poetry is music
just with-out the music
the stars are music
just with-out music

your beauty is music
and so on..
music is music
but what of silence..

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..

i

practise and work
that is the life
for we artists..

i mean, it may not
be any good..
but we metamorphose

from human to a god
no problem-o-
we have a choice..

ii

we love and regret
just effing notice
someone-

i mean i exist..
(a drowning fish
perhaps..)

iii

remember when we
met!?
you were a purple head..

i asked you for light
and you hid in the toilet-!
everything was purple..

i did not hide-
i knew you would follow
and cast a trail

a cosmic path from my
soul to yourn
-together

we died and were
born
when you peered

over the door
for a light..
heaven and hell..

iv

we are happy
we are sad
lily laughs..

i laughed-
a purple devil?!
we had a bath..

v

remember-
i asked who you were
under a spell

you said well
it is all so odd
i can´t say..

p.s.-what of silence?
it is beauty
it is conspiracy

is it god
hesitation
or creation

or destuction
a laugh
a tear

a swish of
the devil´s tail
a minutes or

a google
sparrow **** or
the last bugle..

purple flowers by the window
reiterate how ya doing
to a world of suffering
(has been but always so-)

there a lilac of inspiration
and a crown of hope too..
toward a life comes
a time we all once  anew..

shall i find consolation?
will i embrace the last one?
(after a life of preparation..)

will i return?
will my energy burn
and to the cosmic stream

will i become eternal-
loving-
a tree or rat or bird..?

i

she blows a bubble
a universe of colors
i think,
examining light-
horses are over-rated..
well, i once was bitten
by a snake..
shadows are fitting-
obscurity is a luxury
i was trying to help it..
we enjoy our wine..
(i liked wine but i used it-
not so much as a social crutch
as more of an anaesthetic..)

ii

are you hungry?
i don´t know what is
in the fridge (but not animal)
go and see..

i

she re-enters like a
clumsy sentence
in one lily hand

some picked daisies
-do we not share happiness?
my soul cast upon the rocks

from the sea of ingrate
to the last grain
a boulder in my brain..

ii

she puts them in water
(not unlike my soul)
and on the table-

reconciled by the tide
i say,there´s some marijuana
in my pocket-

(no,she smoked it..)
they are her favourite
-yellow for happiness..

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..

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..

sin does not lighten
as i age
it takes on different
aspect-

procrastination and
sticky sweet
it is the wages
of nothing..

toys
for sun
that
is all
i
have
been..

and
i
guess
that
was
suffice-

easily
amused..
a
summer
cruise..

a
­little
circle
in
time
and cool
wines..

you-
eyes
and
sweet
smile..

so i should share my beans
with you
because i have 5 and you
have none-

poe is irate-
you know what we get
in the jungle
nothing..

so i will try my hand at prose again..(will it take long the chip shop is closing-what is your name?-they call me monkey-a superior sort?!to some..well don´t let me stop you..it´s ok i´m a fat **** any how..)
       ...he stood behind and looked at the empty space..so after a while turned with a whirl and stomped away in an arrogant tizzy. i went on my way and returned the next day. The voices were there again but not so loud and after a while they grew quieter until they ceased altogether .but i did not give up and continued to visit the quarry. then one day i went and by the entrance stood two very large policemen. i tried to pass as if on a mission of some urgency but one blocked the way.said something like- no, son..but before, i distinctly lip-read-here-he-is..and they looked crest-fallen. what did this mean?
any way, i tried to charge them..without success..what were they doing there? feeling myself outgunned i made a hasty retreat but not before shooting them a look over my shoulder that should have turned them both to stone. right there and then..this was nearly the end of the adventure but i went once or twice again. but they had boarded up the entrance.as i recall there was a narrow passing that led to the opening. this they had blocked with hardboard and barbed wire.so not to be defeated completely i looked at this construction and began my interest in the abstract..

so i would say
you missed that bit
out..

sometimes i just thought it
in the silence
they might

ask what my book was
about-tolstoy´s rendition of
the napolionic wars..

or  portrait of an artist as
a youngman- joyce..
(that is a favourite..)

conflict of different kinds
nobody had an idea
what was going on..

the human condition fraught
with misunderstanding and
omission..

ii

any good?
not much..
so where was i
a litany of pointless

violence..without
an ending
faith to blood
hell and small bird..

so long to another
time-just so many
obscure and subtle
references

which may be
interpreted as to
this or that
could be's-

analogy and metaphor
or simile-
if  a word of difference
meant

a god-**** thing-?!
they would be
extinct like a future
of peace and love..

some noise a yonder-
´tis the neighbour
with yappy dog
and screaming kids
whom take insult
for they can hear
what we talk about
if they listen very
silent..

here is war in
the most reasonable
fashion -
sometimes
they like to join in
when were arguing..
mind their business
sounds like
dinm hiert ssenisub -for
it is a kind of duty
to perform and boredom
never never underestimate..

lily laughs
(perhaps if she put some
clothes on
the body does odd)
i wish i was a hedge hog
so do we..

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..

i

some one at the
door-paul dirac (back
for more!)

here, i return your
book, lily,
love is a dog from hell

(by charles bukowski)
nice hair cut, paul!
ya!who the hell is

tom jones?!ha!
you want tea?
coffee..

water..merci..
take a pew
what?

ii

assez-vous!?
hows the math
coming along?

ah slowly?!
-pick a flower on earth
and you move the furthest

star-exactly..!
what do you think to
bukowski?

a testament to the
durability of
man or

mad
and sad
(who would n´t..

be..)
well he had energy
and not all bad..

iii

what do you read
lily?
lark rise to candleford


by flora thompson-
rural life in england
(circa. 1850..)

simultaneously horrifying
and charming
part biography

-look that butterfly is
back-
children as slaves

courting customs
fashion
conditioning

no cars
hell and heaven
superstition

you had to tell
the bees
that the master died..

lark rise, a hamlet,
candleford,
a village..

an odyssey
and a way that´s
dissapeared..

iv

(here is your
water
merci..)

poverty
not much mercy
the richest country

in the world
a penny a fortune
no-one is bored..