Alright yezzer, not much luck this morning though them Polish fellers caught a few bucketloads from the top of the breakwater. I don’t know what they do with them. Must sell em somewhere I guess. I don’t really mind whether I catch anything or not really. I just like being here.
May 29, 2011
The fisherman
May 24, 2011
In the debris of tomorrow
In the debris of tomorrow
i will find you
and lift you from the dust
In the debris of tomorrow
i will gather gems you lost
and take them with us
In the debris of tomorrow
we will learn our value
and barter ‘gainst our worthless toys
In the debris of tomorrow
we will taste again
amongst the the dispossessed
In the debris of tomorrow
we will kiss scorched earth
and plant a new life there
In the debris of tomorrow
things that made us cry
will appear small amidst the tumult
In the debris of tomorrow
we will leave fear behind
and press onward through the dark
In the debris of tomorrow
fierce realities
will not part my hand from yours
In the debris of tomorrow
we will take a different path
In the debris of tomorrow
one good shoe
will fetch a thousand shillings
In the debris of tomorrow
iron and sweat
become politic
In the debris of tomorrow
magic and science
will be allies again
In the debris of tomorrow
forgotten tools
will regain their edge
In the debris of tomorrow
i will be your shield
and you will be my heart
In the debris of tomorrow
we will build a home for future kings
In the debris of tomorrow
honest friends
will be all we can afford
In the debris of tomorrow
there will be much to do;
we will have no time for sorrow
In the debris of tomorrow
faint-hearted sun will start;
the faded moon will close
In the debris of tomorrow
will we find god?
will god find us?
In the debris of tomorrow
there will be more questions than answers
In the debris of tomorrow
is kindness and hope
coated in soot and hunted for dinner
In the debris of tomorrow
is our untainted love
and a catch at a fleeting chance
In the debris of tomorrow
we will prevail
In the debris of tomorrow
is another day
May 23, 2011
May 18, 2011
The Piccadilly Alternative
The next station is…
Kings X – 11 stops to go
Russell Square – don’t get off here unless your name is Russell
Holborn – hmm
Covent Garden – party-time ‘n flaars
Leicester Square – nowhere near Leicester guv’nor and not pronounced lie sester
Piccadilly Circus – alright Jim?
Green Park – for a picnic
Hyde Park Corner – watch out for the traffic
Knightsbridge – only if you’re posh
South Kensington – just as posh really
Up and down the – Gloucester Road?
Earls Court – will do fine
…for what it’s worth.
May 15, 2011
Mind and body crumble
old age beckons
Dissipation of the mind
crumbling of the body
simplification of living
shaking of unshaken beliefs
fade to credits…
May 11, 2011
We toil
Do not be fooled.
These streets, paved with gold,
glisten with bent back sweat,
dripped and sleeve dried of narrow eyes
that hurt in the salt soaked sunshine
and half moon light.
No riches.
Simple broken ends, hammered by the waves
and buried by the mocking seagull’s cry.
May 10, 2011
Slow train
Slow train, taking it’s time to go nowhere
Empty mind, staring at fields
Don’t care, how long it takes to get going
Life will, still wait for me.
May 8, 2011
Four inches wide
The fear is four inches wide and sits by my heart.
Just down, to the right, it perches with the presence of a clutch of angry vipers tied in a ball.
They sleep; but not for long. They wake
and my life is filled again with writhing hate. As
their bodies wind together they make dark cold liquid run through my insides.
Dripping onto my stomach, provoking eruption.
They stretch down each arm, lifting with a forked lick the hairs they find there.
They turn, and now they have created gravity. A superpresent
force that inverts me, makes the fear my centre, my down, my earth.
All is now in thrall to the fear.
It wins. I orbit it.
A helpless fleshy satellite flung round for an eternity by my own folly.
Off the wall
High-wire
Cheesewire cuts the souls beneath my feet.
Frowning down at
Emotional account – is overdrawn.
Planning permission required
From grass-roots up;
The sky’s the limit.
Only 20 pounds and this
Is what I bought.
A drought,
A hunger –
Desperately seeking captivated audience
To catch my drift
Across a landscape,
Painted wordily in ink.
Personal Effects
And yet you still are unaffected?
I spilled not knowing –
Thick and slick –
Too slippery for me.
Humpty Dumpty.
Broken lines and fragments.
Shelling never stops.
Did I mention how high I was?
And now back home on earth,
My heights are but a fighter jet,
A mirage through the clouds.
All my thoughts are pregnant birds
That try to fly betwixt these words –
And though perhaps they’ll go unheard
They yearn to sing aloud.
Holding hands.
A piggy-bank
A childhood could not fill.
Timely intervention
Watching notes rain wet on teenage years
Discordant striking tears for fears –
Pneumonia or chill?
No gangrenous hopes,
Nor organic dreams;
All chrome and armour clad.
Wires corrode
And yet they hold
Ideas aloft, aloof and crazed
Like a preacher dressed in plaid.
To this moment complete,
Nothing may alter
A tattooed sermon never taught.
I’d like to leave this honest yoke,
Be back where I belong.
No bad egg yet the question I beg –
Would He rather a Father distraught?
Back to back
With mother moon,
All things considered
The end comes too soon.
But not yet.
This chicken run
Can’t catch my breath,
However clumsy I feel.
Wings spread to the heavens above –
Almost gracefully sometimes –
I pray but not to God;
To the gentle breeze
That carries my weight,
That I should not fall
‘Ere I reach the stars.
Air miles short,
Curtailing destined rise to fame.
Though in my heart
I feel uplifted,
Off the wall,
I feel no shame.
A night of deep reflection
That night a lone trumpeter climbed to the top of the castle walls and, facing outwards, sounded the last post. The mood around town was sombre. This was a night to focus the mind. People sat in pubs in their accustomed seats but the usual Saturday night banter was absent.
The notes from the trumpet brought everywhere to a dead silence. Walkers stopped walking, passing cars pulled in and, inside, juke boxes were turned off. As the music faded away everywhere remained still as folk contemplated what lay ahead…
The Blue Square Bet Premier league.
