the
b movies popular in the
day others potrayed the
sadistic and others were
popular football players..

i suspect not much has
changed
they made it safetly
across and
a pigeon shat quite near..

ii

i hope i will
die as quietly
as a mouse

all in my still
beady
eyes

my love til
the last thump
of my little

heart and
kind time
be

to sweet whim
wild and loving
as been

and to come
see
and still seeing..

i

too hot
oto oht
oot tho..!

not to..
nto ot..?
ton o..

to do
ot od
ot od...

owt..
tow
wot..!?

ii

burning illusion
(not cars houses
and so on..)

a heat of vision
take the floor now
root man..

truth song
seared at core
end to want

and poverty
then-
too hot..!

iii

(the more knowledge
gleaned
the less instinct
weaned)

once witches
small perhaps
eccentric somewhat
and followed
by thrush
sang
spied by curious
mice
sat on by old
ticks
munched the
fly agaric
and roamed
the nightly forest..

or flew into
great red skies
howling through
storming cries
screaming to fell
or styled vertical
with  two
black tusks
glinting
to caste hex
upon foe
and scatter the dead
to  perform abomination
with here little cat
perched behind
skull and moon
bat and croon
o the wind wild
o ancient chile
evil prays so
the great eye
the **** crow
the spite
and soon
o baal
sired the morn..

we have scorpions
my wield has two eyes
i saw no bee
running my right hand

up the railing and
continues hurting..
the cunning man i am
i urinated on it

and that has stopped
there is some wisdom
in the old ways
***** is a natural

healing..

vi

rainy day scribe
would like to imbibe
sweet long ago youth
to kiss your red mouth
that soured wine
and screamed our
insane face..

i would look into your eyes
and tried not to
think of them
so much for
that no..
but i´ d be gone
it was the ****
and all that colors
when we got effed up
you saved your best insights
for our arguements
you brought me two black
kittens
i put you in bed and fed you
porrige
everyone complained
i went to the occasional party
but prefered the country
we see the cure..

i lived the country
we went to cinema
we saw the piano
you on the bus

me on my bike..
i enjoyed that forrest ride
cool in the morning
and out of the breeze
you with the haarlam gazette..

o twas a cold of a winter so
i might visit my friend fiet
who lived on a house boat
with so many cats and dog
and a chicken and geese..
we would have a cup of t
and looked at her photos..

when the canals froze
when at the sea side
or with a sweet cognac
and a pint of mild
heck my hand throb
and my heart too..

we can sell the pots and pans
and we can sell the green bean
always the man must eating..
but the soul like a desert land

need love like the flower rain..

man can make the  telephone
and yet still remain all alone
we are always communicating..
cause the heart like a sad refrain

needs to hold a loving hand..

we are  clever all said and done
silence will testament lone moon
the light of a thousand suns in
the ending:

the last touch of woman and man..

they are a third
apex
tremendous
they..

they are a word
a hex
tremulous
they

are cursed
less
but so much

more
than us
trust

to unity
beauty
and loves..

i

i can put my nose in the air too
saying and who are you
and what do you do..
(ah, your way is true..)

ii

but i think i loose
pointless-elitism
a silly noose..

iii

in the end
a stuffed goose

iv

friend
my choice

v

your choice..

i went to model myself
not an easy job
today´ s elf
a sweet old cob

not interested
in what..
lily woke
dream gazed

in the act of recalled
do you want to know
a dream
(a raisin in the sun..)

i was in the shopping
mal and yet all the shops
empty and escalators
named heaven..

all the mirrors and
cameras
played catch
the end said

why what did
you then find
but i could not
stop laughing..

madame,it said
you are a shine
and i began
to be..

i understood
the purest
futility
and was good..

i believed in
love
it was me and
you

nothing was on
sale
knock out
a bargain

only your
only mine
on the air
all about

and when i
reached
and could
get no

there was
around
white forest
the sky blue

i looked into
my hand and
there was yours
too..

i said here is
gold and sand
here is promise
here riches..

i looked into your
great wise eye
and a tear fell
like avalanche..

you went down
and i went up
and then gone..
shopping..

from a dream deferred
by langston hughes

ii

at the local tech
with any ****
looking through
the window..

the moulin like some
happy
space ship..
the night soft

and the river fine
i took my forms
went to the pub
for a jar..

i


roger the goalkeeper
me and jennifer
strange triangle
we were..

we would get her stripped
to the vest..
and he run off and
play football..

******* had a dimple..
but i never gave her
a packet of crisps ..
my heart in bits..

ii

lily just dashed in
spread her sweet loving
made some delicate sign
drowned and was reborn
screamed the place down..
she says she forgot the thing
what was it ah..the wine..

i


a walk about towns
lily be crowned
great godess
to bed airwares on..parenthesis
perchance to dream in
splendour and innocence..
shared the family of man
when more is less..
when we live free of fear
and intimidation
when violence against
women
be uncommon..
we safe in our home
where human rights
exist..
for everyone
where we own
ourselves
body and soul..

ii

a little bird sings
outside her window
through the pale
dawn´ s light..

she says in oblivion
where she does not
know
where there´ s a
way..

iii

where we on a wing
where love the day
where night bring
hope so..

where the moment
the pauses
truth our meditations
and free lost cause

where equalities
where dreams
like sheep count
she smiles..

iv

where concord is
obvious and profound
like the blue bus
lily laughs..exclamation

like a little bird..
tucks her head
turns and goes
on in search

of the right word
the juste mot
where we like ourselves
o she says
the music stopped..

guns as romantic
hand fill
if every time
before sabre..

then a rock
before we hid
today lily
pontificate not..

take us back to
the virginal earth
cooling..
brings back with a bump

too many guns..tooo many
if i had a purple cherry
for every gun shot on
television..

what a pathetic metaphor
still,to be fair
i killed a blackbird once
with an air gun..

and i have been plagued by
them ever since
so what happens if you ****
a man..

some are quiet ok
and others not
brilliant
and that illustrates

how different are we
lily..
i shot a song bird
this has scarred me

is it time for the caves
i would not
if on a saturday night
or  in the dark

open country
surely
well all be sorry
by first light..

i


what a day ah!
the sun making hay-
a sweet little fray!

what a night to come-
old and young!
such fun..!

our hearts are light
and swallow-like
our first bike!

your nice
sometimes!
the prettiest ways..

ii


a countenance
of timeless beauty-
an endless line..

a voice as
stuck with gold
and honey..

great antiquity
i drowse
like the interim

and wait the silent
laws
that are mine alone..

beyond the line
that circles
and looks on..

after life
my spirit will
seek and roam..

until
we
find..

i


(relax,i am 59
and i am still
searching..)

ii

just of late
i fancy myself
a teller of tales!

i should look
on the net but
if anything

i have learned
is one learns
through

one´s mistakes..
not much changes
go..


iii

when man sat
by the fire side
long ago..

relating his day
of near scrapes
with sundry

beast to the
****** sun
and ****

there were the
song and
howling rhythm

the quietly crackle
bones were cast
the tale told

the stars bled
man found his
continues

gesticulate
and mighty
pause the

heaven
a sleight
gesture

fear
a known
and unknown

reason or
beyond
a wry

sign
suspense
and the

disbelief
cut
death

the skies
and falling
pause..

the fire
the eye
the nights..