hand reaching over
the phantom scars on her leg,
eyes profoundly broken as
flickering christmas lights,
a child weeping inside
the grown woman.
she smiles, she sighs.
there is grey where there
used to be sunshine,
there are desolate trees,
where the birds used to sing,
and crane their necks
like curious strangers,
at women who sit on lone benches
cradling palms,
stirring up memories of
touch so gentle it hurt.
until people float in and out
like a lifebuoy at sea,
until a wolfish man in scruffs
whistles and waves slowly,
as though time itself has broken.
she sinks deeper into herself,
into the womb of mothers;
into all the love
and all the heartache.

There was a girl
quite beautiful
who drowned herself
drinking they say
without blinking
like an infant suffocating
while sleeping without care
out where a lifebuoy
floats like a soggy rose
marking the spot
they last heard her
singing while sinking.

Miss Pinkie
(she dropped the Mrs
when the divorce
came through)

liked to put on
Mahler’s 1st symphony
when he came around
and he brought

the bottle of scotch
and when she let him in
she said
ah Professor

you have brought
the *****
I shall slip into something
more comfortable later

and she closed the door
behind him
and followed him
up the passage

her flip-flops
flapping behind him
like some penguin
and already he could hear

the opening bars
of the Mahler
as he entered the lounge
and smelt her perfume

and she took the bottle
and he said
I’ve selected the poems
for my first book

and she said
from the kitchen
o good
you’ll have to let me

read them before you
send them off
sure
he replied

sitting on her sofa
remembering where
he’d made love last time
and how he almost

fell off the sofa
but clung onto
her ample flesh in time
and how she laughed

and said
man overboard
throw him a lifebuoy
and as she came

with two glasses of the *****
and set them down
on the table
she sat down next to him

and kissed his cheek
and said
thanks for the *****
and for coming

and hey loosen that collar
this is no funeral
and her fingers undid
his shirt collar

down half way
and she rubbed his chest
and hairs
isn’t that better?

sure
he said
and leaned forward
and sipped the *****

already Pete in the pants
was stirring
and she said
I like this Mahler piece

it does things to me
and he listened
to the trumpets
and violins and those cellos

and sipped again
and her eyes widened
and her lips
came down on him

and he lay back
on the sofa overwhelmed
and like a drowning man
opened wide his arms

and waved
but none came
to rescue
no lifeboats set out

no one in sight
just him and Miss Pinkie
and Mahler
and the long hot night.

We discovered
the tents leaked
in Nakskov
and Dalya said

she was going
to write to the company
when she got
back home

not all
of them leaked
and so we paired up
a few of us

to avoid using
the leaky ones
but I’m not sharing
with the Yank *****

Dalya said
I’ve had enough
of her since Hamburg
you could share

with me
I said
but I don’t think
it would go

down well
with the others
let's leave it
for now

she said
let's see the place
have a drink and such
so we walked

and had a good view
of the place
then had a drink
and a bite to eat

in some café
and as we sat there
I watched her
light up a smoke

and lit one
of my own
and she said
I suppose

I could share
with Yorkshire girl
despite her
constant yak

if she's agreeable
I shared
with the Aussie guy
who smelt

of beer
and Lifebuoy soap
who told
pathetic jokes

and talked
of the Yorkshire girl
and how he'd
like to

give her one
but I just read
my Russian book
not bothering

to give
an interested look.

The words of Urgnd Lichmae as spoken by the prophet

There is no authority but yourself and your mom
Do what thou wilt but be chilled that is the whole of the law
All of my life has been governed by the same principle
Knowledge is all
Reason is the route to knowledge
This is paradoxically countered by the striking realization
That knowledge is unattainable and reason is flawed
I consider myself the master of my reality
Ever knowing that I have No remote control
I am but a particle in the vast swirling mess
Conscious of itself
Ride! Ride! To Armageddon

And lo! He spoke in Tongues

The Young americans win the black parade blues dandy
With Crowley Tilling the endless Time Killing
Flash fried, deep dyed in coliform, and unwilling
And right then Powers said “do I make you randy”
A Flabbergasted basterd Worn Torn for the feeling
Clapper switch on ******* sent a poor boy reeling
Stealing all the ugly bits that still remained handy
Crippled light of the monitor howling **** Forlorn
Torn a sunder under Urgnd’s blundering sojourn

Yay! The beast did appear

Mike myers white Kirk Mask, light flicker
In the mirror stares the face of a devilish creature.
Blatant slander to the depths of existential life crimes
Alexander de Macedoni lost in the stammering story line
Sofie’s Crime was never letting go of her Petty moral fiber
And the First thing that comes to mind is that I’m pretty tired
But too slow was the English Tea drinking grey earl’s mudline
Mortal Corporeal punishment on the philosopher’s Stormy mind
Sold separately from the Cheap plastic **** measuring Gun Club
To The tangible alien televangel flannel laced voice Dub
Hurt, he Squirt the black fish of the drug addled killer kind

Copulation Commenced

“Hard and fast baby hard and fast” hands around my waist
On the darkened eye shadowed lids of emotional teenage angst
Embodied in all that pitiful splendor

Until Reason Beget

In game changing fashion
And delusions of Grandeur
I closed my computer for the fifth time only to reopen it in a flurry wide Side Longed imagination
To right the Wrong words for the Wrong generation
Write the rights of man, only quicker than you can
On the Holy Madonna’s, waist like a ****** Libation
This one Goes out to Baby jesus’ Great Clan

“Sometimes a man is just left with nothing to say for himself, there is no rhyme or reason to it. Sometimes the gears come loose as the train smashes into the building. Sometimes there is no hope”-Ernest Hemingway

Just keep writing
Mescalito swing
To the Margarittaville ring
Plaintiff Mingus chilling
Round Midnight fling
Or was it Miles Davis.
Stayed puffed with smors
Made with white chocolate.
No great war
No great flame no great pain no great gain
And for all its worth, for all your trouble a penny for your loss
Cost millions of Jews down the Dachau blues
Lifebuoy next clue,
For the literary jury
And a glance out the window yields the Spike of patriotic fury
Killing time Tod killing for Casey Jones locker
Playing the bag pipes off Key
Send a Post Card far away
For Diane sawyers interview
With bizzaro nbc
Done Smash Melee way
Because “I love it” and “I do too”
Even though it’s rough
No rules just right
Died sleeping in the night
Just like the lebouf
None of this is original

And then my words failed me and I slipped into a trance where I met a man holding a snake, a cobra. He held it up to me in a gesture begging my approval. I nodded and he took a pair of scissors and cut the head off the snake. Out of its body came ribbons of color and light. I cannot imagine that this has any significance.

The length and breadth of her smile
Is a fascination for any creature of consciousness
Though am certain walking a mile
In her shoes is discomfiting and needs finesse
Of which she has in unlimited supply.
Light seems to bounce off her visage
To the world around her and there’s nothing wily
About her picture-perfect demeanor, it’s a privilege
To bask in her spellbinding presence.
The sound of her laughter’s a musical celebration
An orchestra of its own kind with a trance
Inducing effect, clearly an incredulity of staggering proportion
Her soul’s very much in crystal clarity detail a feather
A lifebuoy especially when am at the end of my tether.

When my mind wanders
down lanes devoid
of love
and rabid thoughts pounce
threatening
to devour my heart
I sing Your sweet,
nectarine Name
Hari
Your name is the
lifebuoy
we can cling
to
in
the
raging
whirlpool
downward
pull
of
samsara

When you fail something thus falling deep into hopelessness.
Like quick sand pulling you under so hard to breathe in it.
This is when you need to stand firm, praying to the Creator.
Thus crying out for strength and perseverance to hold on.
At least long enough to be strengthen in Christ strength.
Holding on to the Christ whom is the lifebuoy here.
For only by holding on tightly to him shall we survive.
For this world right now is such an dangerous place.
To live in with all of these people killing others for nothing.

It is summer -
a quiet night

- the silence
disquieting

all those lights
out on the water -

- stars, like floating
diamonds

moon, you big old pearl
- my lifebuoy

a driftwood fire of dreams
to hold me -

until morning comes
slowly - like a sad-eyed model

- tired of her beauty, wanting
more than a moment in the sun.

they didn't show me how to swim
still they will throw me
into the deep end.
what if I don't know how to swim?
what if I don't have a lifebuoy?
what if I sink?
what if I float?

When Life becomes harsh,  painful with lots of struggles.
A drowning person barely able to hang onto the lifebuoy.
Still struggling to stay a float , yet becoming more nervous.
That the ship will not get there in time to save you from death.
This is the way that some struggle with spiritually as well.
Afraid that they shall miss out on the miracle seconds shy of it happening.
They are afraid that they shall fail Christ by giving up too soon.
That they shall end up dying and ending up in hell because they gave up too soon.
Also it could have to do with healing as well giving up too soon.

There are two boughs but only one
below the water bending, breaking against the overflown river’s current -its bark moist. His actions raining down drowning him. The lifebuoy are his roots growing amongst  surrounded in the dark soil. It’s absence of light propelling him to grow.

There are tremors in me
The peel of falling skin , Releasing
An open wound right after
Bridges have been knocked and
Taught to stand in solitude

It is an open dam where
The rush of water, of you come
Flooding into the already sinking
Space of a wound
But it isn't your fault, you were
Dams and stitches away
Swimming far from the torrents of
Water that is too murky , suffocating and
Drowning

And I'd watch , with the sea churning
Circling and consuming while your
Head bobs away , the awe , curiosity and
Concern slowly free-styling away

I'd try to splash, fight the currents ,
Get you to see that I am my own lifebuoy but
I don't because I can't
And so there you go , dried in the saviour
Of a sunshine
And I smiled for you before

Letting go and slowly seeping
Into the cracks of a falling light house
Bricks, water and faltering light
All crashing into disgruntled harmony
Accompanying the solitude I tried to
Crumble

A view of the fifties

lifebuoy, A soap a remember well on ships
there was no other soap it had a strong masculine scent
for those who didn't use Floyd aftershave.
We ****** were a clean race always a shower after work
and those who did not were soon persuaded to shower
and keep clean or, they had to take their food outside.
When going ashore in seaports in Britain, it was grey and
it appeared colour had not been invented.
The pubs closed early and were thick of cigarette smoke.
We usually ended up in a fish& chips shop, some of them
had tables made of Formica and not too clean.
What made life bearable was the many women, not prostitutes
but not sparing with what they had to offer.
Since there was nowhere to go, the loving was done in a dark
alleyway standing up leaning against a **** soaked wall.
Going back onboard to a well-lit ship and warm bunk was heavenly.