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 10, 2011
Slow train
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.
April 27, 2011
In Wray the pigeon is dead, long live the 30Meg symmetrical connection! #twicket
In Wray the pigeon is dead,
Martyred on a loop of fibre,
His old and inefficient ways,
Killed off by Doyle of cyber.
The ways of farmfolk perceived:
Rustic whirr of disaffection,
Dawned now the age of Internet,
Enlightening connection!
Oh city boys this killer,
Was 30 Meg symmetrical,
An epitaph, in words of rhyme
This last post, poetical.
For @cyberdoyle
April 25, 2011
PUSHING BACK THE TIDE – ISLAND DUET
Travelling hopefully
I was buried in the music,
old time stuff,
the same songs,
time again,
too loud,
random wanderings
the red sunset
added a touch of magic
to a seaborne pallet
totally calm
the island silhouette
unfamiliar, exotic
Sunday night and wide awake,
clear of mind, imagination fuelled
Arrived – day 1 – rocks at Peel castle
At the edge of the sea I sat, waiting, with expectations of the tide, almost full in. The soak of the bolder wave did not come.
Lands edge was final. There could be nowhere else, no other place, an ending.
I was completely alone though not companionless. My thoughts ran quiet amusements whilst around me the water swirled and pulsated; timeless beats of an incomprehensible song.
I asked no questions. There were no answers.
April 15, 2011
The Joke of the Dead Man Walking
Ridicule is most painful when
The joker and the joke are
One and the same.
Confessing a weakness
In every action:
This terrible self-parody,
An unintended act
By a clown who cannot cry.
Intaken air sometimes brings
The world in with it,
A punchline to the ribs
Released as a foolish whisper.
Death is full of ill-humour and,
No,
Even the jester will not die laughing.
If the gallows man knows this gag
He’s not letting on
As he tightens the tie at his neck.
The crowd knows what follows
And herein lies
The predictability of a limerick life.
Cartoon cats never catch the bird,
While the coyote detonates
Himself
Yet again;
Did they write the script?
Self-contained comic stripped
Of dignity by the second page,
Stapled and folded over
Upon itself;
Apparently quite popular
With the condemned.
Tragic comedy
Is the dead man’s gift;
An artistic sacrifice without reward
Except for the comfort
Of soliloquy.
March 30, 2011
Revving it up
If the road is closed and we get to our destination
Did we need it in the first place?
If we didn’t need it, why was it built?
What came first, the road or the demand for the road?
March 29, 2011
No time – work in progress
No Time
I saw it, yesterday
a romantic, bloodshot, clearview eyeful
was good, strolling comfortably by,
fat bellies in life absorbing tall grass,
careless, laughter filled country lanes;
four seasons of mud, snow, pollen and dust
of footprints and wet feet,
open fires and steaming socks
open windows and breathless nights,
slow passing cow curious days,
of tireless church bells
and life and inevitably death
elusive, in my grasp, but then gone
A dwindling presence reduced to a dribble,
dried up torrent,
it’s here now
no time show time
stop time go time
live for the finger snapping moment
in a high speed shutter blink life time
no room for musty routine,
cobwebs of convention
blow open windows of change
rattle cupboard doors and
spill empty glasses of conformity
but no, time has gone,
I should have quit while I was ahead.
March 26, 2011
footsteps
Footsteps
Large decaff skinny latte please
Thank you
Cchhsshhwooosshh
2 65 please
Thank you
Sound of till opening and coins jangling
2 35 change
Thank you
There you go (hands over drink)
Spoons just at the end of the counter
Sound of footsteps walking out.
March 12, 2011
2nd poetical law of thermodynamics
The cosmos will die
A scientific certainty
I will die
The story of humanity
The ultimate question
A constant of futility
Temperature and pressure
Energy and entropy
Poetical expressions
Of irreversibility
March 4, 2011
The abandoned sandy shoe
The abandoned sandy shoe
Tells it’s own story
Though I never learnt
The language of leather
Cast off, lost
Confusing choice with
Carelessness and
Calamity it was
Washed up
Washed out
Wearerless and
Without a partner
The abandoned sandy shoe
inspired by a funkypancake photo
February 27, 2011
Enoch Runsewe
Enoch Runsewe – train attendant
I met him once
on the train,
we spoke, briefly,
short, to the point,
I wanted something
he could supply,
in mere seconds,
I wouldn’t recognise him
without his badge
and I, without ID,
now sipping my tea,
remain anonymous, forever,
unremembered, by he.
picture the scene
reflections off the bank
wanlit lake, mists, frost, empty trees, swans, frozen sheep, county gate, footpath, bracken bronze copper, hurdle, reflections off the bank
winter, not always dull – beauty lies in its depth.
February 12, 2011
Lets go for a coffee
Lets go for a coffee
it’s a destination
no recreation
sitting there
in the picture window
self conscious objects of mild interest
Saying nowt, sipping
their lattes and cappucini
staring back blankly
unquestioning of their celebrity
or reason for being there.
Lets go for a coffee.
February 10, 2011
The Modern Urban Mundanist Part 2
The mundanist
City boy with a recently developed style
found in the ordinary course of events
he developed an immense terrestrial practicality
though a person who does not belong to a particular group
and considered to be “normal”,
“a placid everyday scene” not meant in the sense of “boring”, but in the technical sense of “of the physical world”.
A contemporary person advanced: ahead of the times in a place that exceeds a population size or density threshold as defined according to the census. An early Christian, also Urbane.