silence is of course
only silence
and does not bother me
one way or another

but perhaps you might
comment on my poem
or am i all alone
an opel stone..

a thumb up or
a heart or tears
(do they have that one)
or don´t bother..

silence is of course
a lost horse-
what with the noise
aeroplanes

and cars and power-
tools and telephones
and all the rest..
more is truly less..

silence is of course
the best-
(here,we say it always
wins)

it does not really have
a sound
though it is said sometimes
to deafen

is there really such a
thing
in the desert or
in space

in my heart
there is always  some
trace
or perhaps an echo..

no need for artists
any more
(they were a pain
any how..)

1234-i want a
nimber
something to rely
on..

bow
to the inevitable
love is dull
here´s to how..

-there is enough space
enough rope
many ways
love and hope

there are enough days
isotope-
nice word
now, legalized dope

in germany!
course,
there will be teething problems-

how to say that?!
i remember down the reeper bahn
you could walk into a bar
and buy a spliff-

so what´s the difference
i don´t know
have a dance man..
forget about it..

i

when the performance dies,
and there is no aplause,
what then?

perhaps, we point to ourselves,
(just once)
and say,****,

it´s us!
stop the train
i want to get off..

ii

who wants to pay, lily,
(not me)
we all want free-

the difference between
avoiding and evasion
and stealing..

is a hair on your ***
sometimes..
nice eastertime?

iii

yes,it rained
so i played mandolin
(or tried)

watched old movies
and argued
so on..

i

i have been making
pots of soup for forty years
now (and still not bored)

they are like writing
(each differs)
poetry-every word..

time is ticking
salt like tears
and the pepper o lord..

ii

all the signs in-
and questioned ear
a bubbling sword

o the wine!
vegetables to fear
green and red..

iii

primeordial
dragons
loup-the-loup..

the sun whirls..
reflections
in my soup..

iv

it did become a trifle
formulaic
(to tell the truth)

but with a spliff
and a song to sing
time renews..

v

order can not be ignored
(you just can not begin
at the end..)

acceptance and love
(and try not to cut
your finger off..)

vi

and then they will ask-
what it is
and you won´t know and

they will say
what is in it
and you can´t recall..

(they may seem ungratful)
but it is substantial
bellies full..

vii

more the merrier
(some one gets your plaster..)
soup is never dull..

o under the stars
gets better
long ago then..

i)

nothing beats kindness
one for gravy stones
all alone


lily smiles,
i thought i might go
through the vowels

but hunger and without
got me..
sometimes

i imagine a world without
hunger
(and what food has become)

ii

once only the rich were fat
a hobby or passion
we eat gold

and try to thin..
the price of an onion
tears are sold

the price a cocked
hat
nothing remains

instead of roundabouts
we might eat
but not

(they might go round
twice
etc..)

and the numbers climb
i heard talk of
trillionaires

they said nothing
remains
what price

a bowl of soup?
i can make one
for one euro..

(hey well a
onomatopoeia....)
a poem of soup
a soup of poem
if only
only if
salt and p
pepper and s
bread so crunchy
crunchy bread
hot and spicy
thick and red
thick or thin
in my belly
on me chin
down  and down...
so-so
soup for you!
soup for me!
(enough said..)

i put an e string on an old
guitar yesterday
we used words like stretch
and fray..

and then the ****** sky
turned orange
and that is one of the words
that nothing rhymes

with..and thats alright
for tomorrow
there is free paella!
ola..!

i

many thought e was the answer
lily examines her hair
well,that was yesterday

and today..
the generation of mdma
how do they fair..?

ii

hard to say what might
have been-
easy to dream

cornered in the dance tent
lifes spent
o middle aged..

someone lost a feather
how many beans make five
or

the beginning of eternity
the end of time or space
the beginning of every end
and the end of every place..

the answer lily
is e-
now we have the string
theory

we would say:
how long is a piece of
string
(which is probably

nearer the truth)
if your an eagle
(or a sparrow)
then be..

he does appear an amiable
kind of chap-
not a genius!

but looks are often deceiving..
though anyone who sees angels
is aces..

ii

perhaps, he said that
to sell paintings-
angels are passe

now of course
how do we promote
ourselves today?

iii

their is a saying
that says
if you want the world


(and everything in it)
to know (a secret)
go whisper it up a mountain..


iv

get an agent
or have a big ***
*** says lily..

what is so great about blake
i can just look at his pictures
lost in the non existents-
faces from night-mares

and genius..evil and
innocence-it is said,
he is a supreme draftsman
(by those who know..)but

(he was largely unrecognised)
see how dodgey the art world is!
failure only a matter of life and
death..

i do like william blake
says lily
and sticks a spliff in
her mouth-

what would he make
of us?
put him in front of
a television

the cars and airoplane..
(he saw angels anyhow..)but
still killing each other
so no surprise there..

lily licks her doc
and says laura has  moved
to candleford-driven there
by her father in horse and cart
(everyone waves her off..)
she has gone to take up employment
with miss lane who runs a post-office
/ farriers..

(my father ran a post office but
unfortunately not a blacksmiths)

the telegraph is sent from post office
to post office
and delivered by minnie next door or
one of the smiths..
they have a meal and bed provided
the telegraph takes precedence..

the customers bring her flowers and she
covertly reads don juan
she likes her life
and they like her..

i woke early and remembered
the days when i drank
waking early when the alcohol
had worn off

and it occurred to me
it has been thirty years
(this year)
a recovering alcoholic

febuary 12 th 1994..
(some kept a bottle by the bed)
i tried to taste wine again
in my mind

and i recalled how i could
not envisage a future of
any kind..
but here i am..

they had no words for
today and tomorrow
they had no clothes
and no house or land..

they had no livestock
no pottery, yet they piled
huge piles of sea-shells
up to thirty feet high

often aways from the coast
covering huge areas
and no-one knows
why..

we look out the window
and then we balance
everything that´s been
and all that is to come

a tiny shoot and the
majestic universe so..
all that is outside and
all that´s in..

micro and macro
o
here we are
little stars..

a bird flies by
the mail man smiles
a moment so sublime
and yet ordinaire..

i have nothing to say
on this monday morning
i may pray..
(dreamed have gone)

how do new age pagans
pray?
i don´t know-
we look out the window..

for  it is  written..
(however, i like that little
round feller that cleans
the floor..  
otherwise, i
don´t know why we bother..)

are we not smitten
by our acumen
our ingenuity-
technology is our
lead in the barrel..
we will be happy when
there is no difference-other..

i

robots,what do you think
about robots-
they creep me out
even the dog..

man ought not to play god
and indeed god should not
play man..
but creation..

ii

is beyond us all
music or football
what else..
fool or genius

but robots
i think not..
let us be natural
what say,lily..?

i

yes,why not create
are we not gods..
how is laura or
flora?

she stifles an amused
smile-summers
are spent in candleford
a little older-

she talks of a fast set
decadent-hatless
they rome the heath
bawling swinburne

and omar khayyam-
refer to themselves as
fin de siecle-disillusioned
and weary..a lost page..

ii

her friend emily rose..
and returning to larks rise
she is again home
charmed by simple lines

knowing but not knowing
too much..
growing pains..
times passing..

what amazes me lily
is how diverse poetry is?!
but i suppose one may say
that about any creation-
look at the difference
between god and man..

and then of course
there is why..
that one takes up many
a life time
-laugh or cry..
o come what may..

ii))

transference is us?!
and living by denial
i remember breakfast
by the nile

i was only seventeen..
it was nice
though  not very well
so beautiful..

i))

people love to impart their prob-
lems on to you-
they like to tell you their secrets?
it´s a way of listening
without seeming too..

they want to manipulate
and end manipulated
for,if they are not manipulating
then,in some obscure fashion-

i am pulling the strings..
and this may be an end or dawn
like eyes meeting accross a crowded room
like some wave crashing..

the ones to watch out for
are the ones who want nothing
ippity-bippity
serendipity..

lily waves a finger
a spiralling trigger
the quiet linger
never say never..

ok, we will give money
and death a break
lily,what of love?
you are the sort

stangers confess to
loving at first sight
do you trust them
no..

so what is their motive
*** or worse
poo!
that is their problem..

i-


the trick is not to
look back (or as
dennis hopper says
in his movie, so
elegantly,
no looking back..)

but since the future
is only accessible to
a few
we have to make do..
learn to sew
the difference re-new
circling true..

ii-

i)

no trouble to rhyme..
(spelling that is my aim)
i, took about ten minutes..

and how about, grok?!
you ever hear that one?-
to understand profoundly..

what?..yeah..grok..man..
death is..
(***,says lily..)

ii

not a question of demand
and supply
not a picnic

not do or die
same for all the pixies
or a return..

obituaries-burn
in hell or heaven
bound..

one line-or
a single word-
like, why..

i


my work will be
read
when i´m
dead

(the rats will be
fed)
enough said
immortal

tread
shunt off this
mortal coil
head

to the stars
red..
love-
bled..

ii

i will have lived
i believe
just a fallen leaf-

it all too brief!
but the weave
eternal creed..

iii

enough of death?!
now, lily-
grok..!

the present left
let´s see
tick-tock..!

i know,
they are waiting for me
to die..

patience, lily,
(she has a touch of
the paranoias..)

life passes in the
twinkling of an
eye..

trust in that..love
and ask not why
beauty and

acceptance
sure
10=10..!

ii

postumous is for
the possums
um-

when she dies
her work will be
wisdom-

beyond silver and
gold..
words like timeless

will be bandied
stories told
some of us

begin at the end
the very last
or penultimate

grain
to fall
..

iii

meanwhile life
is hard
a mean card

you hear the one
about the broken heart
and the

lost dirge-
eternal love sworn
some tooting words

fitted up like a acorn
some hallow accord
just to pass the hours

and then the dawns
sacrifcede
i thought different

but the truth at last
some grass
soon be dead

and then no more
cheating
and names

no more giraffes
that laugh and
wait

no more silly ways
10 will indeed equal 10
once again..

it does not matter
how lovely you are
if the price is 10 euro
the price is ten euros

it does not matter
how cheap and greedy
you are..if the price is..
the price IS..

it does not matter
what liars and hypocrites
the price is 10 dollars
10..

shout and scream
have a baby
the price is the price
is 10 dollars..

ii

o lily is experiencing
some resistance in the market
place-sales are down..
i don´t make the effing rules..!?

but in these hard times a book
of poems is way down on
the list of priorities-the food bank
a blot on creation..

my second guitar was
electric and red
and i had a book by
bert weedon called
play in a day-
(a misnomer if ever
there was!)-the first song,
was bobby shaftoe,
followed by there is a
tavern in the town..
(and then jumped by light years..)
but influenced people like
hank marvin and who did he not
influence?!-not me..'!

i was floating down stream
with hammy hamster and the guys!
bull rushes and sails
delicate melody and sunny reflections
(in c major)..the sweet breeze in the
trees..!

my first guitar was a
shoe box
and elastic bands..
(for machine heads i
don´t recall..)

i listened to giulani´s
study
on the box-
tales of the river bank
a ball..!

and in later years
(when i was out of my
box)
i came across his andante in
c major-opus 43,
no six-

i was a little boy once
more
(hammy hamster)
and i have it today somewhere
but better on the whole
it remains lost..

i)

one of the great challenges in
this world is to know enough
about a subject to know your right-
BUT NOT ENOUGH TO KNOW
YOUR WRONG..?!

what is that ******* asks lily
marking a page
i dunno, its sunday morning..
you got it wrong-no..

it´s lost now anyhow..
confuse them with the truth
there is now information unbounded
yet we are still dumbfounded..

once, we never left the village
we knew more then
he no-doubt went on to explain
while we were thinking, right-wrong

never enough-this world *****
anyway you look at it-
(i smelled money in the cosmic breeze)
put some pink floyd on..
what are you reading..?

the marsh arabs by, wait-wilfred
theisger..it´s a *******?!
(if you like travel books-)
only chapter two-now
hospitality is the name..

i

well done lily to germany
for liberalization of it´s  cannabis
laws..

here,
it does peculiar things to
my mind-

like, it slows down time
i hear voices..
but as spring advances

so does my eczema
and i might
i say might

have a little toot!
just to balance the old
central nervous system..

ii

i

listen, lily, when the romans
built an aquaduct, the gradient
varied by half the width of a finger
over
a hundred yards-any more the
water damaged the walls-
any less it stagnated..

they also enjoyed throwing
errant slaves to the eels
(so swings and roundabouts..)
in every great civilization
there exist contrast-but
what of today-what of
posterity?

ii

she says petulantly
wrong is wrong is wrong
cause monkeys clap themselves
(it was a rhetorical question really
and the reference to the simian illudes..)
but they will wonder at our food-
in particular pizza and all-meat,
but on the positive there is  prosthetics..
(she returns in a huff to her book..)

iii

what is she reading?
early victorian-
bucolic tales..

we were raised in their shadow
the schools and prisons
of similar design..

tiny window-dicipline
terrible food..
corruption..

ghosts and superstition-
flora thompson reccounts
a young man´s suicide

he hung himself from a tree
they buried him at the crossroads
(in unhallowed ground)

they drove a spike
through his entrails..
why is suicide taboo?

a good question lily
upon which i will not
dwell..

this morning in the agave sat
a hoopoe and good as its
word it said hoopoe and i said
hoopoe in return and
i have n´t seen you aound for a long time..?

should you talk to wild animals?
i don´t know but no harm done
i looked to the concrete (like
very discrete) and when i looked back again
it was gone..

then i notice john cooper clarke in the
guardian
saying on about the technological-
honest as the day is long (and not unlike
a hoopoe himself..)

i like the computer as it
fecilitates creativity-
and then i remembered electricity
and as the lighting failed
we sang and huddled together by the

candlelight..
then i went to the supermarket
and tried for a discount card but had to
apply on line..
and made some boiled potatoes
-thought about a blackbird..

a love poem for today
(blind to dreadful ways)
your neck and gaul
your cheek and all-
or just about all you say..


the hows and whys-
for you
saved me from myself(s)
-a chilly shell fish
and terminally selfish-
what a to do..

indefinable and unexplainable
something more than special..
it is unnecessary to say
to even spell a- a spell
or hex and wait

for the best is still to
arise
lily, of the purple suns
not for you fame and fortune!
but a giant one
i adore, of such cosmic
flora..

fame and fortune(three)

the last wyvern
regret to burn
lonely, like seven
bathrooms-

like a flower that never
ends
truth evaded
for every smile..

enough babbla
recite a poem
from your new slim
volume, lily-
(ya-what´s new
pussycat?!)
ok-this is called-

fame and fortune

a butterfly ruin
an apocalyptic tune-
mansion to prison
via the silver
spoon..

i dreamed of a flower
a great sun!
what was true..
when every smile
loved only myself..

nice..delilah..
another!?
ya knock down the door..!

and we wonder why..
where is the light
er..?

i am medusa
and angel of blue
a fallen star

waiting
do you like whitman, paul
he is like my grandfather

whereas emily
was an eccentric aunt
poe a weird uncle

pope a mad insect-
i like them all..
do you fear for

the future
o clever trevor
another hero

sometimes i just write
the first or last
thing

sometimes i think and
perhaps too much
and then change it

change and change again
and think where did
that come from

exploration
stops the dull
intellect under

the lash
where is my stash
i just made it

up
improvise
clive-

an awful name
i had a relation
never lend them

money
fame and fortune
they have all

come out the proverbial
let me tell you
paul-

by..
lily´s sigh
ephemeral

(beryl the peril
style)
paul-

you say science explains
the complex simple
and poetry makes

the simple complex?
what is yours
is yours

and what is mine
is mine
and all..

(where did that packet
of papers get to..?)
ay there is so much

blurb
best not think too
much

try be merciful
and love
not as simple

as science or
poetry
look what they

done to us
painbirds
o cry butterfly..

i

nature was near
a flower
a star

we new our
place
god was great

an insect
was an insect
our selves

there was order
life was brief
a butterfly flew..

ii

i

some one at the
door-paul dirac (back
for more!)

here, i return your
book, lily,
love is a dog from hell

(by charles bukowski)
nice hair cut, paul!
ya!who the hell is

tom jones?!ha!
you want tea?
coffee..

water..merci..
take a pew
what?

ii

assez-vous!?
hows the math
coming along?

ah slowly?!
-pick a flower on earth
and you move the furthest

star-exactly..!
what do you think to
bukowski?

a testament to the
durability of
man or

mad
and sad
(who would n´t..

be..)
well he had energy
and not all bad..

iii

what do you read
lily?
lark rise to candleford


by flora thompson-
rural life in england
(circa. 1850..)

simultaneously horrifying
and charming
part biography

-look that butterfly is
back-
children as slaves

courting customs
fashion
conditioning

no cars
hell and heaven
superstition

you had to tell
the bees
that the master died..

lark rise, a hamlet,
candleford,
a village..

an odyssey
and a way that´s
dissapeared..

iv

(here is your
water
merci..)

poverty
not much mercy
the richest country

in the world
a penny a fortune
no-one is bored..

why is it all
underlined in red
again

some wicked portent
a ******
stain

lily does her toes
and blows
i don´t know-

ii

why is all
i do deemed
worthless

well at least you
have
been on the radio

and you have a
book
yes but

fame and fortune
are not what
they

are cracked up to
be
thats why

rehab is so
popular-
nothing depresses

like
success
spoken like a

true wannabe
lily sighs
a big house

is to get lost
in..
a knock

at the door
were in the
garden!?!

o lord
were in the
garden!?!

iii

(*** says lily..)
prompts a small cloud to cover
the sun

a shadow or frown
to juxtapose (el mariposa?!)
-what do you think it makes of us?

it doesn´t seem bothered..
would we trade places
i think it would stay as it is..

iv

when young
i was cursed by
fish

ants and the breeze
(or was it only my
paranoia)

my fortune
i did n´t care
as for fame

v

a lady asked me
if i was me
(i thought i

better be..)
she said santiago has
a nice hospitable

(ryan air)..
she took me to
her hotel
an old monastery

i have the key
accidently
it rained..

i

why do we like butterflies?
for their colours
and their silence

covering with dust-
flight of a higgledy-piggledy muse
a lost youth-

tattooed on the shoulder
from flower to flower
yet resilient

a peacock
a cabbage white
free and aloof-

aplomb!
a song-
ding-****..

ii

she goes back to her book,
what is she reading?
metamorphosis-kafka..

i retire to the sky,
where all them little squiggles
are doing their thing..

lily musters her thoughts-
imagine waking up a giant insect
only the cleaning lady can cope

(sounds familiar
i read a novella by phillip roth
in which an individual

wakes up a breast!
it was too distressing
to finish..)

a mad man thinks every one
is mad
and i must admit lily
i fit the bill exactly
(quietly,
not for me
a traffic cone upon
the noggin
screaming and shouting
with finger pointed-no)..

i see the futility
(i maybe napolean but
who do i think i am?!)
i would say that-
what of reality?

lily says is nt that for
which dance and poetry
is for-look!
an effing butterfly..?!