Archive for May, 2011

The fisherman

Sunday, May 29th, 2011

Alright yezzer, not much luck this morning though them Polish fellers caught a few bucketloads from the top of the breakwater. I don’t know what they do with them. Must sell em somewhere I guess. I don’t really mind whether I catch anything or not really. I just like being here.

In the debris of tomorrow

Tuesday, May 24th, 2011

In the debris of tomorrow
i will find you
and lift you from the dust

In the debris of tomorrow
i will gather gems you lost
and take them with us

In the debris of tomorrow
we will learn our value
and barter ‘gainst our worthless toys

In the debris of tomorrow
we will taste again
amongst the the dispossessed

In the debris of tomorrow
we will kiss scorched earth
and plant a new life there

In the debris of tomorrow
things that made us cry
will appear small amidst the tumult

In the debris of tomorrow
we will leave fear behind
and press onward through the dark

In the debris of tomorrow
fierce realities
will not part my hand from yours

In the debris of tomorrow
we will take a different path

In the debris of tomorrow
one good shoe
will fetch a thousand shillings

In the debris of tomorrow
iron and sweat
become politic

In the debris of tomorrow
magic and science
will be allies again

In the debris of tomorrow
forgotten tools
will regain their edge

In the debris of tomorrow
i will be your shield
and you will be my heart

In the debris of tomorrow
we will build a home for future kings

In the debris of tomorrow
honest friends
will be all we can afford

In the debris of tomorrow
there will be much to do;
we will have no time for sorrow

In the debris of tomorrow
faint-hearted sun will start;
the faded moon will close

In the debris of tomorrow
will we find god?
will god find us?

In the debris of tomorrow
there will be more questions than answers

In the debris of tomorrow
is kindness and hope
coated in soot and hunted for dinner

In the debris of tomorrow
is our untainted love
and a catch at a fleeting chance

In the debris of tomorrow
we will prevail

In the debris of tomorrow
is another day


Monday, May 23rd, 2011

The Piccadilly Alternative

Wednesday, May 18th, 2011

The next station is…
Kings X – 11 stops to go
Russell Square – don’t get off here unless your name is Russell
Holborn – hmm
Covent Garden – party-time ‘n flaars
Leicester Square – nowhere near Leicester guv’nor and not pronounced lie sester
Piccadilly Circus – alright Jim?
Green Park – for a picnic
Hyde Park Corner – watch out for the traffic
Knightsbridge – only if you’re posh
South Kensington – just as posh really
Up and down the – Gloucester Road?
Earls Court – will do fine
…for what it’s worth.

Mind and body crumble

Sunday, May 15th, 2011

old age beckons

Dissipation of the mind
crumbling of the body
simplification of living
shaking of unshaken beliefs
fade to credits…

We toil

Wednesday, May 11th, 2011

Do not be fooled.
These streets, paved with gold,
glisten with bent back sweat,
dripped and sleeve dried of narrow eyes
that hurt in the salt soaked sunshine
and half moon light.
No riches.
Simple broken ends, hammered by the waves
and buried by the mocking seagull’s cry.

Slow train

Tuesday, May 10th, 2011

Slow train, taking it’s time to go nowhere
Empty mind, staring at fields
Don’t care, how long it takes to get going
Life will, still wait for me.

Four inches wide

Sunday, May 8th, 2011

The fear is four inches wide and sits by my heart.

Just down, to the right, it perches with the presence of a clutch of angry vipers tied in a ball.

They sleep; but not for long. They wake

and my life is filled again with writhing hate. As

their bodies wind together they make dark cold liquid run through my insides.

Dripping onto my stomach, provoking eruption.

They stretch down each arm, lifting with a forked lick the hairs they find there.

They turn, and now they have created gravity. A superpresent

force that inverts me, makes the fear my centre, my down, my earth.

All is now in thrall to the fear.

It wins. I orbit it.

A helpless fleshy satellite flung round for an eternity by my own folly.

Off the wall

Sunday, May 8th, 2011

Cheesewire cuts the souls beneath my feet.
Frowning down at
Emotional account – is overdrawn.
Planning permission required
From grass-roots up;
The sky’s the limit.
Only 20 pounds and this
Is what I bought.
A drought,
A hunger –
Desperately seeking captivated audience
To catch my drift
Across a landscape,
Painted wordily in ink.

Personal Effects
And yet you still are unaffected?
I spilled not knowing –
Thick and slick –
Too slippery for me.
Humpty Dumpty.
Broken lines and fragments.
Shelling never stops.
Did I mention how high I was?
And now back home on earth,
My heights are but a fighter jet,
A mirage through the clouds.
All my thoughts are pregnant birds
That try to fly betwixt these words –
And though perhaps they’ll go unheard
They yearn to sing aloud.

Holding hands.
A piggy-bank
A childhood could not fill.

Timely intervention
Watching notes rain wet on teenage years
Discordant striking tears for fears –
Pneumonia or chill?
No gangrenous hopes,
Nor organic dreams;
All chrome and armour clad.
Wires corrode
And yet they hold
Ideas aloft, aloof and crazed
Like a preacher dressed in plaid.
To this moment complete,
Nothing may alter
A tattooed sermon never taught.
I’d like to leave this honest yoke,
Be back where I belong.
No bad egg yet the question I beg –
Would He rather a Father distraught?
Back to back
With mother moon,
All things considered
The end comes too soon.
But not yet.

This chicken run
Can’t catch my breath,
However clumsy I feel.
Wings spread to the heavens above –
Almost gracefully sometimes –
I pray but not to God;
To the gentle breeze
That carries my weight,
That I should not fall
‘Ere I reach the stars.
Air miles short,
Curtailing destined rise to fame.
Though in my heart
I feel uplifted,
Off the wall,
I feel no shame.

A night of deep reflection

Sunday, May 8th, 2011

That night a lone trumpeter climbed to the top of the castle walls and, facing outwards, sounded the last post. The mood around town was sombre. This was a night to focus the mind. People sat in pubs in their accustomed seats but the usual Saturday night banter was absent.

The notes from the trumpet brought everywhere to a dead silence. Walkers stopped walking, passing cars pulled in and, inside, juke boxes were turned off. As the music faded away everywhere remained still as folk contemplated what lay ahead…

The Blue Square Bet Premier league.

The Violin

Thursday, May 5th, 2011

Copy of image03

Copy of image05

Copy of image07