where art collides philosoperontap

it’s an evolution,
progress? maybe!
momentary confusion,
when I was a lad
it was a lifetime away,
now frittered.
the brain dances
on that knife edge
of fulfilment.

Crawled up into Bethlehem, feeling ‘bout half past dead
Just really needed somewhere to rest my aching head
“Hey there Mr Innkeeper, can you tell me where I can stay?”
He just grinned, shook my hand and whispered “Allow me to lead the way”

I’d been walking with the Devil, walking side by side
He was filling my mind with lies and stuff pertaining to my bride
Innkeeper shouted over “Lucifer, leave that poor boy be,
She’s been true and she’ll produce your perfect match, presently”

Mary’d been carrying heavy, for the last few miles or so
Her time was coming up fast, she didn’t have long to go
“Joe, I can’t have my baby – not like this on the road –
I’m ready to show the world, the seed the Spirit sowed”

A bunch of shepherds ran into town, sweating hard from fear
“What been going down guys, what did you see up there?”
But they stood still with parchment faces, wouldn’t say a lot
Just stood around in wonderment, with eyes that had witnessed God

Two years later on, with my family on the run
Three kings rocked up on camels, they’d been following the sun
Their baggage seemed real heavy, they were all dressed mighty keen
The gifts they brought were the finest the world had ever seen

Broken words lie impotent upon the page
Dysfunctional vocabulary – hyphenation won’t fix
Anagram no antidote to illiterate ailment
Inarticulate phraseology a lacklustre lexicon of tricks

A short introduction to the Broken Words poetry night at Decimal Place, Burton Road Lincoln on 28th November, 2009.

life suddenly appears in slow motion.
the brain, inspirational but ephemeral,
leaves the body and floats above the table before us.
conversation, with no physical evidence of existence
remains a permanent fading record
slowing as the battery runs down.
the door shuts and the lights go out
freezing us in no time, timelessness that is.
finishing the glass, the reality of responsibility
raises its unwelcome head and leaves for the door
which, open, sucks me into the cold wind outside.
my coat buttoned up and collar raised I, head down,
return to normality and the noisy heart of the family.

Sometimes life comes at you full on. Maybe it can’t get any better or perhaps you get handed one of those hospital passes that smack you in the face and leave you wondering…

One sinking sip, another inhalation and a deep palateal reflection. Mesmerise into the darkness of the caramel. What a disguise! There is music but no road out. The talk flows around you just as the flavour rolls across the tongue; sensation penetration. Gentle inebriation.

A one way street named Hopback Entire Stout.

When his game is up,
And prompts no more debate,
And life’s unerring drive,
Ascends the green of fate,

It will I’m sure be said,
By crowds that filled the gallery,
That upright was his stance,
Whilst stood upon the final tee,

And when the last put drops,
Stewards will murmur from afar,
In marking of his card,
He played his round in level par.

Brussel sprout flavoured isosceles triangles
available from a good gastro geometric outlet near you,
banana trapezium, its full flavour slips down well at the gymnasium,
merry go round in toffee apple infused circles,
square noises chop through imperfect ponds and
glass fronted hurricane shop windows stir up
enthusiasms not yet tempered in pink.
Estate agents spin their ceramics on
bamboo pole extensions, losing the pattern
as simply as arboreal baby castanets,
discretion being valued as highly as
enthusiasm amid the placations of the assuaged.
The fire crackles on and the guitar rests
calmly on the spots of the sofa,
notwithstanding the variously striped cushions.

How many times (in nearly a decade)
Did I hear him raise his voice?
And while others raucously their views made
Not he, ‘twas not his way nor choice.

Rather, he liked to take the middle ground
To mediate, to quell and smooth
The clanging cymbal of the “I am” sound,
Conflict?  He’d rather deflect and soothe.

I did hear him raise his voice to sing of Love
And although no Caruso he,
God and His angels rejoiced high above
“A Christian sings! Praise be! Praise be!”

He wondered long at the limitless sky,
At hands that flung stars into space.
Together we’ll sit and watch Red Dwarfs die
When we meet in another place.

I read a poet called Whitman who wrote
“A reasonable man achieves naught”
But JW realised something of note
When those to the Cross, he brought.

Leek Pie for Two

“Back to the future” they say
Surely they mean back to the past?
When two suddenly became three –
And another was place set

Eighteen brief years
Of that extra place mat
And then a lifetime
Of cooking for two

“As long as he’s happy, we’re fine”
“We can do what we want now”
But what I want to do
Is cook again for three