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

here we are then
same old ancient desire
same old scream
we chide dull fire

of unending unrelenting
unforgiven..
gosh
will it never end..

our forelocks annointed
by a new ghost
something anew
we and i mean dead

toast look and pray
but it´s the same old
show a new day
we sit mouth open..

later,i will go to
the supermarker
after,
sit in the park..

then,climb so
many steps
and what will
be will be..

he seems a nice down to earth guy
he has that scottish honesty
like a spring day
and a fine whiskey..

if he sat next bar
there would be tears and laughter-
remembered long after..
remembered long after..

he was kind
**** saw eh
aws nkdi..!

but messed up
pu
tub

they met
heyt tem

but didn´t
bother
reh tob..

she did nt
care
care..

they went
their separate
ways..way..

how do i validate my feelings
(well really who cares)
a poet stood beneath ice
we seek justification

we seek reason..
but this christmas morn
i saw a a robin red breast
and in it´s eyes

no interest
only hunger
some irritation
and bare need..

the day of black and white
so much the better
was *******-

there was a quality of light!
what the butler saw
she squirming on the knee

laughing with silk stockings
bright!
champagne and cigar
a puzzled eye

in the key
hole
now the maid

now the hound
now her husband
now blood..

a lot for a penny
the beauty in tone
how is love..

how is the world with you?
round and flat too
a tear track or bugaloo..

or grey to greyer..
and bach
aire on a g..

easy to be
every breath
blue..

is it all a lie
and cripplingly
true..

dream or reality
come on down
or high..

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)

how sensitive
is the with
or without?

(no-one knows..)
to have or not-
to be

tetchy or
easy
to live or

so..

ii)
should we thrive
with less
or

an ultimate
sacrifice
our

hate
consummate
to

ours
(what is)
or

go-
i´m sure
i don´t need all

this-
it just
accumulates..

iii)

or what is
ceasers
render unto..

he
she
still

it keeps the
economy
going-

but creating
the seeds of
it´s own

destruction
(like lead
in the casket)

everything
is some one´s
personnel

own hell
i regard my
closet

with rueful
expression
the cup half full..

how very our existence
do differentiate
but how similar
we would have it..

how universally random
and exciting
of infinite possibilities
and yet

the same old ****..
so  say yea
to poetry
and yea to creation

in general
and nay to boredom
and pht to death
different

in everything
wit
or beauty
or love..

hunger to war
war to hunger
more to less
less to more
critical mass
massed critical-
to be soon..
soon to be
gone alone
alone gone
to the moon
moon to
what to
do?

i

a first line-
evasive as time sometime
or illusive-could be either
or both-that is the nature
of the word-could be anything
regarding time gets us no-where or
anywhere-tricky blighter..

ii

i had a badge or pin
as our american cousins
say-it read today i am 5
well,today i am 64 and none
the wiser..

iii

i did n´t have all my
teeth..
and we had jelly and i-
ce-cream-we played pass
the parcel and musical chairs
and in the garden swore eternal
love and friendship..

i

lily are you a
witch?
not sure?

probably are..
many are unware..
a shadow woman..

you are kin
to the cats
umbra feline..

and you know
what i´m thinking..
your aura a flittering bat

in a long forgotten
or bats..
cornish cove

where dwell stange
nymph
and what not..

sun and moon
happy and fair
size 10 airware..

ii

it is easy to flex
my cosmic doo-da
and low hex

or spell-(let me
consult thesaurus..)
and abracadabra..

just a question of
discovery
there is magic

in nature-it is undeniable
power in beauty
and beauty into power

cats and bats
and hedgehogs
ears of the devil

can it be transmited
from one heart
in a circular

fashion to another?
there is healing
love and rebirth..?

iii

in perfection her
reflections
in the mirror

where they see
past and future
omni-presence

do you think
she says-will it rain
should i take

an umbrella
the twain meet
the clouds break..

i


i became interested in poetry
through bukowski
basically

i thought poetry was about
love and daffodils
literally

but can be about boozing
and ******, fighting
cats and dogs..

ii

why not drop
food and medical
aid?

from airplanes
(or helicopter)
clearly marked

bottles of water
and so..
¨from god..¨!?!

(A ripple of
applause
cod..?)(-cash on delivery..)

iii

lily says
thankyou..
this is called-

the universe-
(my mum went to
school with you!?)

iv

i feel ancient
like the light
that travels from
furthest depth

it is twisted and
bent
still lit

but hopeful..
like luggage lost
in transit

i await..
i have a number
and pretty colour

soul intact
can the can
computer enhanced..

v

what is wrong with
man?
well,it is the difference

(in silence)
between a power tool
screaming kids

yappy dogs
desparate dans
and a circle..

not any ones fault
not yours
but not mine..

(a stifled laugh
a cough
a truthful shuffle)

vi

she pauses for
to imbibe..
o momentarily entranced
by the H2o
-any questions?yes-
do you exist?
do you exist?
-on more than a purely
perfunctory basis-
(my mum went to school
with you..)

vii

existence

composed to resistance
-rene said,
i think therefore i am..

i prefer-
all i  i know is
i know nothing..

(one of the old greek boys..)
what if i can´t think..
what if it hurts..


(silence-the furtive rustle
of
a sweet wrapper
a no 23 goes by..
for some a ball
for i-music was the answer..)

viii

music

bob marley says,
music is a godly thing
y´know..?

the theme from tales
of the river bank
filled my

heart with love
and my head with
ambition..

silence is a kind
of music
the older i am

the more i love
that
too..

(love-karma
comrades
kind folk
strangers and
acquaintance-
indistinguishable
unavoidable
inevitable
pay the bill
eternal
officer dibble
no wibble
no wobble
a glass full
a charging bull
eternal again
chuff chuff
cosmic train
what i am giving
is what i am
getting-
simple but endlessly
complex..)

ix

complex

i don´t really like this word
i don´t use words i don´t like
but there it is
my mind is a blank
my leg itches
what about this world?
(bless my britches..!)
does the heart sink
does despair abound
do we desire closure
is it suffice
has it got a bit
too much
are we done?
no, there is space..
(space, the bit
between)
free and tedious
we consider the void
the gaps
between us..
(the no 23 goes past
and in a seat
some one waves
and blows a kiss..)
for want of a better
word..

a happy quiet
some positive
thoughts
what it is to
live-
i thought i might
try something different
lily says..


i have always admired
the art of the story teller and regret
their demise from popular culture..

x

once when after a successful ****
and apetites sated amid the crackle of
flame in a silence a moon  sighing
made to the front by the fire
between hunter and blood baptised
moved the medicine man
ju-ju and seer
with pipe and bone to bless
the warrior shadow and women
laughter admonishing small children
the cave grew hushed and stilled..

his first cry the prey´s last
a victory and a blessing
hiss and rattle

to the earth to the heavens
the second the sun
and moons

survival and fruitful
ness
-to the rain

he tokes his kit
and passes to the left
anoints the head

kisses the dead
and the refrain
for today and

tomorrow
-together
-together..

(celebration and commune
gone before the f or fight
of the nomad

the birth of possession..
order in might
the land

our own
black and white
o tribe of man!)



so the **** was the
inspiration and unification
a stone recollection

a moment of daring
the fired dancing of
imagination

searing rytham
on and on and
in

the bloodied sing
stone to bone
stone to bone

great the hunter
the victors song
one and on..

and so we learned to read and write
and tell tales..