The robotic politicians voice
coded to denial
by default
the wearing down of hearts and minds
pushing up and out for the fresh air of freedom
held down beneath a numbered existence
the plus or minus of bank accounts
the number of children being born to carry the weight of their elders old age in taxes, and scams of insurance and scams of life chances
and love is denigrated to a wilful back seat driver who no one listens to
not since the sixties did rebellion and creativity have such force for the changing of the bloated politic ruling classes
and poets? Who will listen through headphones refashioned to old fashion and claim it to be uniquely new, and who listens to poetry anyhow, retune the radio, and change the World.

I was a certifiable ******
With the classic monkey
Riding squarely on my back
But I had no needle tracks.
I was almost undetectable
As my addiction was respectable.
No, I was not a rock musician.
I got my dope from my physician;
An almost never-ending source
Offered up with no remorse
I only had to mildly complain
That I was experiencing pain
And the cornucopia opened wide.
It held my immediate future inside.

I was off to party with friends
To the cabaret that never ends;
That free-wheeling waking dream
That made everything in life seem
As if nothing mattered that day
But that we should all stay and play.
And if something was getting tiring
It was time to retune the wiring
With a few more clever little pills
That cured all my temporary ills.

If I was exhausted or had an ache
It was time to take a little ****** break
Or, maybe not just that dosage alone.
Maybe better to take some Oxycodone.
Then, I can keep on night-club dancing
And backseat, hyper-speed romancing.
And later, needing sleep; a downer
Is good for an out-on-the-towner
Who has needed some rest for days
But the normal drugs and party ways
Wouldn’t quite let me get to sleep.
I felt that above all else, I had to keep
On doing what I was doing: having fun.
There was too much ******* to be done.

But every kind of candle has two ends.
There’s the one where the thing begins
And when I was trashing around a lot
Thinking of the other end was really not
The kind of thought-process I liked.
I wanted to do more of the kind that hiked
My awareness and my stamina to the max
And “injects my existence with what it lacks”.

While today I shudder to remember my words
At that time they were the best I’d heard
Since chocolate cake and butter cream icing.
None of that workaday stuff was to my liking.
It would be nearly twenty nearly deadly years
Before I found myself on a sidewalk in tears
Asking myself where things had gone wrong.
And while I am sure you are sick of this song
At the time it was a sad music to my ears.
Today, it’s the only music I want to hear.

Death of Happiness…by Jessie


As I walk down the moon lit trail to the bone yard of emotions,
Searching for Happiness…
I find the head stone I’ve been looking for.
Tucked away in an obscure corner of the yard, underneath the tree of forgetfulness and solitude; giving way to the ages and crumbling beneath the daily pressures of life.
There sits a stone, cold and gray and ravaged by the wind.
In it… carved for eternity … “Happiness”.
No dates for who knows when it perished?
There I stand, head hung down, never got to say good bye; never got to shed a tear.
Ripped away in early days; if I could only remember the year.
Resurrection doubtful and prayers never seem to help.
I’ll lay a pebble upon the stone as a marker that I have been here.
Write the date within my book, to remind me…
Retune same time next year.

(Geraint & Michael)

Decency is here;
And if there,
Then everywhere.
Here, it sang
To relieve the distressed,
Reduce her dread:
Are you alright?
Asked the lads.
A three note Wales song,
Whose symphonic cadence
Moved my world
Three thousand miles away.

There is indecency here;
And if here, then everywhere.
But here we will rebuke and retune.
And if here,
Then everywhere.

Are you alright?
I am not three thousand miles away.
I am beside you,
With an ear for lyrics.

Let's listen for Swansea's Song,
Here, there, everywhere.

Our Webs
August 1, 2011 at 1:02pm
Our webs we spin. We tell our lies.

No one lives life without disguise.

The lives we lead are our mistake.

The way we feel and love and hate.

Amongst the dead along with you.

Beside the rest in time and tune.

Our fate belies our bitter screams.

Escapes our minds. It plagues our dreams.

Aside the ruinious timeless days.

Inspired by doom. Required as pay.

A future to construct, retune.

And shadows hidden deep in you.

Our time does fade. It's ticking croon

destroys your mind . Romances you.

Our blackest night. Our thoughtless days.

Don't leave your life with those mistakes.

The life in you. The fire you feel.

Re-stoke that flame or lie there still.

I'll burn away the guilt,
burn away the pain...
Down the drain, it goes,
the way it flows,
the way it goes,
and shows

The things refused to be uphold
and...
Done!
So, One, will be divine

Likeswine, will the - I -
be cruscified, so ALL
will laugh...

Go back, go back;
the crack, the thumm,
the whisper and the shout;
so ******* LOUD, SO **** OBSCENE!

It has been neverso, before...
the snow, the shore...
the gulf, the fire...
It quite does not make sense...

But if you look at it,
deny it, cry it, feel it,
and enjoy it. Be it.
Never let it go!
No, no, no, no, no!

If you let something go; away

And it was meant to stay,
you will regret no more, oh, NO!

Things don't let you go until you
         GO ->

As if it matters anymore,
   so why, would I,
        Let GO?

Frustratingly sedated or
Sedatingly frustrated,
     fly-hated
unwillingly positivated,
opiumated, loved and
     hated...

Never letting go, or
letting go of NEVER
goes around of EVER
that doesn't give a *
So go let not of
nothing, that has goe
of you; So maybe;
retune, refine

AND LET SOME GO;...

(at least before it snows,
man...)

I shot the breeze today
with crickets, beetles,
spiders and caterpillars,
we held a moot.

Each representative, a voice:
words in the clamour
to be heard

In these lands of
many common grasses,
breeze told anecdotes,
arachnid needs
and insect calls for attention
often get ignored

Stopping to sit,
look through clutches of eyes,
sing with rattled wings
and chew cud,
can help retune the din
to be cleanly heard

so this little brittle hard cover book
as the only one in the lib
as rhe only one in the one
poeple think that pink
outha be
werent the offeering int
sabiors loore and lore
retune youself to you
we are we

ENGAGEMENT is the name of the game of life--
it's that latent creative energy that is released, it's like Zen really--
being absorbed into the immediacy, we remove our old habits, our fixed pattern of thinking;  we cease to analyse or intellectualise ; we let go of our rigidities and are different from what we were before-- we see things with deeper insight and are amazed at the discovery.  


We learn so much from the curiosity, spontaneity, naturalness and the unbridled enthusiasm of children.  We have grown up but have somehow lost that sense of wonder which is the source of all our creativity.

Let us then step back and rewire and retune our thinking mode to be more efficient, more productive and happier.

If we can only connect to others that vibrate at the same frequency, are you alone when there are none that do?

If you alter your frequency to be heard by others. at what point are you no longer you?

How many edits does it take for a story to no longer be the authors?

If we all acquiesce to one frequency are we just noise

Can we retune to our original frequencies and find beauty in chaos?

Others hear white noise, I hear a rhythmic beat...

Why can’t you hear my song?

Can we find a simple rhythm to dance to...?

We are the jarring, friction, screeching in an engine...the oil will help us listen and hear