i

when my love away
darken the  day

while her gone
bland the sun

in her absence
a total eclipse

if she leave
light´ s weave

a black sign
a white cry

pitch mine
tone alone..

ii

but when she come home
a bright aire or song

play to my mind
in a clear stream

of sweet blind
ing

a fine wine
of dandilion

rainbow
seen colour

that dissipate cloud..
and lo the sun!

now my memory fails
we share each ones piece
of ice or said
excuse me,
can you read..
no,but i can paint
but first we´  ll
drink and dance like
mad things
in the stench and
darkness
sounds lovely
i will tell mama
there will be fighting
and lewdness
if we getaway
on the deck
and modelling naked
but
the flash backs and
there is kate
glowing like
diane..
love transcends
everything!

lily
let me see
let reality
caste the wily
why
from and
away
the way
out this
blinded
lackness
see your beauty
and blast my
old eye free
of pre
concieve
sly habituality
redeem me
let your lack
still
let nothing
pray
let time
be the first time
let me see you
again
without another
to die
to fall
at that exact
let moment
ended
see you a first
time
when you sweetly
smiled and said hello..

a


i like to rework old poems
lily
(i am lazy..)

after all
what is reality..?

just a load of moments
this barbed fence

a thorny ball
a burning lens

a *** note
what is it

lily needs her
morning coffee..

b

but work is work
and love is

indefatigable
some seagull

dissecting blue
skies
wild flowers

outside my
windows

all the seasons
change
change

to stay the same
summer rain

living
dying

sparrows
singing

happiness
circling..

i


a strange time
but the same
all the same
i still miss
red wine
how i loved
that abandoned
safe spacing
lifting of pain
a button
in my brain
clicking off
or on
here am i
again..!

ii

i would read
the russians
their suffering
brought solace
so understanding
drink and lie in bed
clair de la lune
thank you


iii

a)

auntie mabel
said
they
would
hang me..

being
from
wales
poetically

a lilting
prophesy
(a prediction
common
among family)

b)

i was bemused at
the time
we sat in the bar
red wine

dribbled off her
chin
hang me..
why..

she said she knew
not why-
why is a sin
i was eleven
or ten..

waiting around the corner
waiting in the womb
waiting round the bend
waiting to be born

waiting to go to school
waiting to go home
waiting to be you
waiting

to leave school
to get a job
to be old
to love

waiting to get married
waiting for the end
of the month
waiting for a child

waiting for a tooth
waiting for promotion
waiting for something
new -(anything

will do-)a religeon
a new car
some new clubs
a house

waiting for them
to leave
waiting to retire
enjoying retirement

waiting at the
doctors
waiting at the bus
stop
waiting

no
creating
waiting
telephones

waiting
modern man
the leisure
industry
waiting

a

auntie mable said to me
said they would hang me..

coming from wales
and poetically placed

(her lilting prophesy
common amid family..)

b

i was bemused at the time
we sat in the bar..red wine

dribbled off her chin
she ****** back in

hang me why
she knew not why

why is a sin
why is a sin boy..

enough it seems is
never enough-
depends-blood or
lucre..?

tough, life is
o so tough..
needless hates
strange miasma..

i

i wrote myself a note yesterday
i have never wrote myself a note actually
that is a lie
it said..

it is ok to lie to others
but not to one´s self..
(and watch them for they
are a bunch of no-goods..!)

this proved excellent advise
which i never gave to anyone
(let alone myself)
and put it on the fridge..

one would soon become confused..
two we had no fridge
three one lie leads to two
and so on..

soon enough-
bad things might occur
not known the difference
between fact and fiction..

ii

i have a job telling truths
it is our job
(not bob)
but when they accrue

back to notes and lies
like i love you
do you love me
i do..

i hate you
i hate you too
(one on
the fridge door..)?

iii

i have lived nearly
all my adult life without
a fridge
well that is a lie-

but there were vast swaths
of time spent
fridge-less
as one gets older

it is hard to say what
the truth was
the lies
the notes..

the moon rose last night
like the last man´s sight
from his true loves´  eye..
(-cried a great wind´ s sigh..)

the sea whispered silvery
the still and blue agave
i thought of you
soft you´d say-
something that nailed my
dreams to the wing
also bleed like
wreaths..
a few word that burst
till cry
a word
till we die
sun and wise..
may we be on the
other
side
together
lily you and i..

ii


i would humbly
ask a favour
if you would be
kind to my mother
i will be eternally
thankful..

silence seems to
be
the name of
the game

aujourd´hui-
quieted
we guess
at the omitted..

(business as usual
for me-
the world has
always gathered

around hushed corners..)
through out history
the truth is
withheld

perhaps for our own
good or
general detriment
(or is this paranoia

from another nut bar..?)
hard to say
but to express
the heart

is our meat and
potatoes
(letter from a stone
history is

as history does..)
a party dress
that now has donned
to placate or

con..
don´t worry-
trick or treat!?
silent..

now
some of the world´ s
most
glamorous
women
have cried
for my beauty
long gone
days
when i wept
before
the mirror
and fandango-ed
to danny kayes'
ugly duckling
how strange
life is..
i still see
mr potato head
on a bad hair day
when gazing long
by the lake side
and  hurt if
people look hard..
some pain goes deep
and lasts a life time..?

in the supermarket
there is regiment
a suckling
reassuring
long q
little q
mirrors
cameras
there is a soul engulfing
constant..
in a world that might end
in four minutes
there is spaced
eternal thought
sensor like heaven..
a pastry counter!
cool songs of
history
whistle and sing
i would like to lead
a caveman by the hand
you see what we have
become..
ug..?

i have a
pigeons
skull
so delicate
and full

of wonder..
like our love
hard to
define
from above?!

oh man it´s a hot one
one man it´s a hot oh
hot man one it´s oh a
man oh one a hot it´s
a hot one it´s oh man
it´s man a one oh hot..

yes,i be all  alone
all alone i be yes,
alone yes,i be all
be all alone yes,i
i yes,all alone be..

is it a crime?
a crime it is?
crime is it a?
it is a crime..

that all depends
all that depends
depends all that..

who you
you who

are
.

;

my father was the real poet of
our family he would say of
such things barely on edge of
our collective conscience

that made poor sense but nearly
were we lynched at the weekly
poker school..as they woke dreamily
and he gathered his chips..

until in the end they gagged him
not literally but he decided to writing
it all down on some half baked whim
and we lost heavily..

i see him lying and giving up soon
going down the pub instead..
he expected it to pour out as it did
but his was just an excess of charm..

he was a very social person
inspired by an audience
not one for a blank screen
or some torn paper..

five minute poem
it takes six to die
so this should be a cinch
already one has gone
so that is what we say
hold on
that is another
and **** happens
a third
i am my own winch
who else
who is else
yes, good question
when i am you
and the other
u my bro or sis
then,perhaps
light will
walk this blighted land
that may occur yet
anyway time presses which
is beyond words
which are rather a waste when you
think about it when
love stares us in the eye like some black
bird with it´s cheeky tail held high
anyway times up..

i

i can see the join
i was mentally dis jointed
my mind had stopped
(but not a full stop..)

really i found a beginning
when it all began..
i considered my hand
long and long and..

ii

saw the gaps between
or what might be..
(well we all realize parallel
realities-heaven and hell-)

i thought that an odd place
gathered rainbows for tears
seemed like a fair trade
in my crib laid

iii

and a hex was hexed
and what occurred next
(solid lack of any syntax
who would credit that..)

not me..sleep little one
you can always pass on
within a curling digit
that that answers it..

if you could see you(me)
i´d see nothing new
mayhap a crack or two
with a **** come through..
that would be all..
the distant call
of an owl..
a thin haul..
wait i can!
a bird with
in sight
of land..
the forest
of love!
song as sweet
from pan..

iii

weakness
loch ness
gone west

are there
aliens
in

our midst
we
monkeys

with
typewriters
wish

were
we
fish

strength
h­eight
width

breath
in
out

time
space
birds

words
why
bother

i wish for a raspberry bush
and an acre of land
lush and brown!

man will always desire
space
his own

he will call his
choice-
a future..!

we want ours
through justice
and god..

how many years since we
heard from joe
a curious combo combing
hurt

and happy..
some inspired bass
some real *******
sensitive lyrics..

he was 6 foot 6..
his piano composition
is further inspiration
i felt

jealous and sick..
stepping out
i glowed inside
and howled along..!

into the light
young old
tv gone
fnd..

he made too
a song called cancer..
everything
gives you cancer..

listen now..
never hear live
a lively rumbo
or something..

and don´ t played
that piano..
good on yer
joe..

iv

not unlike
alladin sane
kind of
a bit

bowie
not so
formulaic
less structured..

he rambles
along
like tottering
on a cliff

a bit more
melancholic
there is a
lack of direction

and a child like
frustation
the genius
tired by genius..

the whole thing
lacking any kind
of melody
but quite melodic..

some of the single notes
might have been aliens..
lol..
and the pianist

was his first and only
cut..and saved the day
when we are
to plummet

into insanity..
there comes
the saxaphone
which purrs

and loves us
into breath..
and that first
boing!!!!

astrix joe jackson
a real songwriter..

i


who would have imagined i´ d
have my very own computer
we had wooden pens in a class
of sixty..
two a third of a pint of milk every
day
(though i never made monitor..)

in the summer the milk could become
disappointingly tepid
and in the winter
the blue **** fed on the icing cream
thus rendering it unfit..

(though we drank it any hows..)
we all found that very charming
and did not begrudge their ingenious
ness..
(they who had no breakfast drank

sometimes three bottles..)
we had abacus or what ever the plural
is..
(i don´ t care..)
which if i am correct
was a system of mathematic
invented by the persians
or so..

but my favourite lesson
was propelling paint by
a straw..
(i was a budding pollack..)
the random and sub conscience..
and some old newspaper..oh yeah..


i used the same method years later
to wean myself off *****..
opening up pleasure
that had been sleeping..
stimulating and fused..
now,i have a computer..!

i

Melancholy
Is
Come..
Hell
As
Effort
Lies-

Just
Out!
Hues
None­..

ii

melancholia
reverse square
of humour..

melancholic
lightly dark
near yet far..

melancholy
stone wall
can not see..

only six minutes can pass and
i have only one finger left
the trick being
i a human being
to look at
this planet through relatively
alien glance
how
well like if you never were here
which soon enough will be there
the case or the whole or just plain
good old nothing bless
that being the case what
bizarre dream
lead us on
to be here and now
golly,of all the moments in space
for me to see
and you to do
all in this nano second..
two minutes
two minituos
two what to do..
sail off for the horizon
head held high
your mit in mine
it even be fine.,.
one minute
runs down
just like the first
and the last..

should we make a fuss
or stay hushed..

when brought
warm beer
read our paper..

should a hair in our soup
knock us through a loop
or just sit
and wonder..

if the main dish is poor
should we consider football
pick up our phones and tweet
something
or other..

if the sweet is reminiscent of
school
do we stare down the street
and recall
some long
ago lover..

if death arrives like
a bored waiter
over charging and
scratching..
i won´ t bother..
make a fuss about
some dust..

for peter
we´ ll say *******
we were here
we lived
and enjoyed..

the first time she smiled (at me)
i fell in love..wild..!?

i moved in (with her)
the cool dark ´50´s furniture..

we had six or seven cats (same litter)..
toby,irwin,walter,buster,sue,cindy,lester..

we hid from the gardener..!
watched operation triumpho (on tv)

dusty autumn gave way to winter.
and listened to maurice (on the radio)...

on sunday the choir practised below..
what did the future do..

well it played too some how..
everything being old and new..

the ambulance lounged outside..
along the coast was the cabo des gato..

we went there and rather foolishly
camped in a dry river bed..(flash flood)..

but here to tell the tale..the fire and
peaceful starry nights..(and love)...

and today seventeen years and no
on but still here this very moment..(rose bud)..

still here but another part of town
all water that..all rock..air would..

iii

then with a bit of old
rope i tied the afore
mentioned in the middle
and made a divide
between the cab
and the back..

fastening it to the
crescent with some tacks..
it smelled of paint for years..
especially in the cold..
a supply of chopped wood
sat on the passenger seat..

i released the knot and it
fanned like a dream of new orleans..
i read and resisted madness
in the spring the tulips won..

in the evening i got ******
with the paper girl..
listened to radio four..
and sat by the canal
hey claudia..!
she told her parents  over
dinner..

sometimes i like to write
in a hurried spontaneous
fashion without punctuation
or second thought which is fine
as as one grows longer in the olden
wolf tooth spontaneous acts becoming
rather short and might limit themselves in
the ******* supermarkets or something
but these poems if indeed that is what then
might be called last for quite a short time
this illuminates certain aspects and darkens
the other things sometimes i am amazed when
they make any sense at all but to be always considering
pontificating overthinking in every ******* excuse my
french is worse then dying and as the people on the cathode
ray say or the man in his office says just doing it oh lord so
let the first things be first of course this may end in prison
or hospital or the like but there are those and i salute and drink
the finest red to their brave and adventures health warning..music
break..

ii


lily is humpy
it´ s how you
get up
love

conquerors
all
still i rise..(maya angelou)
was it why

the blue sky
lily´ s sigh
is as humble
as a button..

today is to hot too
is too to hot today
to hot is too today
is today too hot to
too is hot today is..

do very much but
do very but much
much but very do
much very do but..

get a beer
a beer get
beer a get

and chill
chill and

well..
.

;

i have a little man
he collects money
in a slot at the back
of his cranium..

made of caste iron
his smile red says
with sad blue eyes
put a penny in

and one day a fortune
by my murdering
wiles
will be yours..

meanwhile i will
prop up this dusty
old mirror
with cloven hoofs

dig land fill
and gleefully
stare as everything
else falls away..

i write my poem,
you write yourn,
you say where,
ill say when!

we have seen!
we have been!
gives a monkeys?!
not you or i..

i


so lily what do
you think
the end of life
in an instant
like a staple
in a gross
micro oven
exploding
and all we
say is
what
was
that..?

ii

maybe they
will take pity
though i don´ t
see why
see how we
treat chickens..

two minute poem

no eggs darling
no nothing
no space
no cake

no nothing
said that
no no
ah..just you
and nonoe
but me..

om..
one more
am..
she
we
gone
bye!

iii

five minutes to go
do you wonder
what to do

do you ******
your neighbour
or find a better

view
or put your affairs
in order

tilt your hat
go what..
five minute

warning..?
kiss your cat
apologies

i did that..
and that
and that..

jeez
that was
fast..

tie your
lace
admire

your
face
say

your
prayers
mind

your
own
busi­ness

pass
the
bones

check
for worms
change

underpants
some days
five minutes

kiss the
way
back and
forth

i shall
return
burn


ask what is
the time
go blip..

the summer is coming to a finish
the anti-bite sits golden..

the dwindling at the sand-
an extra blanket at hand..

the blue swallow flies south
scattered showers on red roof..

we breath relief..
cool the devil´s tooth..

then sad au revoirs
see you next year..!

the air picks at us..
but soon dry our tears..