Once down the old Caledonian road,
There walked a broken man
Who walked all on his own.
Entombed in tattered cloak
Against Decembers cold,
The man fell to pavement
Fell to pavement all alone.

None would descend from
High misguided thrones,
Have a heart and pass the starving
Man a bone.
And not a soul would stop and save him.
Once down the old Caledonian road.

guns blaze while fires raze
smoke adds in haze
the few to defend the many
secret wars being waged
as calls of battle raged
great evils now arise
rangers rise to the task
in evil's fury now they bask
world turns upon itself
rangers to battle they go
even as it rages to and fro
for justice and honor they fight
only because it is right
power and glory have no place
there isnt an enemy they wont face
battles both won and lost
soon will come winters frost
for justice and honor now they die
as the dead on morning dew lie

Stretch out infinite,
Harsh Caledonian coast
Now eat me alive

I’ve got a longing
For California -
The western shore,
The sunset coast -
Hoping I’ll see you again,
Sometime soon -
But that’s wishful thinking
I’m just singing the blues -
I just hope you will remember
The times that we shared
Before our eyes got cleaned
Before we ever cared,
So I’ll keep on looking
Everywhere that I go
Searching for your face
Searching for my soul,
From California
To South American Isles
India and the Middle East
New Caledonian Paradises,
I’ve got nothing but sky
To keep my Self company
So alone I will fly
Forever as a nobody
In the alleys of Rome
And down Morocco way
To the Himalayan heights
Pressing hashish every day
I’ve watched the clouds sway
And metallic birds mutiply
I’ve written letters to God
But I’m still waiting on a reply
So I seek your deep wise eyes
To get lost in for a lifetime or two
But your body is nowhere in sight
And I don’t know my next move -
I write my mind down for the sake of peace
Though instead it brings me sorrow,
To reach into that vast sea of emotion
And dig up yesterday’s sorry hope for tomorrow -
A world in harmony
In order with Nature’s Law
It’s all that we could talk about
It’s all that we ever saw
So tell me please, if you can
Just how did we ever fall from that grace?
And will we ever get there again?
Or is that a long and lost and buried place?
From where I stand, time ain’t real
But try telling that to a Court of Man,
They’d tell me that I’m crazy
And truly, perhaps I am,
But you, you know I’m not
And for that I owe you my Love
Eternally and infinitely,
From the ground below and the space above -
I’m wandering this lonely earth,
Hoping for some connection
But what I get when I truly look
Is nothing short of a perceptual correction -
These bodies are just for show,
And that I know you know,
And so,
Everywhere I go,
There you are,
We’re the dust of a star,
Concentrated,
Regenerated,
With sight and mind and heart and eyes,
And with this gift of life that I hold,
I see You everywhere I turn,
And I see there is no place to go -
My longing for the western coast
Fades like the sunsets of long ago
And drifts quietly back
Into the endless river from which it came -
California will wait for me
Like I know you will too
And if I don’t catch you in this world
The next one is coming all too soon,
And there we’ll start all over,
Getting one step closer each life,
To the point of Eden
To the point where ego falls -
And all along the way,
We shall dance and laugh and sing
Because we’re everywhere
And because we’re everything -

The wind tells me you said “Hello”

May the ripples in the water let you know
I too say “Hello”

lyrically, I kind of feel like an assassin
at the task point & equipped with poison darts
for I'm 'bout to let fly an attack in
this b#tch with toxic bars
pointed, like v𝗜per's fangs, at an
outfit of office bo[ɑ]ds/do[ɑ]gs
kno𝗪n 𝗔s "Electro𝗡ic Ar𝗧s"
at the time it was found
a certain game of thine is shut down
like a chipmunk, I went nuts
'cause, for keeps, I'd lost 𝗠𝗬 𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗦 (lost)
on styling which, several hours were spent
thanks for all the time wasted
don't even have screen captures of them
awesome, amazing!
——————————————————————
when it comes to discussions like games get
human noggins go crazy
it's not them themselves are stuff to put blame on
it's, among things not mentioned, such situations
——————————————————————
now getting 𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞
to those responsible for that scoundrelly act
and probably not giving an ounce of a f#ck
like a tire drifting down a speed track
[attire]
it's gon' get smoky & **[ɑ]t (for you)
barbecue; so go hit a dog & bone & ring up
[heat]
a local smoke eaters squa[ɑ]d
'kin to "Rebel", I scream f#ck the suits
[keen; ice cream]
like somebody chosen to o[ɑ]pt
for a punk-like look
but you can all get choked by asco[ɑ]t (lethally)
as if you were getting iced by someone who's
got Caledonian blood (a Scott)
appetite to hunt unful–
–filled; you're in it to make bread like *******s
[field]
but don't be swift to get laid-back, don't chill
akin to potatoes & sh#t
like that, better maintain your eyes peeled
better still is beating a hasty retreat
'cause it's me in the same freaking field
[freak in field]
the Creeper, in it to prey like a priest
[pray]
as if you were ****** in religion (horse?)
I'm speeding your way like a whip (vroom-vroom)
in other words, you're in fO̲r some moll-treatment
told I'm in it to prey since it's writ
large that you're being a game in this b#tch
which, in turn, is the reason I'm playing a bit (with words)
to say it in brief, you're simply collation to ge[ɪ]t
let me add a medievalish taste to this sh#t
[evilish]
arranging it akin to the H & the G
[a range]
not "H" & "G" as in hunter & game, though
"H" & "G" as in Hansel & Gretel
i.e. with you getting ablaze like a witch
with this one, might be given a place in a list
of ones given to making it lit
in the middle of taking a trip, the freighter's equipped
and fit for action like babes in dance clips
the cargo's like a pro[ɑ]stitute
becau[ɑ]se it's gon' go down on you
a kind of mood to bust the roof
of the "Arts" HQ; an armored loot
box, large & toom, will pro[ɑ]b'ly do
then dump on you a multitude
of fla[ɑ]sks produced
from gla[ɑ]ss & full of ga[ɑ]s, then use
a bottle of Molotov
like pirate dudes, I spark the fuse
the falcon shoots, the target's doomed
dead in the water, so a po[ɑ]ssible res–po[ɑ]nd from you (pond)
is nothing short of garbage-good (dead in the water)
[lyrical waters]
these bars being by the side of you are like balloons
within a reach of clowns
in other words, you might get it twisted now
but it's time for you to find a new **** jo[ɑ]b in view
of the lines above becau[ɑ]se it looks
like I̲'ve zilch short of go[ɑ]tten you
fired, which is why I̲ feel like a bo[ɑ]ss 'kin to
a vehicle used bY̲ whelps to get brou[ɑ]ght to school (bus)
exorcism bout
for it's like getting demons out
[letting demons out]
guess you, "EA", have already figured out
the amusement which shutdown
my pen is steamed about
it's "NFS: W"

Meet me at the verge, the place where
Caledonian Road meets the river and the
Reckless thugs of Camden dare not travel,
Lest they find themselves back home, alone once more.

Meet me at midnight, before the
Gates break loose and spill the stragglers to the street,
And just after the last bus leaves the station,
And the tube stops, silent, dead.

Meet me for reasons unknown, for
Sake of impulse, of joy, of freedom,
To cast away what memory you might have
Of days less full and rich as this.

Meet me dressed in black and grey,
All the better for the night to swallow you whole,
Take you within, deep, as a lover to another,
Or a shipwreck lost within the sea.

Meet me with apathy and disdain,
With carefree abandon and slight
Mistrust, for you are more wary than I
And have seen darker evenings.

Meet me then and take my hand,
Through woollen gloves and shivering, and
Stare at me through condensed breath, as we
Share a smile and walk lightly away.

All said and done,
You are your mother’s daughter
As I a father’s son.
A drink to salve a swollen liver
Sick with sentiment and guilt.
Converse in stifled hushed tones
Clear condensation from the windowpane,
For tears, for rain on smeared glass
We travel second class by train
From the big grey city.

Passengers chatting loud
Pass under cloud shrouded mountains
Passing over swollen rivers,
Thick with sediment and silt.
Picturesque villages.
Washing hanging wet on the line.
We share wine.
Ah mores the pity (or less),
We alight into a light breeze,
Holding hands,
Forgiveness.
It rains and the sun shines down
Through rainbows and summer trees
Fly’s buzz, birds sing,
The sweet scent of flora, ferns
and everything is fine.
Everything is fine.
Caledonian pine.

somebody strikes a match
outside the corner shop

at the park the team are using
jumpers for goalposts

you put your lipstick on
in a hurry this morning

dropped your Tube ticket
somewhere at Caledonian Road

a teenager sings Dancing Queen
wears an Adidas sports bra

the old man is sleeping again
you saw him two days ago

phone’s on 22%
brother’s birthday is tomorrow

in a second-hand shop
with its own brand of smell

the spines are cracked
the pages have yellow breath

lunch is barely a fiver
the guy on the till is called Brian

if you could you’d tell
a person how you’ve looked

for this one story
but there are too many shelves

and no person
to help you look

Inspiration flows from the veins
reigns where once there were
dynasties, a destiny and the mystery
roads of the unhidden remissions

On the bed of roses, lies the beauty
a shine of unspotted fading gestures
Tilted metaphoric of synched moments
strolling on the myth of an autumn day

The glow of a heart that lights oceans
shimmering the waves of bluey strokes
those glistering movements of the untold
harvesting the arise of the siren responses

Smile lovely one, show the shimmer burn
like a fierce cupid aiming the toward arrows
of parallel sequences of the hot and the fire
the flame of unhidden kindles and twinkles

As the Caledonian pines unwind on a terrain
willed on the essence of a tantalizing dance
the echoes and the heckles of burnt seals
astounding the strength of another length

Last night, the time stopped and I ceased
sat on a log of peace minced in ventures
of lessons and visions, reasons and treasons
as the clock struck and the lock was undone

On the fervent course of roads walked before
as voices and hymns mashed within the storm
building mansions upon the diffused seasons
where life remains unbroken by bonded souls

overground ticket office closures -  30.09.18

welcome to draconian
just like poetry and criticism
jump barrier at the road caledonian
no staff on shop floor or camera crew doing voyeurism.
don't be fooled
cuts will travel benefit
vigilantes are getting up tooled
taking full advantage of deficit.
beggars and scammers are like cadbury
they are a good receiver
going to waterloo to direct to canonbury
poetry not going well with arriva.
51 stations are to be closed
not going to dent or groove
barnsbury is next to be exposed
for benefit to no paying customers it will improve.
RMT not wanting to slash
they no ticket officers play a crucial role
begging sadiq khan is **** cash
we need a human not a machine with no sole.
welcoming to the best ever city
machines are on and automatic
back to humans queen did sing with no pity
ahead of times proves so graphic.
will share my views
travelwatch get poetry online
i will be first to break the news
ticket office closures is transportation decline.

Saint Patrick in an AD 432
metaphor, banished all the
snakes from the island of
Ireland, in County Mayo
where a small mountain is
called after him and every
year people climb it bare-
footed to look Westwards
towards America where
they all ended up and are
still there to this day in a
fort that was called after
John Knox the Caledonian
equivalent of Luther and
Calvin, thus why everyone
loves the Irish, but think
the Swiss, French & Scots
are vers de terre. VIPER$