Mountain Goat In
Mountain goat in dead tree,
watches flying fish land at Heathrow,
as wild horse plays piano....jazz style,
raising the tempo to feverish pitch,
encouraged by the sight of fourth elephant,
failing in its attempt to jump on board
as toboggan disappears without him.
At same time the apes have decided to cut down their trees,
while the snails head off on their annual Health and Safety
Convention in Salt Lake City.
Nearby, a giraffe limbo dances in crutchless panties,
viewed jealously by rhinoceros in stockings and suspenders,
craving nothing more than liposuction.
And now the sloth reads,
that two Governments have been made redundant,
taken over by unelected outsiders,
with connections to the banking sector?
At same time, around a thousand miles away,
a duck toed Chancellor,
with no knowledge or experience in economics,
smirks as he announces yet more pain.
If you feel some of this is too far-fetched,
well I agree with you,
so delete the second paragraph.
Still, It Looks Like Affection
You always have to pick up,
where others have left off,
they smile as you salute,
watching you assume control.
Patterns as regular as wallpaper,
and it looks like another roll is required.
You can't learn old dogs new tricks,
but you can still beat them with a stick,
and they'll usually always return,
though out of fear only.
Still, it looks like affection,
but I dare you to try it with a big cat.
Another series of mistakes made,
all in the name of self improvement.
There's nothing greater than an old fool,
and as the years pass,
the words can be worn as comfortably
as a clown suit in a nudist camp.
As the orchids are strangled,
by freak shows sprouting everywhere,
somewhere right now, a bearded lady
has stopped shaving in preparation for work.
Delusion has descended upon everything,
bursting into life like weeds.
Signs of stagnation, in immoveable objects,
yet they got there, but that's another story.
Comfort breeds fear, kills creativity too,
and always has been known, so then futile to hide.
Bars on windows, reverse prisons of Mayfair,
while ours are used to stop us getting out,
yours are used to stop us getting in,
and once safely locked, house fire your only real concern.
Together alone, alone together,
surely the greatest sadness of all,
feelings numb, disconnected, diminished,
with only comforts mime of love to suffice.
M1 Motorway, Heading South
M1 motorway, heading south,
from north east of England.
to my left, as I over take a cattle truck,
I see cows with heads bowed down low,
looking out sideways onto road,
hopefully they were off to a field somewhere,
but I doubted it.
Further south, parked on north bound side of motorway,
outside of car, a child was being sick,
hopefully just car sickness.
Later, listening to a Josh T Pearson's
I see a young couple who've broke down,
their car left on hard shoulder,
they, waiting for help, on grass embankment,
huddled together under umbrella,
with their backs turned to the torrential
They should have worked out
the odds, and stayed in their car,
no matter what anyone says,
sometimes it's just better to die.
Dead pheasant in fast lane,
looks like car not bullet this time.
And workers walking in fast lane,
reason for 50 mile per hour restriction.
Removing cones and playing the odds
everyday, wearing waterproofs too!
"Be careful!" I imagined them being told,
constantly by loved ones.
I remember breaking down myself,
in heavy traffic, heading north the previous year,
just managed to get car off road and onto grass verge,
near Peterborough around 11 am.
Gear box had blown , car was going so well I recall.
Called Automobile Association, told I would be
recovered within one hour because of dangerous
position I was in, told to wait outside of vehicle,
but didn't bother, slept in car, it was raining that day too.
Even police rang me, said they would remove me
if AA didn't come soon, they also told me to wait outside vehicle,
don't know to this day how they got my phone number?
AA finally arrived at 9 pm, was dark by then,
with no food or drink in car, was forced to eat chocolates
and drink from bottle of rum, presents for my parents,
well it's the thought that counts.
Because of lack of staff, AA recovery service
dumped me and my car at nearby services,
told me taxi would come soon and take me home,
my car to be returned the following day.
Drunk by the time I was picked up,
poor driver from Afghanistan was no doubt glad
to see the back of me, finally reaching home
around 1 am, fair to say, not one of my better days.
Nearing Nottingham, the rain forced my wipers speed to max,
to my right, the weeds that grew in abundance
between cracks in the concrete on central reservation flew by.
Clinging to life, sprayed constantly by endless traffic
from the rain soaked salted tarmac,
in the summer I wonder how many insects
never completed the hazardous journey to their pollination?
At around 4 pm, with seat belt on and air bag at the ready,
the oncoming nights darkness started to make its move.
As I drove on, with 70 miles still to go until home it occurred to me,
everywhere and everything I'd seen today had reeked of suffering.
With spring and summer too far away even to contemplate,
never before had I felt this connected to winter in my life.
"You're Still Going To Gigs?"
Would you design something for your children,
say like a safari park, with wild animals roaming free,
then send them to school with only route,
through your self made animal kingdom?
No way! I hear you say, but you do,
the world you allow to exist, your children
have no other option, but to pass right through.
At least with the zoo, if the animals were all well fed,
your children might just stand a chance of survival,
unlike in this world where human greed
is forever hungry, and seems to be getting worse by the day.
Working recently in millionaires row in Hampstead,
I mentioned to this rich guy, who was around 65 years old,
that in Greece due to the collapse of their economy,
the sick aren't getting their medication,
"Fuck Them!" came his reply,
not knowing one of my closest has type 1 Diabetes.
His handmade leather shoes did their best to hide
his peasants prejudice, but they stood no chance.
Later, I told him I'd just got back from seeing musician
Josh T Pearson in Leicester the evening before,
"You're still going to gigs?" Came his friendly mocking reply,
with his superiority taking over he said,
"I used to go to all of the gigs in London in the 60's!"
"Who did you go to see? " I asked,
"All of them!" he replied, "The Tremeloes.....I saw them
many times!" he said.
I quickly realised it wasn't worth discussing music with him either,
as it was on par with his compassion and understanding.
To be fair to him though, his grasp on politics
was better than his knowledge of music,
but probably just formed, out of his own self interest
and tax avoidance.
I recently rang my doctor for the scan
results of my shoulder problem.
After two weeks I was told they weren't ready,
and by the fourth, they told me they seemed lost?
Later I thought, if I'd been a member of the
Royal Family, I would have no doubt found out
about my results immediately? So going by this
information I have deduced, that someone somewhere,
right now, thinks I'm not as important as Prince Charles?
Me, not as important as Prince Charles?
As absurd as this may sound, on the facts available,
I have to consider this to be true.
So how can this be I hear you ask, people who know me will
vouch for my superior wave compared to Charles,
as mine incorporates enthusiasm.
Is it to do with privilege then? But David Cameron told us,
"We're all in this together!" And I agree with him,
if there's a shortage of quails eggs, then we should all suffer
But no, you selfish people out there, if this were to happened,
you wouldn't care, and go out and try to improve the
quails environment would you? No, you would just happily chew
on your burger, your fried chicken or pizza! And if the Speaker
in the House of Commons god forbid, found a ladder in his stockings,
would you care, would you offer help?
No....would you hell, you would just selfishly walk through your local
precinct, in your see through assed stretched leggings, making
sure you didn't forget to buy your lottery roll over tickets!
You can't fool me, none of you.
Table Tennis Love
She asked me to quantify my love,
I told her it wasn't as simple as that,
like trying to describe a game.
Table tennis love,
the harder you serve your love,
the less chance of it being returned,
maybe it doesn't pay to have too many winning shots?
Just serve it up...... nice and easy,
to guarantee its return.
And if it comes back too hard, with heavy top spin?
Then I guess you're in for an exciting game,
What's important, is always to play similar ability partners,
to ensure you don't become demoralised by winning too easily,
or being beaten too often!
And for very poor players?
Well, I suppose there's always the mixed doubles option!
Last night I truly saw my love,
first time I've watched her fly.
And as she came towards me
extending her reptile wings,
I chased her away with
rolled up newspaper.
Self doubt replaced by doubt self,
a long and trusted method,
passing ones lack of confidence
on to partner.
Constant wrong information also helps,
just like a blind crab in leaking bucket
being told the tide is going out.
And how come the beautiful
have always had the best foundations
As ugly men make themselves ready,
patiently the silent goddess await.
Last night she called me a dopey squid,
but can you also
feel the warmth in those words.
Yet again, I follow the fool within,
and loves process starts all over again.
Bang Bang Bang!
Bang Bang Bang!
Dog under car wheels,
couldn't hit brakes hard,
heavy traffic too close behind.
Bang Bang Bang!
Pulled over, small terrier lying in road,
Bang Bang Bang!
In gap in traffic,
picked up dog in arms,
was still breathing,
Bang Bang Bang!
Two young girls were watching
from side of road,
no more than 12 years old,
Crying, they told me it was their dog,
Bang Bang Bang!
Led to their home,
amazing how quickly they
Bang Bang Bang!
from a tough area of Gateshead,
gave me concern of reaction to come.
Bang Bang Bang!
Laid dog down,
in overgrown front garden,
panting, its eyes glazed and open,
staring into the sun,
asked children to create shade.
Front door was open,
Bang Bang Bang!
told father was indoors,
"Hello!" I shouted inside,
Bang Bang Bang!
Went in, guy in lounge,
around 35 years old,
watching horse racing on TV,
Bang Bang Bang!
"Your dog has been knocked down!"
I said, he didn't acknowledge me,
just kept watching TV as three horses
turned for home,
Bang Bang Bang!
"Your dog ran out and went under my car!"
I told him,
Bang Bang Bang!
Still his eyes never left the TV.
As one horse edged its way into the lead,
the roar from racing crowd
told me the finishing line was near,
Bang Bang Bang!
I turned and walked out,
his horse must have been winning?
Gave the two young girls £5,
told them to take their dog to a local vet.
I was young myself, 22 years old,
the father didn't seem to care, so why should I?
Leaving the dog and two girls behind,
I headed back to my car.
33 years later, with regret,
I wonder what happened to the dog,
what's happened to the two young girls,
and did their fathers horse win after all?
If not, what happened to the £5 note?
Bang Bang Bang!
Newspaper In Hand
Dust so close, history in motion,
a glance caught like a memory,
all became forgotten until recalled later.
Skin, an unironed uniform always worn,
covers the damage within,
self inflicted, only self to blame.
Holding Newsagent's door open,
taught from early age,
woman with child walks past,
unknown to her, makes rejected gesture easier to bare.
Outside, recognised by an acquaintance's son,
"Hi!" I said, "How's your mother?"
"Not bothered....I don't talk to her anymore"
came his reply.
I smiled, as he walked off down the alleyway,
dishevelled and young,
looked like he still needed mothering.
Newspaper in hand,
long distance phone call awaits,
limping........I head for home.
I must Have Been Seen?
The rooms darkness seemed a good place to be,
it was also damp in here.....absolutely perfect,
I heard noise?.....Voices were approaching!
I squeezed behind a nearby loose edge of wallpaper,
just in time, before the light was switched on!
I could hear them now......real close,
the light hurt my eyes, but I remained as still as death.
All of a sudden the wallpaper was peeled back,
I must have been seen?
A finger brushed against me....I heard a scream,
instantly I dropped to the floor, there was stamping all around me!
But I made it just in time, under the gap beneath the skirting.
I could hear laughter now, people talking real close again,
luckily I'd climbed up off the floor,
as the flash of a knife was run quickly along the gap.
The voices eventually moved away.
Around two hours later, it became quiet again,
They seemed to be leaving? Then the light finally went out.
I could relax now.....it was quite comfortable in here.
I stretched my legs......the heat and the damp felt so good,
I decided to lay my eggs right here......one by one, I gently placed
seemed like a nice place to raise a family.
In the quiet darkness of the night, now hungry,
I crawled out.....and decided to head for the kitchen,
the cat bowl was full.
If a juggler can juggle
better than Bono can sing,
which is quite probable,
does that give them the right
to meet Kofi Annan
whilst wearing sunglasses?
Disturb The Prey Of The Owl
Times gnarled twisted hands
holding on so tight,
the futility of trying to break free
as protestor in riot police grasp.
Slow motion always will be
the privilege of the young
and I understand now being told
"We had that work done three years ago"
cable colours telling me obsolete for many more.
Now babies don't require time to grow
and the purgatory of the working day,
replaced by Friday pretending to be Thursday.
Life's slow journey to top of roller coaster ride
a distant memory as you ready yourself,
to leave your seat for next paying customer.
This reminds me, on asking my father as a child
"Are you scared to die?"
"Why no son!" came his reply,
"Can you imagine working for a million years?"
He told me there and then
toil was worse than death.
There's only one solution
and it works,
learn to live without sleep,
become a hammer drill with two batteries,
create noise night and day,
disturb the prey of the owl
whilst ignoring the eyes trying to close.
6 quiet hours,
12 pm to 6 am,
very good condition,
hardly ever used,
will sell separately,
can pick up,
price to pay including postage and packing,
£££ Exhaustion! $$$
Just Keep Going Forward
Surrounded by love
thoughts of happiness,
so close can almost touch,
A waltz in hotel room,
to music from TV,
adverts then stop the flow,
but still...just enough time
to show what could be.
Everything and nothing seemed possible,
everything and nothing were mine,
simultaneously, both made me aware
of their presence.
Moments to savour
and were savoured,
now feel like the watching of a film,
so good you don't want it to end,
but they always do.
As eventually everything has to stop,
the watch, the car, the job,
and occasionally, even debt.
Established named companies come and go,
their remembered slogans,
later almost rendered into comedy,
"John Collier, John Collier...the window to watch!"
Where my first suit and coat were bought,
came out with the look of an old man,
only thing missing was a cloth cap,
it felt like getting ready for the end,
at 15 years of age.
Preferred throwing bleach
over Levi denims,
no doubt 1971 was a good year
in the sale of bleach.
Never brake the rhythm
of the long distance runner,
as the body can accept
the relentless effort,
but not once it thinks it's over.
Constant pain is always best to endure,
than to stop start, stop start,
that's why there's no give in concrete.
It's almost impossible to warm
a cold hand,
just as words of support alone
can't save the oppressed.
A burning spear hurts
in more ways than one,
but the heart hurts in all ways.
The love of running will
eventually bring you home,
and the human and the shark
will both die when finally stopped,
so just keep going forward,
and if necessary,
tear the leg from the bather,
another good reason to go forward,
hunger and preservation of life
is all that counts,
the nets will always await your return.
An old musician, with face lift scars anew,
assuming persona of hobo's pain again,
but why cheapen the image of the destitute,
or does Hollywood always have to have the last laugh.
Outsider, with electricity bill to pay,
worried manager, with children in private education,
contemplating rounding up the homeless
for cosmetic surgery, so his artist can look normal again.
So what does the future hold,
personal trainers for the under 5's,
penis enlargement for the under 10's,
botox for the under 15's,
and marriage guidance counselling for the under 20's
They say you're always within ten feet of a rat in London,
can you imagine being afforded this luxury from commerce.
Scrap Yard Dogs Bark
Elegant, lithe and alive,
only air conditioning broke
the silence of sleep.
These time given fragments,
silent as mosquito drawn blood.
Yet today tastes of storm,
with need to cover skin,
as water melon dreams,
tell of hard winter to come.
And so many seeds,
knowing each with luck could be,
but discarded, made refuse,
maybe even incinerated by now,
not a chance, like so many,
as care is always in such short supply.
And in knowing each moment
will always race away,
desire and sympathy
try their best to halt time.
All memories are real,
But none can see them
but you or I,
so what do they mean,
is then forever too short?
Or maybe the second
is just all there is?
If so, then all has past,
as with this too.
White wine thrown,
relaxed, as never to stain,
lack of contact and words,
their oncome signal the end.
But even in this silence, listen!
Can't you hear the noise?
In isolation there's irritation,
and moving forward always
the guarantee of friction.
Scrap yard dogs bark
at the end of each day,
protecting nothing much,
as we all do.
With Time And Patience
It all made sense to me,
just as the mud by the river, the reeds,
deserve to be here too.
As we walked I gazed,
images washed across my mind,
the worn steps on the Tiberius Bridge,
built in 21 AD,
showed even granite like stone can be beaten
with time and patience.
Well my approach also added to its wear and tear,
but surely not my feet?
As I held your hand I took comfort
in knowing our bodies regenerative qualities,
will help with the future friction between our skin.
The Disappearance Inside
I felt it happen,
as it's happened before,
the disappearance inside,
a communication switch off.
It's not deliberate, truly,
but there's nothing more to say,
only variations of the same,
so eventually tedium has won the day.
We got so far, but the truth being,
not as far as to just say to one another,
" Have you a black pen,
it's says on the form,
to only use a black pen?"
Not Understanding Both
Looking into your eyes,
catching sight of Ursa Minor,
not understanding both,
I smiled, and with mine returned
however briefly, I felt part of something.
Like the nearing of home,
yet knowing it can never be,
the distant feeling of happier times,
all eventually lost as I turned away.
It's Better Not To
Know.....What I Know
On cool summer evening,
sitting in home garden,
warmed by chiminea,
I instinctively understood
man's fascination with fire.
Watching the glow
from flames and embers,
sparks scribbled in orange,
on the darkening canvas
of another days end.
With beer in hand I recalled
the wood burners arrival,
around seven years ago,
left on front drive,
the day after being circumcised.
Managed to carry it through,
strange sensation for any weight lifter?
It had to be done, just as with the lifting,
something had become bigger or smaller,
I think it had become smaller.
Before succumbing to female
anaesthetists reassuring words
I asked her to tell the surgeon to be careful,
as it might not be much, but its all I have.
Laughing, she told me to not worry
and try to have good thoughts
as I went under.
Truly, I was so tired from work,
I was just glad for the rest.
Well I don't know if she told him,
but now with around 40% of sensitivity lost,
maybe she didn't,
Or possibly I have exactly the same
level of pleasure as my religious friends?
If so, I really feel sad for them,
As they will never know what they're missing,
Yet the loss will continue, as bullring cruelty faces end,
But just like the day your going to die,
it's best not to know.......what I know.
As I watched the flickering flames,
for a split second I swear I saw a face?
then from out of nowhere, a large moth
flew straight into the flames
causing a small glow, then gone.
Drinking my beer I thought to myself,
What on earth was the moth doing?
and why are young boys still being circumcised?
Nothing will ever change,
so much for Darwin's theory of evolution.
Finally Turned Concrete
Bacteria and decay, finally turned concrete,
spreading out, suffocating the land beneath,
and with all drainage leading to troubled sea,
tomorrow's children will bath in full view of
Viewed with fondness, the house, the car,
the boat with film of oil on water surrounds.
From fringe, buildings over and underground,
nature's patience will watch, peeking through
the forgotten chinks of light.
At this precise moment,
light pollution, as seen from the heavens,
flickers like a firefly convention,
in this I now walk, contemplating your arrival,
from unknown artery of life.
Platform cold, but warmed heart
yearns moment, we will move together,
through our encasement tonight.
Drip Drip Drip
Compassion sought by those,
without thought of return,
with yearning for freedom,
yet stubborn refusal to live on less.
Minds conditioned, drip drip drip,
working man against working man.
How many times have you heard,
"We need the rich!"
"Without them there would be no jobs!"
"If their taxes are too high they will
Well if this is true,
then we also need the rat,
as they too clean up while
spreading their disease.
Angel With Light Fingers
Fingernail bitten because broken,
covers for nerves within,
chainsaw words etched into mind,
so truth forever hated because true.
Angel with light fingers,
comfortable with conscience,
crocodile with no mercy,
as natural as arsenic,
powerful combinations all.
Cold mimicking warmth,
summer haze dressed by winter,
sickly to the touch,
lies supported by finance,
turned into unquestioned fact,
minds set in concrete,
expound hollow knowledge,
based on nothing more
than demand to be heard,
as questions became disrespect,
so Hell and Gulag welcomed truth alike.
Nature placed low,
by perceived simplicity,
as ants follow ordered trail,
without sight of toll.
Until washed away by flood
only truth is theirs,
as in all death itself.
Fridge For Panties
She now wears a fridge for panties,
which to be fair I bet still accentuates
the beauty in her stride. But I remember
the days when she used to wear an
oven, and how she burnt most things
due to her faulty thermostat set to max.
With my electrical training I still feel
responsible though, knowing I could have
easily cut the supply, ah....but in my defence,
I've always liked my food well done.
She once had her own angel sing for her too,
and I remember her critical words as the music
played, "You've used the word dreams again?"
And knowing through experience she
was right, I watched as the angel started
to dig, rather than rise up into the sky.
Queen Of Folly
I once met the Queen, the Queen of Folly,
and just like with all Queens, I could tell she
was used to getting all of her own way.
But as I'm not a royalist, I watched her dust
her mantelpiece over a log fire in the dark,
while I drank locally brewed beer and smiled.
So subtle the ulterior motive,
not at all, but thought to have
been exercised. Peasant
shoes, peasant clothes, with
all their honesty, give away this
child's obvious hiding place.
But with times help always at hand,
its removal of surface beauty
reveals decays initial bloom.
Then the spell is broken,
like the lifting of the Big Top from a
clowns performance, to expose nothing
more than a tragically poor comedian
standing alone in a field. So just be patient,
be patient, and maybe the truth in some
cases, is only a few years away.
And the audacity of the pain and woe,
showed by bombers one way mirrored
mind, while scorched earth, deformed
insect, nature does best to repair.
But always the wailing of shrapnel met child,
will expose easily the sanitised actors world,
because it's well known, popcorn still has to
be sold when watching 2D battle zone.
Scratch Cards And
While Catholic Church looks to the next Pope,
the Magdalene laundry survivors stories unfold.
So even the Church it seems has been involved in
the slavery business. Gods franchise, "No need
to wash your dirty linen in the streets, when we
can do it for you, and behind locked doors! "
And right up until 1996? Saying this date out
loud, it occurs that it has the ring of the devil
in its sound.
Today we pick up dog shit, all in the name of progress,
yet the fly will still find the remnants, as we sit in
parks placing pieces of grass to our mouths.
There is plenty we can't see, we don't know,
and this is how they want us, ignorant,
disinterested, preoccupied and confused.
While scabies again start to bite into my skin,
I have no time to attend, as I've just bought lottery scratch
cards. Scratch scratch scratch,
"I've won £2!" Now time for my ankles.
Harboring instilled thoughts that your not
as good as me, and because I feel it,
therefore it must be true, in this we all practice.
And in knowing those with the biggest dogs have to
pick up the most dog shit, makes me walk with my
head held high. And to those who refuse?
Well who am I to judge, as I shake another hand,
with possible scabies under fingernail.
Wrestling With Tarquin's Dream
So wrestling is being dropped as an Olympic Sport,
and now as golf gets itself ready to enter the gladiators
arena, I can hear future discussion at the International
Olympic Committee meeting, Baroness Leafy Suburb
Hedgerow speaks, "My son Tarquin is desperate to win
a gold medal at the Olympics but refuses point blank
to be manhandled and be put into a head lock by those
Eastern European ruffians!" So he and I think it would be
a good idea to have the egg and spoon race included as
a new Olympic sport instead of wrestling. But using quails
eggs to limit the weight being carried, and the use of large
spoons. Tarquin said once he gets used to running and
balancing an egg he is prepared to use a smaller spoon,
but for now, say until 2024, let's use large soup spoons!
And by 2028 I truly believe my son Tarquin will do the UK
proud and be one of the greatest egg and spoon racers
the world has ever seen!"
The Lack Of Light
Humour can save the soul,
to laugh at ones own stupidity
is a rare gift, and with nothing
to say or to prove is also comfort.
In the lack of light on an endless
sea of gloom, feelings reminiscent
to sea sickness prevail, but with
both feet on solid ground, laughter
and calm return, in knowing only
the future is now to create.
So smooth, peace at last,
but I've heard there's still square
bolt heads out there,
why, what if working in a tight corner?
If you've never worked with your
hands, you probably won't understand.
A butterfly in first days of January,
sought warmth from building site hell,
gently placed outside,
phone camera taken proof,
as weather forecasts snow.
Sad, but just in the right place
at the wrong time.
Few days later, found out that not
just fairies have wands, many have
them, and some have 10 speeds to
guarantee their magic. Moans heard,
masked by Sigur Ros music, and love
talked of, in same tone as car insurance
quote, only difference?
Insurance is always required to drive.
In silence, much can be found,
and within it's gentle current,
helping with drift to places far and wide.
Calm waters rhythm,
but music no longer easily found,
so maybe the guitar needs the
surf waves to ride after all?
So sad the homeless portrait, desire
caught in eyes too personal the message
for others to see. Is this why most masters
captured eyes so dull?
Caught in no man's land of hidden love,
a glimpse of past possibility well and truly lost.
Thoughts of why it feels better never to return,
even to places having never seen before.
The airport, the motorways, the skyline of
an unknown city, all forever hidden.
Time stopped as picture made ready,
maybe overwound reason for hold in time.
Now only closed Post Office brings return,
from stalled journey back to first home.
Once Kissed Pavarotti In Dalston
I once kissed Pavarotti in Dalston, and allowed
her to cook and clean my home for 14 days.
From pasta to disaster, as favourite watch was broken
and now in need of repair. Later in shame she washed
my feet as they'd turned black from dirt from floor and
lack of sock or slipper.
And with her finally having gone, surveying
my fridge to imagined strains of Nessun Dorma,
I refix its door hinge, and then in relief head to local
supermarket to replenish my dwindled food supplies.
As I drove there, thoughts of if I didnt shave,
I too could have the seemingly compulsory Dalston
beard, true, nearly everyone around here has one,
I once kissed Pavarotti in Dalston,
as Spring hid in embarrassment,
down Ridley Market Lane.
I Thought You Were
Been here before,
just cant remember when?
Felt this sensation only minutes ago,
but what was it, what did I feel?
I wanted something, just didn't know what?
I've gone somewhere......where is that?
Everyone here's a stranger, who are they?
Did my best.......at what?
Loved you all so much.....but who are you?
A smile from an old woman,
a kiss, from the same a week earlier,
now sitting on sofa in reception,
brought to her son,
both given tea, plate of biscuits,
"This is Arnold" she tells carer,
"I'm not Arnold!" he said,
"I'm worried about the children,
Where are they?" she asked him,
"I need to go and see them!"
"Sheila's in Spain" he told her,
"Let her stay there" she said.
She started crying,
"Where's Robert?" she asked him,
"I'm Robert" he replied.
With tears from core of heart,
she said, "You never loved me!"
Quietly he said "That's not true!"
"I'm going to tell my mother and father about you!"
"I'll tell Robert too!"
"I'm Robert!!" he said,
"Where's the children?"
"Who's children?" he asked her,
"My children!" she said,
"I'm your son!" came his irritated reply,
"I thought you were Arnold?"
"Arnold's my father, your husband"
"You treat me like a murderer!" she sobbed,
"Really?" half laughing he replied,
"I was a good mother to you, I got you shoes,
And did your washing!"
Wiping her eyes,
then placing both hands on knees,
she asked, "Have you a girlfriend yet?"
"I've been married for 30 years!" with slight laugh in reply,
"This is no way to treat me, I was a good mother!"
"Who do you think you are?"
"Your no better than me!"
As she sat there crying,
not one hand of comfort was she shown.
Sadly but true, long term memory
is one of the last things to go.
So delicate the moths wing,
poor design taken too far,
nature's decision...not mine,
and never challenged.
Caught in wet hand,
split second damage,
is it the hands fault?
Shouldn't have been wet,
shouldn't have even been there,
but it was.....and I'm here.
so has evolution ignored me,
or is the moth of little importance,
unlike the fly?
Can you afford to choose the door you enter
when suffering from emotional hypothermia?
Surely its just best to find warmth where you can,
anywhere, and as quickly as possible.
I looked inside the first door I stumbled across,
it was open, they usually are,
funny how we don't secure our emotions,
as we do our possessions?
Inside I could see the fire was almost out,
yet still, there was a little warmth left to be had,
it might see me through for a while,
but I decided it was best to look further.
Arctic survival classes warn against this type
of careless behaviour,
immediate warmth essential,
when finger tips become frozen, turning dark in colour,
but the heart......surely can take more than the finger tips?
Quickly I entered the next open door,
ice cold it was in there,
the fire looked fine, but on closer inspection,
the beautiful orange glow,
was only powered by a 40 watt Edison lamp,
even the paint on the lamp was peeling.
Funny thing was, this reminded me
of so many places visited before,
ok I hadn't been looking as closely as I was now,
but instinctively I knew this familiar place.
As I walked away, the cold air felt good in my lungs,
after about a mile, or was it three years?
I saw a distant light from a door,
it didn't look easy to get to,
a stretch of water stood in my way,
just couldn't see way around it.
I walked to the waters edge,
it looked cold, dark and deep,
I thought it could be crossed, but was it worth it?
The light from the open door looked ever so inviting,
but the little warmth I had managed to retain,
could it be lost if attempted?
Temptation overcame me,
I waded in, and in no time was out of my depth,
I found myself submerged,
unfamiliar sounds were in my ears,
but I found I could breath under water?
I became calm, relaxed,
there was no going back now.
I never did reach the other side,
maybe when cold meets cold,
breathing in the same
it just becomes easier to wander around like this,
I nearly forget to mention,
most people I knew were here too,
so what's the point of shedding wet clothes,
only to put them back on again,
be truthful, is there a worse feeling?
My failing, I guess I've always needed convincing.
A struck match, a forest fire, a volcano,
and not forgetting the humble gas ring,
all linked to the same source,
and all have to cool down,
all bar none I guarantee will die one day.
The Dog Knew
She could cause
a storm in a tea cup,
she could disturb an ocean,
turn eating a watermelon
into an art,
while starving her body.
And forgive an individual,
while despising a whole nation,
the dog knew and told her so,
by biting its teeth into her flesh.
Money To Be Made
Children soon realise
that there's money
to be made,
on the losing
of their first
Music To Her Ears
A familiar melody drifts around me,
like beauty held in place by affection,
journeys between addresses,
vital for on going madness,
for music to come alive.
All windows closed,
but constant temperature hard to achieve,
so windows must open to compensate.
Siliconed van window, another thief's problem now,
summer heat, couldn't persuade repair,
heat now replaced by condensation.
As another familiar melody drifts around me,
a thought, harmony too quiet?
Has to be louder, to reach her heart,
phone rings.....I stop this nonsense,
my love has returned.
Maybe a bird can never
truly enjoy flying,
until its been caged
for eight hours a day.
Miniature poodles with tentative steps,
no desire, the rigours of life.
And forever comfort will make soft,
the coarsest of vagabond touch.
But even with eventual table manners acquired,
the vulture will still peck, snatch and grab.
And as feast is now watched closely by wolverine eyes,
police and army stand by in preparation,
to curtail others who dare mimic those who dine.
Life too easy, can never be worn well,
so has to be hidden,
yet no varnish can hide,
natures design gone wrong.
Soft faces, soft hands, weak smiles,
with total disregard,
flaunt themselves unaware
of the viewing eyes.
And superiority and privilege,
has designed this mincey waltz,
the sickly hipped and duck toed
The sun will always overheat the shallow,
warm, tepid, stagnant, rancid, disease ridden
with no depth or character,
deadly, but still very alive.
OK You Can Call Me An
Oddist If You Like!
Michael Gove has been sent to save
our UK Education system,
and he tells us he has all the answers.
Honestly, when I look at him......Jesus?
Ok, you can call me an oddist if you like!
but all I know is he couldn't survive,
on a shopping trip with the Womens Institute,
he could be hospitalised if he engaged
in a conker fight with a 10 year old!
or crippled for life at a Morris Dancers rehearsal,
or knocked out by being glanced by candy floss,
or terrified by a woman's advances,
I can see the look on his face as she orgasmed,
similar to the facial expression of someone
present inside of Cherynoble as it went up!
He could even be savaged while feeding ducks!
or pinned to the floor by a three legged
he could suffer third degree burns from
eating a hot dog!
a fractured skull from a falling polystyrene tile!
or burns to the skin from cotton panties being raised too quickly!
and I bet he has never gained access to an egg alone!
and could suffer serious injury from confetti being thrown at a
I bet he has to be sedated when he has his hair is cut,
and could end up shell shocked eating winkles!
while constantly being bitten by a cabbage white?
And mugged at a teddy bears picnic!
not forgetting his constant copyright issues with Mr Bean!
I'm sorry I know this is cruel....... but he's not normal
and it worries me!
Actually......what is it with the Conservatives?
And where do they come from?
The village of cotton wool?
The chinless society?
The socially deranged?
The one oar in the water life boat rescue service?
The gurning championship finals?
The X-factor preliminary rounds?
The back end of pantomime horses?
The Zoot and Ploot appreciation society?
And we wonder why our country is in such a mess?
This would be funny if this wasn't true!
Well May Be That's
I once drove a bus trip through the eye of a needle,
stopped inside as it was raining, had a picnic there
and not one of us got wet apart from the guy who
went to fetch the frisbee. Another time, I've had the
London Marathon run down one of my hair follicles
to the scalp, I remember I had to comb them out later,
as there were lots of stragglers. Actually I was born
in a race, and my mother bit through the finishing line
tape instead of the umbilical cord, how we all laughed!
I also invented my mother and father, they think I'm
their son but I'm not, I'm their God, in a chicken and
egg sort of way.
I create music too, and I swear the Gods sit around
me as I play, all clapping their hands. I know I should
be honoured, but the truth is they get on my nerves,
as their clapping is always out of time. So why are they
so respected, is it because they don't get seen too often,
if so.......well may be that's the trick?
Silence speaks volumes,
yet has no use for easy
words like "I love you",
none whatsoever. And
inflation has never effected
the cheapness of words,
that's why they're still being
used so freely, as common
as prairie grass, whispering,
too embarrassed to be
So sleep well, and as legs brush,
with sheets warm and bedroom
too, the nearest to freedom felt,
the whistling of a passing bird.
Truth is, fear is within you, and
just as the poor have always had
a grasp on hope, the comfortable
have now taken the blues as their
Funny Talking Town
We met as two foreigners in a funny talking town, with
our superiority instantly acknowledged and understood.
Yet mine felt somehow greater, but because of your
arrogance, I couldn't tell you this, which seemed rather
sad at the time. But how we laughed, mimicking the locals
as we danced their duck toed waltz, with you wiggling your
elegant ass as they all clapped along, while turning your head
and waving them away as they graciously tried to feed you
their local delicacy.
I remember you once washed my feet, and I have to admit you
were very good, but no matter what you said, you couldn't convince
me a book started at the end or finished in the middle. Yet you still
managed to turn our meeting into Tolstoy's War And Peace, leaving
me feeling as foolish as Pierre ever could. But as I still haven't
finished reading this book(page 732), he could become the hero
after all, well at least Natasha seems to have recognised his
then again, she's just found religion so maybe she's confused.
Or is it, attraction and similarity are born out of nothing more than
Some will no doubt find this all rather humorous, but a word of
if you're personally ever lucky enough to find yourself in our
forget your recipes, and the need to run off in search of local
No just relax, as no matter who you are, we're more than happy to join
with your peculiar dance...and laugh.
So what am I looking for, someone to
go train spotting with, or dog fighting in the
rain. Maybe mix doubles mud wrestling, or
even bare knuckle fighting together after a
late night in the bar? No way, I would prefer us
to go to amateur dramatics, how about South Pacific
in a local church hall? Then I can sing "Younger Than
Springtime" to you, and you can sing "A Wonderful Guy"
to me. And your mother could even come along too, and
sing "Happy Talk" as we gaze into each others eyes, she
telling us as she sits on a rock, "I'm rich, since War I make
2000 dollar! War go on, I make maybe more? Give all money
to you and Liat, you no have to work, I work for you, all day
long you and Liat play together, make love, talk happy!" And
me being the good guy I am, I will promise your mother to
make love to you, talk happy, and even marry you, once her
business plan has been confirmed. This ladies, is how mother
in laws should be, and I say in total honesty, shame on you all.
Well it's Thursday 4.50 am, and with work closing in on me yet
again, from my bed I can hear heavy rain, mixed with the spray
of early morning London traffics return. And as winter hasn't yet
taken hold, I will now go make a coffee, and standing naked waiting
for the water to boil, content myself in the knowledge, these early
morning hours will always be mine.
So the hand car wash has finally replaced the
automated car wash, man replaces machine, all
in the name of progress. And how come there's
treatment for obesity but none as yet for greed?
Well as I see it, the time has well and truly come
to also eradicate this disease.
So let's wire the jaws of governments, and
gastric band them to an inch of their lives.
And we'll use our taxes, that's right our taxes! And finally knowing
where they're gone,
rammed down those liars throats, so that
one day soon, we can all dine on Foie Gras
Too Much Skin
Knowing there'll never be
kudos for going nowhere fast,
even if managed to be travelled
in first class. So I watch as the
early bird catches the worm, now
using an excavator through impatience,
to unearth their subterranean home.
They say too much sun can
damage the skin, then too much
skin must surely exhaust the sun.
So off with my shirt from my Nordic
frame, Tall White, whiter than the
whitest snow, that will blind that
solar fucker, into thinking I'm from
it's long lost soul.
And the UFO's with their constant
triangular shows, still not powerful
enough attraction, to stop traffic jams
at the malls. So shopping will continue,
to the melody of the biggest HAARP,
said to switch on happiness, vibrated
from afar. Yet as zero gravity to free
energy, soon have to be disclosed, no
doubt at same time in a lodge somewhere,
the next World War will be proposed.
Without courage all words disappear, riding ignored
on the back of passing time. Then lack of enthusiasm,
will naturally replace happiness, and as fear moves into
new home, the neighbours will forever shudder.
Comfort with smell, far worse than dog shit on shoe,
hangs like pitiful shawl, on spinster mourning love.
Courage so easily lost, when hidden in mannerisms
found, from childhood some say....but therefore,
has there been no growth? And if true, then surely, is
it not just better to use comfort as an excuse?
The London Carnival
Here they come, the cockroaches,
followed by bed bugs and fleas.
London's Truest Carnival of excellence
and achievement seen. Rats and mice too
all salute as they go, marching past
heading for our homes.
Working recently, in shared kitchen
of a half way house in Edgeware, I
noticed out of the corner of my eye
something slowly entering a hole in
the wall, near low level incoming gas
pipe. It looked so relaxed, like an
ambling cow on its way to being milked.
On finishing my job, and seeing a tin
of insect spray on nearby shelf, I
proceeded to carry out my civic duty,
mixed with an element of school boy
devilment that never seems to die.
"Whoosh!" Went the can, and instantly
out from the hole out came five cockroaches,
with what can only be described, as the
energy of MC5, performing "Kick Out
The Jams". But no encore required this
The London Carnival, sponsored by
the individuals, paid for and working on
behalf of the public and taxpayer. They
in all their wisdom, actually thinking it
a good idea to cut pest control in order
to save money. One small step for man,
finally overshadowed by the giant leap
of a flea.
The True Masters
The true masters come from the street,
and they're tougher than you and me, bred
to feel minimal pain, with only sanitised laws
to hold them in place. And the veneered
confidence, with its dependence on warped
system that greed couldn't help but privatise away,
memories forgetful of hells whispers always
close to the ear.
But I ask you, would you dare rest your head against
the neck of a raging bull, to try to reassure as abattoir
symphony unfolds? Well to me it seems you do, through
foolish lack of fear, that only the eye and secret handshake
could ever conspire.
The bus left as they always do, with statue in
water behind me, covered in old time thoughts
anew. Now with four hours plus to Washington DC,
which earlier the Baltimore signs seemed reluctant
to leave. Seven years have now passed, but got
within forty thousand feet of you. I was above you,
you will be pleased to know, looking down onto your
cold shaped snow.
As we headed under the Hudson, the bus driver
announced a film for us all to see, it was put to a
vote, Tom Cruise, Oblivion...in silence the journey
chose. Smiling to myself, at his latest effort refused,
it became so clear to me there and then, it's just
better never to have been known.
True intentions eventually reveal themselves,
bursting forward from their hiding place as does
every child. Yet words will still try to build monuments,
reassured no doubt in knowledge that you can't smell
a rat in a compost heap. But don't feed a plant, a goldfish,
an animal, child or lover, then all will die.
As cockroach, walks upon marble surface pristine, with
alien feeling as surface of the moon. But once dropped
to floor, finding a small crumb, pet cage, or refuse bin
ajar, proving no matter the true intentions, the situations
you create can be heaven to some after all.
Being told that you are loved and given all the
words in the world, these words can only be as
beautiful, as a house, a car, or holiday. Because
no matter how heartfelt their delivery, they're
meaningless, once known to be spoken by
someone....who is more in love with dead things.
Car Crash, Arrest, And The
Saturday morning 10.45 am, cleaners sitting
drinking coffee, their work finally done. In
South Shields bar, father with older brother,
stalk their chosen lair, as uncle puts his coat
on back of woman's chair. I'm told in his day
he was known as a ladies man, but soon the
ladies like his reputation, are finally gone.
(Isn't it funny how the old lay claim to tables
88 and 86 years old, both unsteady, but fear no
match as yet for stopping them being here. Friends
arrive, one's particularly welcomed, 72 years of age,
just out of hospital, young inexperienced driver
put him there. They say alcohol in blood relaxed him
for impact and fall, proving its worth once and for all.
My uncle an ex-policeman, visited the same man's
home, to arrest him, prison ensued, many years
ago. But in old age all is forgotten, nothing matters
now, and if truth is being told, it never really does.
Domino game starts and I'm soon forgotten, as for a few
hours are all problems. Crash victims bag of urine
strapped to ankle above sock, tells of soon to be removed
in hospital, the following week. My father in a couple of
days, camera to go down his throat, and uncle with cancer,
nothing more that can be done. Another who isn't here this
time I'm told by his closet of friends, of visit to hospital to
find him on drip, while drinking beer from a can,
(John died 30th April 2014).
Ex-miners, shipyard workers, electricians, police and bus drivers
all, enjoying each others company, while they all still can.
Johnny The Moth
I see him most days as I set off for work, he's always
hanging onto a particular wall, perfectly still. I've
nicknamed him "Johnny The Moth". One day he might
fly again, but for now he seems content to stay near the
church on Balls Pond Road, N1.
Since noticing him there over a year ago, I've actually
started to see him all over town, even on TV on top of
the mountain in Rio De Janeiro. He seemed well thought
of, had all the answers they tell me, so they killed him as
they always do to men who speak too clearly. He wasn't
impressed with money lenders either they say, would have
been great to have got him drunk, then encouraged him to
throw all my football teams merchandise from their shop
onto the street, shouting, " Johnny The Moth says out with
you Wonga!" Funny how the right wing eventually took him
as one of their own, was that done to just confuse us, or was
his father no more than the first developer, on a universal scale?
As darkness falls, content in the knowledge that "Johnny
The Moth" will resist the urge to head towards the nearest
street light, where the dark cobwebs will forever await his
return. No, instead he bathes himself in the rich fragrance
from the local Caribbean restaurant, and with help from their
menu, of snapper or flying fish, "Johnny" will again feed some
of the five thousand in Dalston tonight.
The Monkey And The Ox
How can an ox harass a monkey, and make it pick up
banana skins, come to think of it, how can an ox ride a
monkey, while stopping it from using its dishwasher?
2.00 am, I send a text message to her phone, telling her,
"While you sleep next to me, I'm trying my best not to
fart!" Not realising, her mobile phone would bleep from
nearby table in bedroom. She stirs and asks, "Was that
my phone?" I text again, "You will soon come to read this
nonsense!" The second text duly arrives, announced by
another bleep, and on cue out of my bed she jumps, goes
to table, picks up her phone and reads message. "Silly Billy!"
she calls me, then naked, goes to the bathroom. As I await
her return, I justify to myself, thoughts of having woken
her up, in knowing that she will sleep far better now, after
having taken a piss.
The Bar Room Capitalists
Even into bars the capitalist seems to have moved,
not content with turning homes into stocks and
shares, they've now entered into our company, riding
on the back of an empty glass. With timing assumed
to be as good as any matadors final strike, chess
players all in the art of "off shore" drinking.
I remember the good old days, when home brewing kits
used to save the face of the financially challenged, but not
anymore, now they're as brazen as any financier, using their
bladder as a bank account, and their company with eagle eye
they can never hide, as a product they sell.
I remember he looked after our goldfish and stick insects
while we all lay on a Kefalonian beach. Fed Wilba, named
by the children, our only fry to survive, so well that the water
turned into lentil soup. Wilba with her crooked jaw, too young
for his inexperience and excess in aquatic love, unfortunately
died. The stick insects on the other hand, took him in their stride.
He told me later, he cut pieces from neighbours privet hedges with
scissors, feeding them daily to keep them strong, even got chased
by someone who saw him desecrating their garden.
My kids loved their Uncle Hazza, an easy touch for any child, he
now lives in Carlisle, I'm in Dalston, and my family's in Potters Bar,
funny how life works out.
over night soaked lentils.
All prepared for your consumption,
but non as well prepared as the
journalist without a spine.
Recipe For A Journalist Without A Spine.
Usually always the case,
one middle class graduate,
with the obligatory vocal dulcet tone.
Two parents, with wish for child's
prosperous future, (no harm in that).
One comfortable home.
An employer with an agenda.
A pension plan.
Absolute obedience to master,
and a blind eye to the truth.
A sprinkling of self preservation,
the ability to even lie to oneself.
Once prepared, leave for the duration
of a working life. Occasionally add
incentives if required, not forgetting
to massage the ego to keep the
produce fresh, thus guaranteeing the
world will revolve on a rusted axis,
forever turning on its greatest lie.
So how can we escape this living hell
I hear you ask? By the addition of many
spines, to the glorious ruination of this
tasteless recipe for life. Then the telling
of the truth, to finally on a plane, flying
horizontally over a plain, with no longer
the fear of space, and the constant itch,
to remind the pilot, to keep dipping down
Dog Training For The Ego
I haven't the energy to train
to carry my newspaper, so I can
walk nonchalantly along the road
from newsagent, pretending I
haven't noticed the smiles from dog
lovers everywhere. Then home to
read a soggy newspaper....Liverpool
1 Spurs...? "That bloody dog!"
I couldn't train my kids to tidy their
bedrooms either, curtains pulled from
hangers, coke tins and crisp packets,
strung like Xmas decorations around
the furniture. " Tidy your room!" I
asked, "Fuck off!" I was told, to the
repetitive chorus of slamming doors.
As you can see, I spend little time in the
pursuit of change, and do you know why?
Because it's futile that's why. So just stay
as your are, who you are, but at least admit
as much to yourself. I never wanted to change
you, I left that chore for your master.
So in the silent future, as you jump through
arranged hoops, soon maybe even holding your
dog up again, while group photo is taken of
friends newly born. Be content in the
that I will always have my newspaper
not by a dog, but by a child, and this is the
if you haven't already noticed, and if you
me......then go ask any mother.
The Biggest Sleep Returns
We think we know what we know,
as it brings order to the here and now.
Yet we don't know what we do not
know, and this is forever our problem,
however simple this statement may seem.
And confidence depends on this, as
it prefers to just bang on the big drum,
"Boom Boom Boom", accompanied by
the empty knowing smile.
We think we awake every day, not
realising that sleep can last until the
eyes close again. Some think that beauty
is all you need, but to those who practice
in this art, don't forget about the wear and
tear. Trouble is, we think we think, but
what we think is what we've been told, then go
out into the big bad world with a head full of
just as the automatic hoover finds dust alone.
As the alarm clock sounds, and the awakening
real sleep to the biggest sleep returns, I ask
you capable of looking at the facts that are
to be found, or are you forever asleep, awake
later tonight, will you be asleep asleep? Well
you are, I wish you all sweet dreams.