i

food has become beauty
lily muses-
and entertainment
coloured happy

not blue..
not happy open packet
open packet and stick content
in maw..

ii

more our first
word and maybe
our last thought..

time as chips
salt and poly-do-da
hunger and thirst..

i

after being sober for
nigh on forty year-let me say,
to wake of a morn and feel
not a bottle of *****-still,
a pleasure..

ii

i peruse the word or
pick some bagatella..
consider the philisophical
with a gentle breeze-
o time is real..!

iii

then, consume eggs and
do not puke..
inside my cranium not
a nuclear bomb-
half a life..

iv

time ago..
shaking like a leaf
where did the time go?
i don´t know..
some thief..without

v

prints-a few lines!
(and less a few ivories)
but still here,
listen,no-one is more surp-
rised..

i

i have understood
the secret of writing
poetry..

make it short and snappy
forget the world
imagine you re somebody..

ii

looking forward to christmas
lily..?
a new pair of docs

on the horizon?
well,the materialism
of the greatest anti-materialist

seems a bit of a contradiction-
i think i will fast..
and what of the magi

bearing gifts..?
i will stick with the sermon
on the mount..

some of the greatest poetry
ever conceived..
in jesus i live..

iii

or just go to the pub
and dance
hard to say..

probably a bit of
each
hope is snow..

i_

lily says, sometimes i like
my stuff and then others it is
interchangeable as a shopping-list-

don´t forget!
the washing up liquid or
what does that say..

just one more pantheist
another god-bread or
lost in the snack aisle..

ii

no,there is nothing memorable
(when nearly home will
i remember..)

but i ask nothing
only pleasure
a smile at the check-out..

iii

and the receipt-what i
paid (and the correct change
would be nice..)

she says if i got my moneys´
worth, how i changed
from death..

i/

bogged down in
raw material
will you toss me a vine?

will you stand
at the peripheral
giving advice-

don´t struggle!
will you smile?
as the mire gets

higher and higher
will i see god in
glorious techni-colour or/

or the devil in
art-house sepia..
o the price of pop-corn..

some such thought
be my last..
blowing bubbles..

i)


scrub my soul
she says waving a
proffered foot-

in the heat
eyeing one through
onyx slits-

and tell a story
of youth
infinite..

(poe sits by her shoulder
eyeing one..
in egypt)-

ii

in egypt
i would breakfast
by the nile..

i smoked strong hash..
-and in the night
the call to the faithful

for prayer..
i was very ill..
i had  hepatitis..

the waiters dressed in fine
style..!
like a dream

the little dhows
went hither and thither
o the greens

the blue and brown..!?
the crisp croissant-
i was young..

i)


grumpy on the couch:
i was never loved, doc,
q:(a common whine-)

what makes you say..?
a:a void of feeling..
a vaccum..

q:you are defficient in
everyday emotions?
a:how do i know-

q:you can not communicate?
a:words, they hurt..
q:how so?

a:i try to relate..
q:you feel isolated..
a:i feel alone

a:i feel nothing..
q:you are repressed by
life..

a:i am repressed by life
i would hurt myself but
i am a coward..

i would die..i want to..
nothing to do but how..
life is pointless..

q:tell me about your
poetry-
i got out of bed

ii)

and in my head a
cacophony
that enticed and

bored in about equal
measure
mum,put my eggs on..

where is my paper-
the dog had ripped it
asunder..

mum,put the television
on..
i look out the window-

mum,when did you last
clean the windows..?
everything the same..

what about the weather..
rain..
in my heart a vacuum..

i have to vaccum, dear,
sorry..
where are my soldiers..?!

same as yesterday-where
is my life..
same as tomorrow..

iii)

meanwhile,happy does
a back to back boogie
with a little doxie

he met by rumblelows,
they look in the window
caught in flangrante..

i)

what you expect is seldom
what you get
but expectation is art

wishing into come
magical and dissapointment
is learning..

i

40 years on lily
and i hate every-one
such is life..

what happened
you tell me-
(be brief..)

ii

maybe,
you put your existentialistic
finger on it-

brevity..death looms
we fall apart
our hearts grow cold..

sickness
madness
there is reality..

iii

and far too quickly
when twenty
how the sea was blue

and like wise the sky
eternal, just innocence
a sixpence

in the floating ether
the sun and tide
the evening done..

i am tired lily
cries
from the red eye

i will supine
just here
in the dusty road

and read the clouds
in the reflected
decked in glory

wonder at you and
me
the same and yet

cosmically apart
(just go around)
alive and yet dead..

i shall prostrate for
peace are we not
kith and kin

brother and sister
do we not all want
the same..?!

(i am 500 today!)
and how odd
life is say-
why me,lord,
not to betray
the still road
a long way!
a lost word-
to what may-
a heavy load
undeniably
but o
young to old
hey presto!  
time´s fold
crazy..

i am a king in exile
(been here a while)
but return in style
dear people..yeah..
yeah..

and in my trail
freedom and love
a muse royal!
a new age!
a new pagan britain!

i am a king in exile
but weep ye not
for love in reason
soon return

and a sacred crown
to albion!
new pagan britain
a great people..!

yeah..

i am not
a pipe or ***
a monkey or sot
a dash or dot
a little or lot
a babe in a cot
why,when,or what
cold or hot
living rot
a distinct blot..

i am on the other
a fair listener
a brother
a sister
a mother
a father
further
nearer
hand sand
a magic wand
canned and
desparate dan
an avid reader
exotic and bland
black and tan
ollie and stan..

i don´t care much
for twits or aircraft
kits
wits
twix
that´s untrue
small bits
of stuff
too tedious to
go into
fascinate..

i am old and
young
i am dead and
gone
i am an acorn
a pagan
a lucky stone
amid seven billion
odd and even
i don´t hate
this seems strange
hate is healthy
like love
i worry
if i can´t hate
what..

i am musical
this is all
for me
i played the guitar
immedietly
and cant stop!
a top or head
the little girl beside
me was so enamoured
she said she would be my girl
friend
i started playing the
penny whistle at thirty
and harmonica some time
after
and then the violin and
drum in spain
the mandolin is fun..

i read poetry for thirty
year
before putting pen to
paper
sometimes i wish i
had not bothered
and sometimes i
am glad..
sad and
mad..

it is a point
but less
an ing with a
bless
i sky
i am at
sea
a bull
a lull
a sea gull
sea gulls..!!

i can tell you
something about
sea gulls
but what is the
point
i am resisting
smoke
i am empty
and full
i loathe thats
ok
killing time
bats are col
or cool or perhaps
anything that can
fly
loathe is somehow
lithe..
i like hats..

cats
rats
bats
fats
waller

cosy flats
welcome mats
pitter patt
rain in the
small wee hours
flowers

not so much
less a point
today i was thinking just
how worse
can it be
i think about the generation
lost in the first world
war
to die so young..
i got three books at the boot
sale or two, one is the prose
of pushkin
i like to read a short story
at breakfast
and something by the author
of cathy come home..homeless in
the uk in the sixties..
it puzzles me that the
richest country in the world
for a long time, had such
poverty..

but it does not pay to
dwell on such pain
i got three dvds-
some how an end
begins-
i watched marlene
ditrich as
a powerful russian queen..
clever trevor
and nina hagan
i can reccomend..
and jack london
the short stories there
of..
love is a suitable
finale..