Memory is a *******
It lets you stay there
In that fuzzy place
Beyond fear and care
When you think back
It's not the event you recall
But the last time you recalled it
In the records hall
Edited each go
By what's on your mind
Subconscious gymnastics
Act as a blind
To what really went on
Decades ago
If you saw as true
Up your guts you would throw.

That giant redwood you could drive your car through
The Buddhas of Bamiyan
The old man of the mountain too
Magnificent Palmyra
The docker's umbrella
Things of beauty
Sent off to landmark heaven
Wether
Time or vandals or poor public planning
They are all now gone
No more time they'll be spanning
As the recycle rate
Kicks on with new pace
Enjoy the things that you love
Before they're erased.

It's Magnolia season
Reminds me of someone
How soon it arrives
How quickly it's gone.

How many frying pans will you buy and throw out?
Especially now they are worth a ****
I've had two in the last eighteen months
My own fault remorse
Short sighted reasoning
Is par for the course
To bite the bullet and go long
Has you singing
An environmentalist song.

"I don't care if it rains or freezes
Long as I got this plastic Jesus
Sitting on the dashboard of my car
Comes in colours pink and pleasant
Glows in the dark cos
He's irridescent
Take him with you when you travel far

Get yourself a sweet Madonna
Dressed in rhinestones
Sitting on
A pedestal of abalone shell
Goin ninety
I ain't scary
Cos I got the ****** Mary
Assuring me
That I wont go to Hell

Get yoursef a sweet madonna
Dressed in rhinestones
Sitting on
A pedestal of abalone Shelley
GOING NINETY
I AINT SCARY
COS I GOT THE ****** MARY
ASSURING ME
THAT I WONT GO TO HELL."

He's was drinking like a senior ****
In the bunker June 45
Staving off the foul inevitable
To face his actions
When alive
Half a mile from ground zero
Two minute warning
A minute past
Like Hetfield said
Take a look at the sky
For it will be your last
The terrible is arriving
see the widening infernal plain
They've traced the call
They are coming
To make him wear his blame.

In a period of sobriety
I tend to wake up early
Still somewhat fuzzy
Deffo unfocused
Twisting forest path
Unclear to me
So many possibilities
Even though
Over the ****
Strong sunlight
Filters through canopy
Inspiration
To avoid the slump
Back into sloppy reverie
The pleasant endless drunk
But it could end right here
With a cool breeze on my face
The fawns and the rabbits
I Sort of like this place.

God lord them ******* can sing!

The mark of your smartness
I failed of course
It meant the school
You got sent to
From central casting
Divorced
There's probably somat similar
In this modern age
But I've got no kids
So I cannot engage
On the way we educate
And who goes where
So I shrug to my fellow dummies
You'll  be fine
Ignore the *******
I'll see you over there.

David Eugene Edwards
Said his banjo was
A work instrument for God
That's some holy confidence
Yet it doesn't seem that odd.

It only just a couple of years ago
I found out that cocktail
Isn't called
A peanut collider.

Tony Reid
Broke my arm
With power and imprecision
He let loose from the edge of the box
That ******* ball was fizzing
It curved to the right
On that fateful night
When I was tending goal
Instinctively I stretched out my limb
Against the direction I was going
Twisted in the stress position
It struck upon my wrist
You could hear me scream in the next county
I was on the injured list.

The Holy Mountain
Had Christs for sale
The road to perdition
Had a basket of ****** Mary's
Blackadder sold fake holy relics
Telly and movies
Have a pretty dim view
Of the church's
Financial activities.

How many times
Have you looked at a digital clock
Seen 9-11
And thought what are the odds?
On any given day it's 1440 to 1
If you calculate that way
Like Del Amitri said
Five oh five
Is not SOS
That's initially
How we got into this mess
So roll over avoid the distress
Of your screaming time piece.

There's not a breath of wind this morning
Apart from the occasional breath of wind
In my ***** potential children spawning
Will later be cast into sin
The breeze it grows and circles the Earth
Next generation dies in a ****
Left feeling somewhat the burk
In the occasional breath of wind.

How much of us has gone into the planet?
And what does us mean?
When did we become a family?
Even before that point
They were fertilising
For millions of years
Mushed into the earth
Gratefully received
We started out doing the same
Until recently
With this sewerage game
Of course since then
We've pumped out
Some different ****
That goes down and up
Us mixed with chemical grit
Can Gia deal with that?
Long term?
The debate we get into
But like in the Middle Ages
That crap goes out the window.

I share my birthday
With John Lee ******
Beat that
You sweaty ******!

They don't care it dooms them
They don't give a ****
Oft portrayed as the earths saviours
They're just nihilistic humps!

I remember the black and white eighties
When the people owned their shops
Not just the proprietors
But those around who flocked
For communion
And connection
On a Saturday afternoon
Wether marital arts
Or comics
Music
Clobber
Video games in smokey gloom
Chapter one and Ogre books
Backtracks and Probe
The leather shop and flip
Down a pasty for fuel
It was always grey and overcast
Rain off cobbles danced
Outside of short lived record shops
The mood only enhanced
The breakdancers with their Lino
The suedeheads and the goths
Sick Thrashers and glam posers
Sitting off and taking stock
Uneasy tribes would gather
From both near and far
Then up the hill to Shaolin World
To buy a throwing star.

Halton borough council claim I didn't pay to cross the bridge
But I did
William Hill's system crashed
And they were not taking bets
The blood banks after me
But I'm on a platelet embargo
Amazon once again
Have no record of my cargo.

I've given up sarcasm for lent
It's going great.

You literally can't do anything wrong on here
It's like playing the bass.

The happy guitar player
Was excited
Today was his young son's birthday
He presented him
With the beautiful hand crafted six string
His great grandfather had made
That was given to him by his own dad
When he was the same age as the lad was now
"Son" he said "I give you this,as is our family tradition,
that you might bring music and sweet laughter into
the world.It won't make you rich but you will have
the precious asset of creativity,to know you brought
some inner spark from what is you and from whole
cloth cast it into the ether for all to hear.I impart the
same advise my dad gave to me on this day.Never be sharp,
never be flat,always be natural."
The father smiled warmly
And handed the boy the guitar
He carefully took it
Weighed it in his hands
His eyes pouring over every excuisite detail
Even after a hundred and thirteen years
He could detect whiffs of cedar and rosewood
He stood in silence a moment
Then looking up
He met his fathers adoring gaze

He then beat him to death with it
Cut his **** off with the E string
Wrote THE FUTURE IS NOW
In **** blood on the wall
Set fire to the house
And went off to become
An AI software engineer.

I see that big cat food has put out a product recall
it's the modern age
Society will fall
If we allow our pets
To fall into malaise
Of non exposure
Like our peanut disgrace
Once you start down that path
The problem will grow and not shrink
It all written there in the Bible I think
Moses beseeched the lord give my people strength
To cross the dessert and bolster their health
God said cast thy staff down
It turn into a serpent
M took fright
Johviah bade him
Take it by the tail
A staff once again
Took it up
Turned and strode down the hill
Showed the chosen the trick
Then they were all in
For good or for ill.

There's deffo a ghost in this machine
Though maybe not accidental
If you know what I mean
Once you reach an impasse
And press save on your draft
A prompt immediate appears beneath what you craft
The sneaky *******!
What does it say?
It orders
Delete this poem
In gas lighting grey.

Have you looked at yourself
In the mirror lately?
John Berger said you should do it daily
To get a fix on what your becoming
Incremental slide or climb
Isolate from the thrumming
The buzz
The fuzz
The pulsating drone
The distraction
Reminds me of that Orbital tune
With vocals by Oppenheimer himself
Muses on present chronography
And what it means for thee and me
Advises time lapse
Put the clock upon the shelf.

A reverberation not heard
At least not for awhile
Though you never
Sonically perceived it
Deffo made some people smile
Or even reverse snort their cornflakes
In nasal agony
The non reported sound
Makes this gaff more empty
Though a showboat is not off the cards
He could be waiting in the wings
To rush the stage unexpectedly
Rebound the whacky wonderful things.

When the lightning
Strikes the eruption
What is forged in the smoke
Will fall immediate to earth
See it rolling down the *****
Bouncing off of boulders
Striking sparks in the gloom
Creating filaments
Dark gossamer
For the coming terrible loom.

From Cheltenham last week's
*** of gold and of honey
Sharp Willie Mullins
Still counting his money.

When the acid that burns your heart
Ceases to swell and ebbs back
Enough to let you roll onto your side and drift off
The sleep of the just
Is not really it
But you snore and dream
Like you haven't for a bit
The Googly eyed slumber
No longer suppressed
Is now vivid
And scary
And funny
I guess
Alien invasion
Slasher movie
Murderous governance
Brought about by myself
Seems to be the preponderance
While friends and family
Point and laugh
And look on.

The way of life
And executing a Will.

When things are getting
Worse and worser
But like Tony Blair
You can't go in reverse
Then it's time
To contemplate
All that you are
Maybe a handbrake turn
And the future be ******.

If you don't feel hungry
Why eat?
Is that not the essence of defeat?
If You can't export it
Complete
The thing you meant to defeat.

Kick off
All ensues
No one is safe
Final whistle
Violence is
Nobody cares
Patrick Thistle.

I give you permission to despair
Wether left or right
Or just hanging there
One can justify the care
It takes
To really cheer.

I owe a friend
A ton And a half
But he won't
Take a cheque
That *******
Gonna take a cheque

Have you ever been po faced?
I know I have
When presented with ****
From the front or the back
And then realised
You have got your
Nose
To
Close to your
****.

It only takes one *******
To cause a stink
But that's all it is
And that's what the winds for.

My mother is lovely
Let me get that straight
I know there's some people
Who will not relate
The Jimmy W telescope
Has captured some ****
That NASA does not know
What to do with it
Some analists think
It might point to the fact
That our entire universe
Is captured inside of that
Which cannot be possibly real
We inside a black hole
Or that's how it goes
Does that mean we can never be born?

I've had enough
But I won't stop
Till I'm chewing the carpet
That used to be
But times left me
In a state
Of low energy
And ennui
The urge to surge
Now seems absurd
The floor tilts up to put me
Back to bed
To wake restrained
With smoother brain
And pass go again.

The Irish know
A field in England
Will forever be
Not just a corner.

People talk of Dicken's surge
They don't talk
For his
Violent rebirth
He got
Recruited
To a death squad
By the government
Of Franco
Before he
Lead
To a better
Tomorrow.

Why would you not
Believe
The things
I would like you
To perceive?

What does that word mean to you?
If it exists
Which it doesn't
So let's reality eschew
It deffo means somat
To everyone what reads it
Like being in the well
Of the world's biggest cathedral
Lie on the floor and look up
You feel every pound
Of the rock
That was shaped
To make you feel this
And what's wrong wid dat
A nexus built
To make one emote
The thing bigger than you are
What you are
When that is felt
Let us feel it
And then repair
To the bar.

The sun half way this morn
On it's climb to noon's plinth
Causes the tree outside my window
To throw shadows on louvre blinds
Distorted and enlarged
Like one of them
Japanese puppet projection plays
Ominous fat Blue **** hop and swing from branches
Their chirps through the opened pane
Like a demented sweet soundtrack
From an empty orchestra
Now the light
Gets clouded out
The image fades quickly from the slatted screen
And all Blue ****
Are gone from this world.

Like Hunter's nervous recall
But the memories
Fall back
Not rise forth
To the time
When they were
Of course
Not the late sixties
Remembered in 71
But from this very evening
To decades long gone
To a place that was blurry
And hemmed in with fear
No sense of the self
Seemed anywhere near
So with the right set of eyes
You can climb up the hill
And see
The low water mark
Sitting there still.

Fix bayonets
Fray raiments
Make payments
Throw dice
Get poorly
Sing lowly
Suppose
That's not
So nice
Then linger
Dirge singer
Half chips
Half fried rice.

How many moons are there?
Let me count the phases
No two faced duplicity
With this one
Always the same pockmarks displayed
She's got an extensive wardrobe though
A range of colours styles and cuts
Cycling through the fashion seasons
That creation did entrust
There seems more costume changes
Than when I was a kid
Maybe she's just got a better agent
Got to grips with this internet biz.

When Arthur C Clarke
Talked of the ancestor of sadness
It was largely time
That was the prime factor
But in the age
We are in
What is the impactor
As all that is expands

I strongly remember
My first football experience
My uncle Pop kidnapped me
And tried to make me Evertonian
Took me to Goodison
On Boxing Day
1976
That's my memory
It could have been so
My auld fella Lacking
in making me be true
he quickly countered
With my Anfield debut
Gainst Middlesbrogo
With Souness in tow
But all of those could be
Centered in months
And years
Hence
My memory is not
What I used to believe.