HOME

JEFF BELL

Mountain Goat In Dead Tree
Still, It Looks Like Affection
Comfort
M1 Motorway, Heading South
"You're Still Going To Gigs?"
Scan Results
Table Tennis Love
Reptile Wings
Bang Bang Bang!
Newspaper in Hand
I Must Have Been Seen
Juggler
Disturb the Prey of the Owl
Just Keep Going Forward
Tomfoolery
Scrapyard Dogs Bark
With Time and Patience
The Disappearance Inside
Not Understanding Both
It's Better Not to Know..what I Know
Finally Turned Concrete
Drip Drip Drip
Angel With Light Fingers
Fridge For Panties
Queen Of Folly
Ulterior Motive
Scratch Cards and Scabies
Wrestling With Tarquin's Dream
The Lack Of Light
Magic Wand
Homeless Portrait
I Once Kissed Pavarotti  In Dalston
I Thought You Were Arnold?
So Delicate
Emotional Hypothermia
The Dog Knew
Money To Be Made
Music To Her Ears
 Maybe
Minature Poodles
OK You Can Call Me An Oddist If You Like!
Well, Maybe That's the Trick?
Whispering Grass
Funny Talking Town
Happy Talk
Foie gras
Too Much Skin
Without Courage
The London Carnival
The True Masters
Oblivion
True Intentions
Dead Things
Car Crash, Arrest and the Domino Effect
Johnny the Moth
The Monkey and the Ox
The Bar Room Capitalists
Uncle Hazza
Ingredients Required

Dog Training For The Ego 
The Biggest Sleep Returns
The Bar Room Capitalists
Futile
Comedy to Canned Laughter
Big Bang
But the Third
Insect Love
Confusion of the Slave

Gambler's Intuition
No Sales Then Sell Your Soul

Lion Versus Strongest Man....And Gunman.

Everything Seemed Closed.
Granite In Blood

The Body Will Always Welcome Inactivity

The Silence Of The Hummingbird

Scratches And Gouges

She's Mine

Music Just As In Life

Goldfish Love

Just Run Run Run

Resent The Nearly Man

Catching Sight

Treasures From Heaven

Slowing Of The Heart

Circle Of Misfortune

Where Have They All Gone?

Diminished Disappointment 

The Universal God Within Sleeps.

The Final Farewell

Palm Tree In Dalston

No Longer Recognise

The Casting Couch

The Fantasist And The Muse

This Is Brittan

Corporate Wife

No

The Queen And My Hoover

The Poison Sea

Forever And A Day

Bone Cracked 

Five Foot Tall

Radio Station Of Misery

Skiing In Hell

Thank You

Gone Camping To Avoid The Dampness

Postage Stamp Size

Never Enough

Always Rode With The Slug

 

     


 

Mountain Goat In Dead Tree

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.


Comfort

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.
Near Wetherby,
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
soulful lament,
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
December storm.
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.


Scan Results

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
together!
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.
Audio

 

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,
however short!
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!


Reptile Wings

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
for insecurity?
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
composed themselves?
Bang Bang Bang!
Tough kids,
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,
no answer?
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
them together,
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.


Juggler

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.

FOR SALE
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
and loneliness,
thoughts of happiness,
so close can almost touch,
(again).
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,
but remember,
the nets will always await your return.


Tomfoolery

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,
until tomorrow,
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
and drugs,
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
parental control.

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,
repeated information,
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
move elsewhere!"
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.



Ulterior Motive

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 Scabies

 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.



Magic Wand

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?



Homeless Portrait

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.

 

I 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,
even Pavarotti?

I once kissed Pavarotti in Dalston,
as Spring hid in embarrassment,
down Ridley Market Lane.

 

I Thought You Were Arnold?

 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"
 "Is he?"
"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

 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?


Emotional Hypothermia

 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,
 a star,
 a universe,
 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
 tooth.

 

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,
 volume.......so essential,
 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

 Maybe a bird can never
 truly enjoy flying,
 until its been caged
 for eight hours a day.


Minature Poodles

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
 effortlessly glide.

 The sun will always overheat the shallow,
 warm, tepid, stagnant, rancid, disease ridden
 ponds,
 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
 miniature poodle!
 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
 wedding!
 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 The Trick?


 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?
Audio



Whispering Grass


 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
 overheard.

 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
 own.

 

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
qualities,
 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
 our confusion?

  Some will no doubt find this all rather humorous, but a word of
warning,
  if you're personally ever lucky enough to find yourself in our
presence,
  forget your recipes, and the need to run off in search of local
produce.
  No just relax, as no matter who you are, we're more than happy to join
in
 with your peculiar dance...and laugh.




Happy Talk

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.



Foie Gras

 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


 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
 time.

 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.


Oblivion


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


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.


Dead Things


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 Domino Effect


 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
 and chairs?)

 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.

Audio


 

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.
Audio

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.


Uncle Hazza

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.

Ingredients Required

Seedless Grape,
boneless chicken,
dressed crab,
peeled potato,
shelled egg,
minced meat,
diced carrots,
juiced fruit,
tinned tomatoes,
mixed nuts,
boiled rice,
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.

Ingredients Required;
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
the nose.
 

 

Dog Training For The Ego 

I haven't the energy to train a dog
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 latest
friends newly born. Be content in the knowledge,
that I will always have my newspaper delivered,
not by a dog, but by a child, and this is the difference
if you haven't already noticed, and if you don't believe
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 actually
what we think is what we've been told, then go
out into the big bad world with a head full of lies,
just as the automatic hoover finds dust alone.

As the alarm clock sounds, and the awakening from
real sleep to the biggest sleep returns, I ask you, are
you capable of looking at the facts that are clearly there
to be found, or are you forever asleep, awake asleep, or
later tonight, will you be asleep asleep? Well whatever
you are, I wish you all sweet dreams.


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 the product they sell.

Futile, playing outdoor table tennis, futile,

playing indoor golf, and if you've ever tried

then surely you will agree, futile the watching

of squash match through Perspex court on TV.

Futile, the surfing of a two foot wave, futile when

really surfing, trying not to look like a seal to the

shark. Futile, the walking of a dog now you have

to pick up its shit, futile telling a woman that men

are better drivers, futile, women listening to men

telling them men are better drivers.


Futile, Iggy at nearly 70 singing, "Now I'm 21 I'm going

to have a lot of fun", futile, waiting for a bus that you

know through experience will usually always be full,

but without any other option, you again prepare for

the next wait. Futile, after finding out about a book

called Futility, then still believing history occurs from

random circumstances, futile trying to communicate

with the sheeple. Also futile it seems, trying to bring

members of Parliament to justice for the sexual abuse

of young defenceless children in care. And after two

nominated heads of the investigation had to step down

because of links to the accused, now Lowell Goddard

from New Zealand we're told will head the inquiry,

proving the seeking of justice in the UK is futile.

( Lowell Goddard was relieved of her post and shortly

after, the inquiry into paedophilia of politicians was 

closed. This was coincidentally reported, on the day 

Donald Trump became President).


Futile, believing someone loves you, when they will never 

see you, futile, thinking you can't be forgotten, like old wedding 

confetti on a rainy Monday morning church step. Futile developing 

an ego before the talent has arrived, futile trying to be an artist, but

ill equipped for the pain involved. Futile betting on black when

playing Russian roulette, futile hiding in the long grass while

carrying kippers, futile a butterfly in a tornado, futile wearing

crotchless panties, just after a hysterectomy, futile normal shoes

on an odd guy, or odd shoes on a normal guy. Futile going to the

local Shopping Mall looking for something original, futile wiping

your arse while living in a shit hole, futile the desire to work in a

circus, when already born a clown. Futile planning for the future,

when you have none, futile working for a wage that doesn't pay

your bills, futile, using reverse anti ageing cream, unless your

stuck in the cul-de-sac of life, and to be fair who isn't? 


Futile, believing in the bible, when told not to eat from the tree

of knowledge, and while the words of Hermes Trismegistus are

followed by the few, "As it is above, so it is below", so assuming 

themselves superior to the masses. Futile practicing alchemy without 

having a soul, futile the making of Ormus, without correct ventilation. 

And did Gurdjieff's dog really bring him an artichoke every morning, 

stolen from the market then placed upon his table, or was it just his 

way with words to berate his fat landlady for his hunger? Well 

whether it did or it didn't, its still futile the lengths some will go to,
to make themselves look interesting.


Futile the wearing of a wig, futile pretending you don't need one, 

futile the growing of a beard when everyone has one, futile trying

to grow a beard, when you know you can't grow one. Futile me

writing and you reading this, and finally from experience, futile,

believing in words alone.


From the Gospel to the Inquisition, intolerance
born of faith, from the need of love to the harlot,
then money staked its claim. From democracy to
today's tyranny, war on terror to the Patriot Act,
from Magna Carta to Magistrates Court, illegal
if written law is an actual fact.


From rain forest to grazing land, from organic
to GM food. From Eton's master to pupil,1984
inspired by Brave New World. From flat earth to
globe, Ezra Pound to asylum in Washington, D.C.
From victory to winners written history, from
criminal family now the Royalty breed.

But it's not their fault, that comedy now uses canned
laughter, when this is all that we seem to need, to help
with our insecurity, almost frightened to laugh out of place.
Yet in knowing too much laughter, can also dance close
to insanity, so isn't it good advice to know what is being
laughed at first, as mimicking of canned laughter can
never save the world.


Lying in bed, Monday 5.02 am,

now living in South London, so

nearly time to head down the hill 

to work, into good old London town. 

The trick is, to make your move 

early before the starters gun, or you 

might as well just wear fancy dress, 

be Fred Flintstone for the day, and wave 

at the on lookers as you crawl in from 

the back of the race.


I've never understood, how some love

their nine to five slavery, maybe it's because 

their imaginary chains are assumed to be made 

of gold. Some might say, "So you think your too 

good for work?", And in my defence I will reply, 

"No, I think work is too good for me". You see, in 

non compliance, you should always show respect. 


Yesterday, I was sent a picture, from a 

former lover, of her putting her mother 

into a home. Her mothers fixed stare, 

with the look of abandonment from I'm told, 

her still lucid mind. I replied that maybe

to keep her conscience clear, she and

her sisters, should refuse their inheritance,

to this remark, I have yet to receive a reply.

Her separated father who she told me, has 

just given her his late brothers home in northern 

France, today he will also feel that little bit closer, 

to the facing of the abyss.


As I get ready to get up and go shower, it occurred 

to me, as old peoples homes have now become such 

big business, then true love and care for our loved 

ones, has to be as close to God as we all can hope 

to get. Our parents are our true creators, and no 

matter which way you look at it, you non creationists 

came from a Big Bang too.
  


Three photographs told me she was mine,

the first, as natural as a summers day. The 

second, proof of the effort she will go to for

me, down to the local park with an array of

items on display. From sparkly wine to daffodils,

not forgetting, programmes from Madame Tussauds

and Planetarium.

But the third? This image stole my heart, with her looks

that could grace Monaco and help retain whatever it was

built for in the first place. All accomplished, in a backyard

in Newcastle, as the local radio station announced, yet more

heavy rain for the coming week. 

 


Honey bee, moving from flower to flower,

with no preference, just nearest at hand will

do.The taste of nectar, seduced by the scent

of insincerity, words of love, only from the love

of words. She said, "His ex-wife rang
and told me he's always loved me", wondered
how they managed to bring that conversation
up, in the marital disintegration?

Escaped her madness, as lucky as the passing

of Normandy breathalyser test, on country road,

after beer and three very large glasses of red wine.

With villagers, who's reluctant acceptance, have now

let me in on local information, of roads to use and not

use, when drunk.


We sometimes live on the same piece of land, but

far enough apart to hide, with luck hopefully from

the gendarme too. Ah, but who knows what lies

ahead, maybe I was just born to be irritated. As I've

said before to my son, " If after a 100 years, you

came back to earth, and first thing you saw was a

wasp, you would be very happy to see it, as it

would mean you had finally arrived back home.

Confusion Of The Slave

 

 

The laws formed around us as we slept, like 

an evolving straight jacket, where every father 

becomes magistrate and priest, growing on a 

creeping vine, quietly twisting around our throats. 

Police and Army, made from our own, to restrict 

our own, and all for a measly pay cheque, with no 

concept required, in the meaning of right or wrong.

 

Confusion, indoctrinated into the masses, education

built on lies, then told who are our enemies, so hate 

them for no other reason, but direction from leaders 

and their media alone. Controlled lives, with most 

educated, the biggest prisoners of their own minds. 

But this system is worthy of praise, I marvel, where 

thoughts are banned, without ever knowing we had 

them in the first place.         

 

If true at all, how can the highest form of intelligence, be 

the only living creature on earth that has to pay to live? 

How can the cost of housing refugees be scorned, with 

no mention of our taxes being used for the bombs, our 

Governments happily drop on their homes?

 

I watch every Spring, birds collecting materials, getting ready 

to build their family homes, I try to communicate with them,

I try to sell them twigs, try to educate them on the benefits of 

our Fiat currency system. I try to encourage them to get a  

mortgage on a pre-built nest, where they too can have the 

privilege of paying interest on a 25 year loan. But funnily 

enough, all they do is look at me..........as if I'm insane?

 

 

Gamblers Intuition.

 

 

Sitting on train 

from Newcastle

to London,

next to me an

elegant woman, 

and knowing 

a crash might

render me with 

no other choice

but to have to 

piss down her 

back if we were 

both trapped. 

But I still decided 

to wait for relief,

until Kings X station,

realising a gamblers 

intuition, of playing 

the odds is a very 

good skill to have, in 

certain circumstances. 

 

 

No Sales, Then Sell Your Soul

 

A butcher with no sales, the smell of rotting meat,

a baker with no sales, then mould on stale bread. 

A prostitute, with no clients, too many cigarettes 

smoked and the rent not paid. Landlord with no 

rent paid, then bank in contact, as sure as babies 

cry for mum.

 

Tap dancing shoe shop, no sales, shop eventually 

closed, OK this sounds odd, but I saw it with my 

own eyes, so therefore it's true.The military industrial 

complex, no war, then row after row of rusted tanks. 

"Are you crazy? No need for rust, when new 

enemies can easily be found!" You see, you have 

to sell meat, bread, the body, tap dancing shoes 

and tanks, for money to be made, and most things 

involve pain in order for the wheels of industry to turn.  

 

As a child's feet, for the first time touch Mother Earth, 

they instantly, out of innocence and truth, 

make all the laws, wars and privilege illegal in the 

eyes of the sane. But is the great deceiver sane? 

No sales, then sell your soul. 

 

Lion Versus Strongest Man....And Gunman.

 

Pyramids and Sphinx,
replaced by lion and strongest 
man, deemed good for tourism.
Egypt's evolution, is this the 
freedom they sought from Mubarak's 

tyranny? Man in cage fighting lion,
the lion with newly healed scar,
pink flesh, fur still parted above eye,
huddled in the corner as supposed 

strongest man, with long pointed 
metal bar approaches.No doubt the
lion had been fed, and sedated too,
just as matadors fight the bull after 

its shoulders have been lanced
to tear tendons it requires to turn.
Did Hemmingway's glorification miss 
this detail? And why do humans require 

these false shows of strength anyway,
is this our true weakness?

At same time in UK, Conservative 
Government whips put pressure on 
MPs to vote to keep animals performing 
in circuses, but is it any surprise, when 

you can still barbeque a child, as long 

as it's not done on our soil? "Off course 

you can sir! Drop the bombs wherever 

you want, once you have bought them 

from us, feel free to use them at your 

own discretion.....until we turn on you!"

The lion stirred, the strongest man's respect 

is seen, forcing him into a form of Keystone 

Kop dance, as gunman outside of cage moves 

into position. If only the lion could have summoned 

up one last effort, to rid the world of yet another fool.
Sometimes the only way is forward, but we cowered 

humans, with all our false shows of strength, also 

haven't the confidence to do so.

 

Everything Seemed Closed.

 

Hotel after hotel, closed,
I read Fellini's Grand Hotel 
closed for a period too.
The cold wind felt of recession,
deserted beaches, stretched for 

miles. From the 6th floor balcony,
I wondered if beach hut could 

break my fall, an unsettling thought
of great leap required to bridge the 

gap below. Through TV images,
lying naked, watching tsunami and 

power station explode, in absolute 

bliss with you, the destruction of 

Japan before my eyes told me of 

my own luck today. A brief thought, 

of if there is a race that can recover 

from this, then it's them.

Well, it's now been done,
with return to London complete,
as my body reminds me this morning
still thinking you're here with me, but 

once reminded, the fire subsides.
Four days in Rimini, slipped through 

my fingers, as they have always done.
Here I contemplate my next move,
London quietly assumes control 

over me again, but forever I will 

remember, that everything seemed 

closed...but you. 

 

Granite In Blood

 

 

So is this the approach of the end?

If so don't worry, I will still love you 

forever, no matter what you say,
words can't change a thing, call me 

a thief or a liar, it doesn't matter,
you have no more to prove, I danced 

in your moment of ecstasy, for a while 

you made me, formed me, now the 

world seems ready to come crashing 

down, I feel it! Landslide! Grinding and 

moaning, the whole landscape torn apart,
then eventual silence... peace.

As all dust will settle, over haze of memories 

shared, birds will return, their dawn chorus for 

you. the sound of streams, and smell of early 

morning forest pay tribute, as they are also you.

Granite in blood,
circulating round,
damages motor within,
now same struck by 

lightening, twice in two 

days? First strike hurt the 

most, or maybe just numbed 

the pain? But no need to measure,
not now, not now. 

 

 

The Body Will Always Welcome Inactivity

 

Life will eventually pass us all by,
but I've never heard much honesty
in this department, as it overtakes.
No, instead this is when the excuses arrive,
reason for not trying?......too busy,
reason for not doing? .....I thought you were!
And the classic....I don't know how to do that!
So why can't the new arrivals to the old,
just gladly sit down by the roadside, as life disappears
over the horizon and release themselves from their 

guilt by shouting " I've now so much time my hands, 

and I absolutely love doing nothing with it!"
Learn something new, excuse me?
That's not my department! they reply.

I learnt at an early age, the less you do,
the less you want to do...till eventually
you grind to a halt, the realisation
was quite scary too, always using 

tomorrow as the answer. But if that's 

your decision, then don't lie, rejoice 

in your defeat and the path you've chosen,
where all your years become weeks,
and some do this in their twenties, or even 

earlier? The body will always welcome inactivity,
 and you cant blame it, for mistakenly thinking
it's been given free membership to the Royal Family.

As I watch the London Marathon on TV,
the commentator announces the arrival of
an 81 year old man who waves to the camera as 

he runs by. With 13 miles still to go.......I try to 

switch channels, but my TV remote is dead?  

Now ahead of me, the major effort of searching 

the kitchen drawer, needing two new batteries 

for my very own butler. You see, you can't bullshit 

me, because I know the feeling all too well myself. 

  

The Silence Of The Hummingbird 

 

Almost the same, but then that 

would be too much. Heart felt words,

sometimes are not enough, It's how 

they're received, so my doubt became 

your doubt.

On this occasion all doubts recede,
maybe the time is right, was it just 

me after all? Now the fragrance of 

the rose, replaces the silence of the 

hummingbird, and not one regret, 

not one.


My greatest achievement to date?
Retrieving swallowed tongue from 

throat, in the right place, at the right 

time, how many times in life does that 

occur? A precarious reward for decisions 

made, if nothing else, surely that can be 

understood.

Finally the realisation, that life's infinite 

permutations have always been kind.
I've gambled and many times lost, but 

never to the point of no return, so far, 

always survived until tomorrow.

As spring loosens winters grip,
instinct says it's again time for the 

new. I feel it......I feel it! And the 

future looks bright, because every 

moment passed, has finally led 

me to your door.

 

 

Scratches And Gouges

 

Looking back,
at around 19 years of age,
remembering a removal job,
with friend Harry the drummer.
We used our first bands Ford 

Transit van to move a wardrobe 

and bedroom furniture for someone.
On a sunny Saturday morning, we 

picked it up, threw it in, slid in other 

things alongside, everything seemed 

to go to plan, the van didn't feel like it 

was going to break down, not this time.

On arrival at furniture's destination,
I can still remember a guy who was 

setting up home with his fiance.
As wardrobe was taken from van,
he pointed out all the scratches
and gouge marks on his new 

second hand bedroom furniture.
I was too young and carefree
to understand his concern, I just 

thought getting it from A to B was 

a major achievement in itself.
A gouge?

A scratch?
Yeah? So what I remember thinking.
I didn't know him, so I didn't focus on him.
As the sun shone down on South Shields,
paid, we headed off in victory to our local bar,
The County.

I can imagine the guy now, at the time showing 

his future wife the bedroom furniture, delivered 

by Harry and Jeff, with scratches and gouges
supplied free of charge. After making love, I can 

see them relaxing..... looking together at our handy 

work and wondering what the future held in store 

for them, surely it had to be better?

  

She's Mine 

She's mine, 
no matter
who was first 
to climb
this peak,
knowing it 
was me
who
conquered,
only I 
truly reached
this summit.

Legs entangled,
like the finest
of braid.
She's mine,
and she knows it,
as storm clouds
make dangerous
my retreat. 

 

Music Just As In Life

 

Music just as in life,
when you change your tune,
my melody has to change too. 

 

Goldfish Love 

A smile so pure,
goldfish love not for me,
flesh upon flesh,
goldfish love not for me,
so much can be said
to describe, to enthuse,
well....you've fed me,
now a hunger remains,
goldfish love not for me.
The feeling of warmth,
uncomfortable I start to dry,
the process is slow, snails pace,
but at least I now know,
that goldfish love's not for me,
as I gently slip back into the water. 

 

Just Run Run Run

 A camera will never lie, 
so bend the image real good, 
and see something else,
why not? Its the way of things.
And how do you view yourself,
with reversed telescope?.....surely 

not. Your opinion you hold, assumed 

superiority, amusing to see, why? What 

position do you seek, the lofty heights

of a minor league?  Well, get ready to 

hold on tight, because a hurricane will 

surely hit, and enormity seems to be 

required, to view clearly your day.

A teacher without a class,
a policeman without his badge,
a mother without her children,
a pole vaulter without a pole,
a bully without support, a bull 

fighter without a weakened bull,
and mafia without anyone to frighten,
a politician with no more lies to tell,
a lion tamer without a cage,
a cockroach without a human,
a celebrity without the paparazzi
and finally, a beautiful woman with 

faded looks.

All with services unrequired,
wind finally out of sails, floating 

on a stagnant apathetic sea, 

and they're everywhere,

we're all everywhere,
so what's the solution,
there isn't one. 

 

Resent The Nearly Man 

Learn an instrument, or write a poem,

you start, and as you go you practice,

and with hard work improvement can be 

found. One minute, banging your head 

against a door in frustration, then it finally 

just opens, and as you enter a new level, 

you see the next door to bang your head on.
And on and on it goes, for as long as defeat
isn't accepted.

But as this process hasn't been attempted by all,
some become envious, jealous, even malicious,
to see someone try.......which is good, very good
for them, as they finally reveal themselves, to 

themselves, to finally realise they haven't even 

the potential to compete, no instead, they find it 

easier to just resent the nearly man.

  

Catching Sight 

A glimpse of sunlight,
through storm clouds 

overhead, hand rested 

upon shoulder, every 

emotion warmly felt.
However brief the 

moment, reassurance 

can be, like the feeling 

of lost child in crowd,
catching sight of mothers 

approach.

 

Treasures From Heaven 

Treasures from Heaven....why do you hide,
is it because you can't live up to the hype?
If so, then just admit your nothing more
than a second rate out of town shopping 
mall, on a rainy Monday night in Hell.

  

Slowing Of The Heart 

Feelings showing no 
trace of limitation, so 

no further reason to 

seek circles invisible join. 
No substitute for experience,
yet outside of all chosen fields,
innocence needs so much more.

Walls built behind eyes,
only side rendered is ours,
why the unfinished work,
why only we see the complete?
As heartless cities crash, with 

prepared, ready to fly again, like 

rancid imitations of crows in flight. 

 

So relax, and breathe real slow,

and encourage slowing of the 

heart, for until it stops...life cant 

begin. As the best of human effort,
for holding things together is discarded,
the last paper clips use? To clean under 

neglected fingernail.

 

Circle Of Misfortune

 

Eventually you have to make a right decision,
as it would be foolish not to, but until then, keep 

breaking the circle of misfortune, prepare to attack 

as it circles yet again. Unfortunately this is the price 

you pay for freedom, and you cant keep relying on 

health and fitness forever to leap misfortunes welcome.
With limbs stiffening in the breeze, growing older by the 

day, it takes guts with equal measures of stupidity, to still 

pursue freedom from control.The struggle will not always 

go as planned, but fights rarely do, so just hang in as best 

you can. And you will never know when the final bell will 

sound, as it's dependant on how long you can remain on 

your feet, there'll also be no referee to show sympathy, to 

end your plight, so when you're ready, just crumble, hit the 

canvass and concede defeat, after all, it's so easy to do.

Then the sands of time will erode everything you stood for,
until there's nothing left but your stupidity, you will then join 

the strength of the storm, searching out the next to fall.

 

 

 

 

Where Have They All Gone?

 

 

Where are the new Martin Luther King's?
The Malcolm X's, the James Baldwin's,
the Nelson Mandela's or Harry Belafonte's?
Where are the new Martin Luther's,
or the Giordano Bruno's, where are the new
Bertrand Russell's, the Leo Tolstoy's,
the new John Steinbeck's, the Hunter S.Thompson's,
the Pasolini's, the Yukio Mishima's, Ezra Pound's,
Nietzsche's and Pablo Neruda's? And where are all 

the new Oskar Schindler's, the Nicholas Winton's, or 

the Irena Sendler's? The Ghandi's, the Chico Mendes, 

and not forgetting Fidel and Che? Where are the new 

Christopher Hitchin's, and for that matter Jesus Christ? 

Who I truly believe was just one of the first socialists,
stolen by the right, taken as their own after crucifying him,
then made into a Harry Potter type figure, in order to control the
masses. Even in comedy, where are the new Lenny Bruce's, the

Bill Hick's, the Andy Kaufman's and George Carlin's? And in popular 
music, where are the new Johnny Cash's, the Elliott Smith's, the Jason 
Molinas's, the Vic Chestnut's, the Jimi Hendrix's, Steve Marriott's, the
Janis Joplin's, and John Lennon's? And the blues, where are the new 

Muddy Water's, the Son House's  Howlin' Wolfe's, the Robert Johnson's 

and Bessie Smiths? And in classical music, where are the new Malher's, 

Puccini's, Gorecki's, Vaughan Williams, Chopin's and Bartok's? 

In Jazz, where are the new Miles Davis, John Coltrane's, Thelonius 

Monks, and John McLaughlin's? Come to think of it, this also applies 

to nearly every sport, too many to mention?


I'm not saying you have to like them, not at all, not even one of them, 

you might even know of a far worthier collection of people, but all I ask

is where have their type gone? Are they now running McDonalds, Nando's, 

or KFC Corporations?  Or perhaps gravitated towards banking, Surely not 

all of them, but if this isn't true, then where have they all gone?


Maybe a clue? In 1943, Ayn Rand wrote in her book Fountain Head, 

" You don't raise man's shrines, as that will scare them, you raise mediocrity".

 

 

 

 

Diminished Disappointment 

 

So many things could be, but as they 

usually never materialise, then this is 

just how it is, life's permutations, infinite 

numbers of circumstances calculated, 
and all because of this, I'm here. But 

thank God child like disappointment has 

long since left me, I remember the pain 

so clearly. I'm trying to think when it 

actually disappeared, ten...fifteen years 

ago...maybe less?

Anyway, I've designed a formula, to work 

out what the diminished disappointment

effect has had on me.......and this is it,

Enjoyment in Life = Excitement x Disappointment.

So deducing from this equation,
the more Excitement and Disappointment,
the bigger the Enjoyment,
therefore, the smaller the Disappointment,
the smaller the Enjoyment?

Yet interesting, the Excitement level has also fallen
at same time as my Disappointment level dropped?

Thus I conclude from my calculations,
I need extra Excitement to counter
the loss in Disappointment, in order 

to retain my Enjoyment in Life level,

but how? That's it! That's it!  I've got it!
Tomorrow.......I'm going to go out,
and buy myself something! 

 

 

The Universal God Within Sleeps.

 

 

Gave nothing, and received nothing, 

more CC Kong than BB King, but how 
do you honestly fill your empty words, 
with false smiles or half hearted 
monophonic duets? See, I've always 
believed you have to know what is in front 
of you, then what is hidden will always be 
revealed, as there is nothing hidden that 
will not be disclosed.

Truth is, we're all out of sync with The Universal God, our 
beliefs, our ways prove that. This is why when the Jews 
prayed for help before the gas chambers, it never came, 
and the list of other atrocities is endless, but no help came. 
So in knowing this, we took it upon ourselves to do God's work,
so our lack of patience and understanding became his word. 
There is no God that commands us to kill, or to build conveyor
belts for the shipping of bombs. No, we have just followed, out 
of our apathy, the greedy, the bitter, the evil, or at best, the naive.  

So until we can find The Universal God within, who makes

the individual without thought, dive into raging rivers to save, 
run into burning buildings to save, jump down onto live rail tracks 
to save, hide Jewish families in their homes to save, give blood, 
give organs to save, give money to the less fortunate to save, 
to feel the hurt of others, only because in knowing they suffer the 
same hurt that can easily become our own. 

So where did it all go wrong? I think I might be able to tell you, when 
we started to justify our actions to ourselves, hiding behind our self 
absorbed interests and greed. Well until there is a collective mind change, 
The Universal God within, will forever weep alone for the dying child, as 
we again go out and vote en mass for more of the same, while chanting; 
"Fuck them all apart from me and you, and when it comes to me and you, 
fuck you that's me!"  

And on hearing this, The Universal God within, no doubt she will decide 
for now, that there is nothing more to be done......than go back to sleep.

 

 

The Final Farewell

 

 

Recently, I've been denied the final farewell, yet 
the field mouse still runs around bravely, accusing 
all and sundry of lacking something or other. But 
this is the beauty of being small, being able to hide 
in the long grass, while squeaking out advice from 
the safety of a familiar hole. 

I could have placed traps, as it's well known 
mice have no will power in the pursuit of an easy 
meal. But no instead I moved on, to a bigger open 
space, where even the lions roar is hidden by the 
constant sound of London's grind. 

 

 

 

Palm Tree In Dalston

 

 

The proving that "Life isn't fair" is easy, 
a palm tree in Dalston, Lovebirds in a 
South Shields cage. Beautiful women, 
living with bastards, beautiful men falling 
for the endless charms of a witch. And some 
of this no doubt will happen, to the colourful 
back drop of a tropical aquarium. Still...all is 
not lost, as we bomb the life out of yet another 
Muslim State, Hendrix seems to have returned 
from the desert sands. 

Mdou Moctar how the world needs you now. 
And as your fame spreads like wildfire, hopefully 
the lost palm trees will hear the call from home. 
Lovebirds will still sing out of tune, just to prove 
that you can't have everything. But it looks like 
when all seemed lost, the style of Lawrence of 
Arabia is about to hit town again.

 

 



No Longer Recognise

 

 

Just like an old city, not having been seen for
a while, so the same applies for a long lost love,
constant change, makes them both hard to recognise.

Hesitation, OK it can sometimes work in your
favour, but usually accounts for most of life's
decay. And just as village life, can't form a
clear appreciation of what is actually going on,
so conservative minds come together like bees
to a hive, buzzing their nonsense to the air.

Funny how the racists have now flung open their
doors, to come out into the midday sun, with smiles
on their faces, and the look of the misunderstood,
trying to prove to everyone they were right after all.
But not realising they have just been used, to further
the agenda for war. So I ask them, think, who has
formed your views, are they really yours after all,
or is your intolerance, just proof of a manipulated
mind, formed by someone else's greater ambitions
and deeds? It's all there to be seen, if you have
clarity of eye.

Like the old city, and the long lost love, this country
of mine, with its weak journalists and media, I too
have come to no longer recognise.

 

 

 

The Casting Couch

 

 

Proof of eternal stupidity,
the casting couch, proof 
of the presence of evil,
the casting couch. Proof
of the undying ego, again 
the casting couch. 

Go promise the world to 
the vain, then stand back 
and watch them perform, 
men and women alike, like 
trained parrots, " Pretty Polly, 
Pretty Polly!" But in defence 
of the parrot, they get fed, 
and you can always rely on 
the cat to leave if it doesn't.

Funny how you see none of
this nonsense when working 
in an old peoples home, 
proving, that shit and piss will
always have the final say. 

 

 

 

 

The Fantasist And The Muse

 

 

I once fell in love with a fantasist,
and was also used by a muse.
Being honest though, the experience
was fantastic and amusing, so I
recommend this as a natural remedy
to all those suffering from tedium and
complacency. And a word of warning
to all those conservative husbands out
there, a Stepford wife is for life.

Tedium and complacency now reign like twin
monarchs of a forgotten empire, where only the
absurd now seem to flourish, and the powers
too be, so smug thinking we're not sophisticated
enough to see. Then on realising the salt content
of my TV dinner, I counteract the possible high
blood pressure by moving into a basement flat.

There's a solution you know, but be aware, you 

have to be tested and you will never know until 
walking alone through a desert of your own making, 
in some cases with old bones aching in their final 
dance. By promising yourself to always smile at the 
fun of being thirsty, and to dare go on dreaming where 
the nightmares should be, will always be far better than 
being able to draw from a 24/7 fresh water bottled ocean. 
And until the beauty of the wild cat is finally seen, with each 
one a symphony bestowed, because of nothing more than 
their portrait of natures guile that comfort will gladly take 
away. In all of this we can see ourselves clearly sit.

 

Love isn't all its made out to be either, just causes weakness,
so came into being the boarding schools to forge privilege and
off spring strong. To truly dance is to dance alone, in harmony,
in words, art, even in humour, as attempted synchronisation will 
invariably cause disorganisation. Truth can never be wrong, 
however painful for some, this is our problem, we have abandoned 
our instinctive thoughts, preferring to politely clap as the clowns 
arrive to take over our towns.

 

 

This Is Brittan

 

 

You can lie, steal and deceive, which most of you do, 

and smirk like naughty little boys and girls at the masses,

for their naive ten commandment honesty, drummed into 

them from birth. But once you are known to abuse children's 

innocence, then I say to you, if you hide those guilty, defend, 

or give them jobs abroad, even those of you adopted yourself, 

then shame on you all.

The eyes are upon you, with friend from the 80's, at time working 

for The Guardian, and tales of name written on Underground station 

walls. I ask you, is being taken into care, orphaned or just forgotten, 

not enough pain for a young life to bear, without Brittan adding to 

their woes?

 

 

Corporate Wife

 

 

How can you spot a corporate wife,
when she asks you, " Would you
like to try a piece of cake I've just
baked?" It's true, they're all very
good cooks, and usually accompanied 
with bad tempers. It's a good job I 
haven't a sweet tooth, as I've no 
wish to be seduced by a lemon 
meringue pie, or to marry my own 
Fanny Craddock. 

 

I was once fed raw tripe with vinegar, 
by my grandmother, at the age of five. 
I was too young to know she had latent 
cannibalistic tendencies, so innocently 
I placed it in my mouth, for the first and
last time. Later, she taught me the art of 
betting on horses, so I forgave her.

Right now, somewhere in the world, 
beautiful young women will be reading 
cookery books, all in preparation of snaring 
their own corporate husband. God the lengths 
some people will go to, to avoid work?

 

 

 

No

 

No money, with bank account,

an animal, but no dairy farm,
vision, but with little courage,
hence no pain, no gain.
You have nothing for me,
I have nothing for you,
and this is our problem,
we're too similar.

 

 

 

The Queen And My Hoover

 

 

Today as I hoovered my home,
it occurred to me that I could have
made a good sized brown wig
from what I captured. I don't know 
why, but I also got to wondering if the 
Queen had ever done this before?
Of course she hasn't, then why
are you doing it I hear you ask?
Personal hygiene I reply.
Then I thought, I bet if her Majesty

was left to her own devices, say in
a two bedroom council flat in Dalston, 
and not forgetting her corgis too? Within 
two months, neighbours would be complaining 
of the smell. So going by this logic, which is 
correct by the way, as I cleaned I was 
overcome with shame and took no pleasure 
in knowing, that my Queen is actually a slob.

But to be fair to her though, I bet if she was 
pushed into this situation, I have no doubt, her
ancestral instincts would kick back into life,
like the bloom of a desert orchid, and the young 
on her estate would soon find themselves 
working for her, terrorising the locals, and then going 
a little further, all in the name of Empire new.

 

 

 

The Poison Sea

 

 

To feed the ego along the years, you've
fished the poisoned sea. And no matter
the size of your regular catch, illness is
all that remains. But is it any wonder
with the quality you pursue, who fall so 
easily at your feet, each one grateful to 
be caught, while the corners of your faith 
disappear.

And in all of this just like a cancer, sadly 
your cynicism and weariness grow.

 

 

 

Forever And A Day

 

 

You can never dominate the truth,

and only the weak can you grind 

into the ground. With your media, 

your news, books and magazines. 

But you can never truly dominate 

the truth. 

 

You can't forever hide the truth, so 

truth has finally taken to the stage,

with encore after encore finally waking 

the audience, to realise the end of the 

show is almost here. Because you can't 

forever hide the truth.

 

You also can never truly love, until

knowing who you actually are, because

no matter what they say, ignorance has never 

been bliss, and only truth can set you free. So 

question everything, refuse TV, with built in prying 

eye. Ignore career journalists, with spines of jelly, 

their lies the wages pay. Watch what you eat, drink, 

and breath, and don't ever think your master can 

clear your conscience, with his system you base 

your actions by.


Wake up, for God sake wake up! Break free from the 

prison of the mind. Answer only to truth, is life fair, 

and if not ask yourself why not? Is war ever right, 

are false flags ever to be justified, is every life on 

earth not as precious as yours and mine? Does 

evil deserve the creation of evil, housed within your 

very soul, or is the voice of reason, put there for  

sole purpose, of the good of all mankind? 

 

It's time to educate ourselves, of all our hidden 

ignorance, it's time to release ourselves, from the 

controlling system, that has made us thus. Until we

admit, we are all easily led fools, then the lambs will 

forever be led to the slaughter, by those construed

to be the chosen few. Wake up, wake up! Yes you too, 

who do you think you are? Isn't it your equally foolish 

indoctrination, that makes you feel you know what 

is best for the many, but could never bare to bestow 

on your own. If you can't turn your back on hell, 

remember Hermes chosen words, "As above, so 

below",  then ask yourself, who is morally above, 
who is below, and will be forever and a day? 

 

Bone Cracked 

 

As I typed this message while worrying about you, 

   I tried to erase a reluctant comma from the email, until
     realised it was just a speck of dirt on the screen. 
       I licked my finger, cleaned it off, wishing all things
         could be as easily erased. But your memory isn't
           easily forgotten, no matter how hard I try, and God
             have I tried. But unlike a leaking pipe, or lost key, being
               loved and its memory can't be tamed by time. Did
                 you know this already, and has loss already effected you  
                   forever, if so are you now a master in the art of
                     pain?  Bone cracked with honest sharp sensation,  
                       is nothing compared to the dull gnawing of the brain. That 
                         all do not suffer this is a miracle indeed, however to have 
                           that luxury, has pleasure to be hidden under the soil like    
                             remains.

 

 

 

 

Five Foot Tall

 

 

Recently while paying for groceries, after adding last

item of half a bottle of whiskey, to my left at next check

out counter, a young mother holding baby in arms, with

another child, facially her daughter, around eight years old. 
On realising she didn't have enough money to pay, she 
proceeded to return items, an avocado first, followed by 
a litre of milk. On being asked and becoming exasperated

she said, "I have no more money, only a few pence!" She was

petite, no more than five foot tall, both her eyes were bruised,

the bruises looked about a week old, and the baby not much older.

29th May 2014, a young family in London, two beautiful children,

one thankfully with eyes not yet open to the pain. And mother who

looked too exhausted for her years, sadly they've all just been born

at the wrong time. No doubt there will be a young frustrated father

somewhere, probably who has never voted or worked in his life, 
so lashes out at the easiest target to hide his own weakness, never

knowing the powers to be have made and conditioned him and his

like, to never get angry at the true cause.


I could be wrong, but I feel society has lost something, that was so 

hard fought for, and compassion has almost been taken out of our 

vocabulary by the threat of ridicule. They say you always hurt 

the ones you love, as banks print more counterfeit money, and get 

ready to celebrate yet again with champagne, ironically using socialism 
themselves to survive.

 

 

 

 

Radio Station Of Misery

 

 

Listening as I drive through London's heavy morning
traffic, to BBC Radio 5 Live, the radio station of misery.
Around 10 am daily, the under employed and conservative
middle England callers use their precious time to ring in,
offering freely their wisdom, trying to put the world to rights. 
Today, they're discussing how not to waste food.
"I even eat rotten fruit, well that's just me!" a woman caller
remarks. I thought well I'm just me too, so what exactly does
that prove?

They're now discussing what they do with food, a guy has just
rang in and stated, "Me and my wife eat everything, we even boil
bones to make stock!"  What a guy, the embodiment of a modern
day domestic Nikola Tesla. And the lengths these people must go to,
to get on air to enrich my life? The well known male presenter has
just asked another woman caller, "Do you like a black banana?" Now
the show's becoming interesting. "Tell me about your plums?"  He asks
another. I suppose all he's doing is trying to save himself from 
ridicule by association when later returning to his social circle. But then 
again, as I've also listened to music from his album he recently released, 
of old time swing classics, maybe he doesn't care after all?

 

Now stuck on the gridlocked East bound A406 North Circular Road, 

and late for work again, somehow, for the moment my job doesn't 
seem so bad after all.

 

 

 

 

Skiing In Hell

 

 

She said she would be coming to see me soon, 
I replied, we can then go skiing in hell together. 

See, I no longer look out of windows waiting for 
the snow to fall, or collect butterfly chrysalis, or 
watch tadpoles grow, rear legs always first. 

 

No, because I've realised enthusiasm isn't all that 
it's made out to be, much better to be indifferent, 
as little disappointment can ever be felt here. 
But where has it gone, and is this the reaching of a 

peak or the descent into purgatory? 

Well whichever it is, it really suits me, to finally see 

failure as the ultimate in success.

 

 

 

Thank You

 

 

Slowly slowly the tap is turned off, drip drip drip, 
then one day no more. This is how most things end.

But today I saw an old man leave the pavement, and
take to a dirt track in his mobility scooter, with a woman
running behind him laughing, she looked like his middle
aged daughter, trying to hold onto the back as he
negotiated at speed, a steep well worn short cut path.
Smiling, he looked like he was enjoying himself, still alive,
refusing to succumb to fear.

Well I thank you old man of Bow, East End of London,
whoever you are, little did you know you taught this stranger 
a valuable lesson, which I swear I will use one day myself,
when I too hit the final furlong.

 

 

 

Gone Camping To Avoid The Dampness

 

 

My brother sent a message to my mobile phone tonight,
telling me he was camping in the Lake District with his family,
twelve of them in total. At politely telling him I was coming,
he said they were all leaving for home the next day. So I
asked if he could leave all the tents up and I will have a get

together alone. I have it all planned, in the dead of the night

with a torch, I will enter each tent for around five minutes or

so, and just sit and giggle, then scurry to the next to join another

party in my own mind. All the different characters in my head will
be there, enjoying each others company, it's going to be real fun.
I've also asked if they have any food left over to bury it behind their
tents, I just hope they have sense to wrap it  in newspaper?

He joked his recent visit to my damp flat had set him up well for
the camping, I told him I'm thinking about taking up canoeing as

I believe its similar to falling out of my bed. Once when he was
here, at around 4 am as I slept, my front door bell rang, on opening, 

it was my brother, drunk, he'd got disorientated, gone outside
for a piss and door had closed behind him. I remember the look on
his face, it must have something to do with him being a teacher, he
gave me a look of knowing what he was doing? But he couldn't fool
me. To be fair, I locked us both out of my place the next day, but 

that's another story.

 

 

 

Postage Stamp Size

 

 

"Bin Laden is dead!" I told her,
"Oh Stop believing in fairy tales!"
"He's been bones for years!" she 

told me. Later, she emailed me a 

picture of strawberries in a bowl,
postage stamp size. Bin Laden's 

hideout they say was worth one 

million dollars, built next to an army 

base who've been searching for him 

for years? She then sent me a picture 

of a sea food platter, postage stamp size.
America dumped Bin Ladens body into the 

sea, and not one photograph as proof? She 

also sent me a picture of four crepes on a 

white plate, filled with ham and cream, postage 

stamp size. I asked her for a specific photograph,

but she told me it was a waste of time as for 

some reason the pictures from her phone 

were coming out too small?


What's the world coming to? Well all I know is,
there was never this lack of detail, in the good 

old days of Kodak.

 

 

 

 

Never Enough

 

 

Watching the harbour as sailing boat returned,
followed by February's darkness and storm

cloud rain. Imagined somewhere right now,
sailors Sunday meal cooks, while lone gull
caught on wind passed by, with fairground ease.

Another two hours before hotel check out and 

meaningless farewell, then in darkness taxi to 
airport, on motorway to somewhere else. 

In knowing words can never be enough, as 

they form the lie too, soon room 601 will be 

behind me, as with everything else this life 

of mine has so far seen.

 

 

 

Always Rode With The Slug

 

 

No wig, no face lift, no over sized pearly 

white teeth, no begging for love, no senior 

citizen prancing, no pretending time stood 

still. No "On the road" memories, no 

recounting of hardship or the drug fuelled 

days.No constant talking of old school day 

buddies, no mention of ever howling at 

the moon.

 

No, I've always rode with the slug, yet left

before the first arrived, danced with back

against the wall, seen the ludicrous in

everything, no matter how hard I've tried,

while berating the voice inside.  

 

In popular music, it seems they always 

get you in the end, fame the destiny, of 

reaching the fool inside. Well today, it's 

Tuesday 1 am, work beckons yet again, 

but I've finally realised, my greatest 

achievement to date, is to be seen as 

a total failure, in my own eyes