When you walk
And then talk
Do you do it straight?
Or Are you bent on inclination?
The modern debate
Tiller handle movement
Has no effect on the wake
Could you look at yourself?
How much o this could you take?
And then expect it o them
That are clearly involved
With themselves
And the void
Hanging
Off
Of
Satans
Prong.

I fell down the steps
Of the Lincoln memorial
It really hurt my knees
I fell down the stairs
Of the Lincoln memorial
In front of
Near a hundred
South Koreans

We went to
Holsten's
And sat in Jimmy's booth
Bout a month before he died
Should have seen it there
In that final episode
It was written
All over his eyes.

Laughter is involuntary
A knee **** so they say
Nexus to and exit from
The darkness
Way hey hey

What are you laughing at?
I don't find that funny
I am appalled
And your in stitches
To me that makes you scummy

Giggling or not at the horror
Wether Death,disease or blight
is something instantaneous
Neither wrong or right
Then weigh and mull it later
At your leisure through the night

We've got the Greeks
To thank for that
Formulating our condition
To laugh or frown
Or roll your eyes
Is not your own decision.

There's always bin the idea
O two sets o books
Ever since books were invented
A curious process in which we all are involved
It's what keeps us from going demented

One set the truth
That unravels unheeded unseen perhaps
By those around who look on
The other your truth
Somewhat tailored but blurred
Of what you thought
You'd become

Cos the moral compass has no external dial
To ink on your page no one listens
So You can write down the details
However you like
Talk about a double entry system.

Scrooge would be just about clocking off now,the **** piece.
But at least he led by example.

My father died of dyslexic alchoholism
He choked on his own Vimto.

The streets are too wet
The bay is too wide
The foothills are too far away for the rise
That brings the snowfall
In which children delight
And only the old despise

The chill of the flurry
Felt sharp on the face
Warms before the ground
To mix with foul slurry
From heaven to earth
A terrible mush all around

You're not a seagull
You're a gull
A Kittywake by the sea
Because seagulls don't exist
They are just an etymological redundancy

Be thankful you live here though
And not in the sticks
Where the truth lies deep in the drift
And cast your eyes grateful
Around the clear
In a land where the snow never sticks.

When the ***** is all gone
Is it worth sticking around?
No more liquid shield
Against the drone
Of the crowd
Sober
Joyful
Participation
Might be a stretch
As you sweat and you twitch and you puke and you retch
Like that night you collapsed into and slept in a hedge
Ah sweet memories.

You kiss em
You rub em
You **** em
You put your mouth on em
Or something.

All hail the Toblerone
King of the awkward chocolates
If you buy a big one on a plane
It'll drain all of your pockets
Of residual dollars or euros
Bhatt **** or lek
Or **** it!
Why not dash off
Your last travellers cheque

Honeyed almond sweetness
Who could decry that
Only the honeyed almond intolerant
And you can never trust them *****
Just it's satisfying chunkiness
It's heft and it shape
Is something deeply pleasing
The chocolate biscuit it doth take

It's true name lost to time
It should be Tobler one
For its creator was named Tobler
And he'd only just begun.

But there he stopped.

What's that thig that you Yanks do?
From the civil war to World War Two
From Getsyburg to the sea o tranquility
That haunting sound gets driven into me
Through the smoke and swathed in reverb
The nations emotions
Sonically preserved
Uniquely you
You ******* own it
That old evocative
American trumpet.

What's that thing that you Yanks do?
From the civil war to World War Two
From Gettysburg to the sea o tranquility
That haunting sound gets driven into me
Through the smoke and swathed in reverb
The nations emotions
Sonically preserved
Uniquely you
You ******* own it
That old evocative
American trumpet.

It's not Tuesday
I hear you say
I believe that
Does matter anyway
Good lord
The facts are not real
So get ready for incredible speed
I say things that you cannot believe
But get ready
For stuff
That
Makes you
Feel
Real.

Early
Mid
Late
Never.

Steven Spielberg called
And offered me and my identical twin brother a job
It was on his hatchery
We'd be monitoring
The defacatory habits
Of the livestock
We were to be
Close Hen Counters Of the **** Kind.

Moon Cresta was Galaxians
And by extension Galaga as well
Sky Kid was Scramble
But they hid it pretty well
Street fighter was yie ar Kung fu
Though it made a lot more money
Hyper sports was track and field
Or the or the other way round
Memory
Is so funny
Some say Hunchback begat Donkey Kong
But that's a bit o a stretch
But nowt beats Asteroids
The original and best.

I feel like Goya's dog
Staring at nothing
But terrified all the same
Contemplating the void
Apportioning blame
Some think he's scoping out
Two little birds
And if they did land
He surely would lurch
Others think his target
Is an unfinished figure
That got lost in the transfer
Twixst plaster to paper
And that's the rub
With all the black paintings
You lose a bit o meaning
When technology is
Updating.

I heard a few people say
Their fear of death was blown away
By seeing a picture
Of their folks
Afore they were born
In the snap
An older sibling
In their arms
Giggling and wriggling
Before the stuff that made them was formed

At that moment
They knew
Gave them truth to hold on to
There was no pain and anguish
And they were not bored
And it will be the same
After The reaper came
No one suffers
All is nothing
In the void.

I've been staring at a greyness of late
No joy to which I relate
Feeling both ancient and infantile
It'd be nice to be alive for awhile.

It's a cycle or so they say
From singin the blues to feeling gay
Sort the laughs out into a pile
Yes I'd like to be alive for awhile.

The mood is different the laughs are old
By your father you have been forestalled
Who layed it down in that old sweet style
I remember he was alive for awhile.

If men can be rakes
And the ladies get called hoes
What garden tool
Are the sexless
Do you suppose?

He said,
Oh my god it's ****'s enormous!
Looks like it fell
Off of a brontosaurus.

She said,
Look out love,
It could knock you down!
It could quite easily level this town,
Glass and rubble all around.
My god it's gonna **** the town hall!!!

Chewits
advert late 70's.

I remember a fella
At war with his self
At times he seemed lost
But not beyond help
He howled at the moon
He wept to the rain
The ants in his pants
Then lived in his veins
His verse was beauty
It was warm
It was tight
Right up to the day
That he turned
Out
The
Lights.

The Hobs of hell have to be operated
In a rotational system for maintenance and cleaning
Even though the work's intense
They're never exactly gleaming

Though the workforce is unlimited
And of course they get motivated
The endless drip of blood and filth
Gets baked on fast
Hard accumulated

The demon chargehands
Drive on the ******
With whip and fork and brand
But The broken barely keep up
In this accursed land

And so I think of childhood
With my poor mother near in tears
As she proclaimed the above Sisyphean task
Akin to cleaning
Behind my ears.

Are you
A Lover?
A fighter?
A drinker?
A dancer?
Which one these are you?
I said
A lover
A fighter
A drinker
A dancer
Tell me what  you like to do
Do you
Smootch?
Punch?
Swig?
Or boogaloo?

Caitlin Rose
Caitlin Rose
Why she Caitlins
No one knows.

Things clicked on are often not read
Or maybe haf way through
They get abandoned instead
Meter is so personal
It can certainly jar
Stripped of pre-knowledge
And broadcast from afar
so if you get a hundred views
And not a thumb nor a heart
Take comfort in the fact
It's deffo your own fault.

Do you remember
Chorlton and the wheelies?
Through the mist
It comes quite freely
But probably not that accurately
My friend

There was an angry
Welsh Witch
Cruel but unarousing
Like a some Marxist
Maggie Thatcher
On the prowl
But Chorlton was
Neurodivergent
To him it was not urgent
To seek vengeance on blodwyn
To make her howl.
But that only made her worse
To spit bile and curse
Which always led to her downfall



Clearly he won every week

Christmas in prison
Christmas out at sea
Christmas round the in laws
Christmas alone with me

Christmas with the Manson's
Christmas in the I.C.U
Christmas in Carcosa
Just the Yellow King and you

He won't dress as father Chrimbo
In his tattered rags he'll stay
As he eats all time and space
No prezzies he'll display

He won't watch vintage Two Ronnies
As the black stars rise
And in terrible twin sunlight
Your soul will be his prize.

Chistmas in prison
Christmas out at sea
Christmas round the in laws
Christmas alone with me

Christmas at the wainwrights
Christmas in the I.C.U
Christmas in Carcosa
Just the yellow king and you

He won't dress as Father Chrimbo
In his tattered robes he'll stay
As he eats all time and space
No prezzies he'll display

He won't watch vintage two ronnies
As the black stars rise
And in terrible twin sunlight
Your soul will be his prize.

Is that a **** or ***** stain on my carpet?
I really can not tell
I've got no idea how it got there
I'm not feeling very well.

Norm McDonald's moth
Dave Allen's clock
There's some comedy bits
That are just off the hook
Mitch Hedberg's rice
Bill hick's wax dart
Norm again with
Janice in the woods
It's an art
To encapsulate
Pathos bathos
And litotes
Like that
with
Absurdism bubbling
It's an Hell o an act.

Was Alexander  really that great?
Or was everyone else a bit ****?

Are you the author of your own thoughts?


Of course I am I retort


Are you sure they don't come from somewhere else?


Your seriously messing with my mental health


Why would that be I'm just asking questions?


Your saying my essence comes from another dimension


No I'm not I just really want to know
From which is the point from where ourselves grow.

With faith in our souls
We skip toward the light
Singing blithley together
Songs of truth and joy
And *****

To left stand the illiberal
To the right the funny men
Both will badger
And deride you
Herd you to their
Favoured pen

And them that have no eyes
Will ask why you seem so shook
And you will have to explain yourself
To a dog shown a card trick look.

You tell your boss to
Swivel *****!
I will tell mine
To stick my job up his ****
We could even synchronise it
Record it
Editise it
Turn that *******
Into art
You can sell your mothers house
And I can sell my grandmas flat
Cash in all pensions and ****
And that will be the end of that.
Then move to Bolivia
I hear they make
Excellent crack.

Crazy Vinny don't like you describing what's at his back
But In front or behind him
jokes about mothers please do not Crack
The man has his own code
and despite what ****** allude
My mate crazy Vinny
Is neither ignorant nor rude.

Love is the waiting room
They give you something to do
You don't have to complete it though
That onus is on you

Love's the chastisement
They give you a talking-to
Demand you mull
And weigh yourself
Well BOO HOO HOO HOO

Change your name
And I'll give you the world
Relax your neck
And let Rewards unfurl
It's just a name
Don't be so absurd
But david he said no.

I think therefore I am
I'm pink therefore I'm spam
These are some one else's words
I'm just a piece o ham.

**** emery the feral cat
Used to rule the roost and tha'
With evil mind and solid *****
He'd freely enter into your halls

You'd have to throw him down the cellar
That psychopathic  little fella

Then don your anti cat armour
With hallucinogenic bacon
You'll cool his ardour

Then he'd sleep the sleep o the just
Slowly synthesising his potent musk
Then come around feeling sharp
Waiting Crouching in the dark.

No one ***** with **** emery!!!

Flailing Wildy in the dark
Panicked dance
Unlikely arc
Stunted verse
Backed up flow
Narrative path
Nowhere to go
So calm your mind
And stand quite still
Take a breath
Pick up your quill.

My grandad on my mothers side
Was an idiosyncratic cat
Obsessed with engineering
Draughtsmanship and that

Recorded and catalogued
Big bands on a reel to reel
Oft silent in a low mood
You never knew the way he'd feel

But at Chrimbo came his home brew wine
and after a glass or two
He'd start to act all silly
Mug for the camera
Then the night was through

He had a turn of phrase
Long outmoded in the seventies
To the point of incomprehension
To the children of his latter days

If you asked what he was doing
He'd say I'm just scratching out my Ditty box
An invite to absurdism?
Or another life he'd half forgot?

I think he missed the war
And the certainty
It brought
As he poured over his old blueprints
The battles still unfought

I think I remember
Something that I don't
I believe I'll push
Forward on a thing
I don't want
I think in fact
You've accessed
Excess
It's as sure as
Egg and cress
Oh baby
It's somat
I dont
Want

The boy stood on the burning deck
His legs were all a-quiver
He gave a cough
His leg fell off
And floated down the river.




Saturday night 70's telly.

Who did what to who
And was how it done
Everyone gets cruel
When there's  no gates to fun

But hang just a min
And reflect on style
Everyone gets jerky
Once in awhile.

Why is dyslexia so hard to spell?
Well,that's because the educationalists are cruel as hell.
And why is grandiloquent such a grandiloquent word?
Try to express yourself,you just sound like a ****.

When two is one
And one is nought
What is the magic
That makes one comport
What it is to calculate
The thing that makes us
Repopulate.

Drinking in the day
Just like my daddy did
Before me
Yesterday
Drinking in the day
just like my daddy done
Before me
Oooh the shame

"No body loves me,
I'm not long for this world,
I'm gonna become a monk"
That was his drunken mantra
As to the couch he slunk

My mother would tut her distaste and say
"Jimmy not in front of the kids!"
But he'd just laugh
Roll round on the floor and say
"Sandra **** those kids!"

Then we'd drag him off to bed
My brother/my sister and me
To get the fat ****** up the stairs
You know it took all three

The sot
The lush
The drunken old louse
And that was Friday night in my father's house.

Townes Van Zandt
Had electroshock therapy in his youth to deal with depression
A miss prognosis
Cos they just about wrecked him
120 volts is generally the dose
But it looks like they upped it
And so cooked his goose
Memory loss and despair
Followed him the rest o his days
It's really no wonder
His songs are so great.

Where'd you get them spex?
Where'd you get them kecks?
Jesus lid yer clobbers off the chart!
And frocks for lady muck
Of prezzies there's a glut
The fences laughing
Play their part
But you've murdered trust so early
Gone so ******* Tory
Turning self obession into art.