Saturday, 31 August 2013
monday morning - here we go again
tuesday - i hate tuesday's, such a nothing day
wednesday lunchtime - half way there
thursday - had enough by thursdays, nearly there tho
friday - thank EFF its friday!
also some bastard says soon be monday morning
Friday, 30 August 2013
the ragged edges
like we all really talk
then, like, yes no, you know - false starts and that
like we all really talk
half sentences only start
abandoned to eyebrows and hands
we silently fill with common assumption
Thursday, 29 August 2013
Wednesday, 28 August 2013
Tuesday, 27 August 2013
when i dont itch with insect irritation
and got nothing that needs a scratch
and no brown rot in my teeth
and no one laid out in a hospital gown on thick sheets to visit
and there are no urgent scrips to fill
and my trousers fit good and comfy
and everything sits in the right pockets
and my feet are happy and cool where they are
and everyones mood is adequate or better
and the news and the globe are just things outside the dented fence
and the scribbles in the many notebooks are not chaos
and the dishes are kind of done enough for me
and the isnt too much cat litter spilt on the porch floor
and there seems to be Space and Air and Time
and the future is not a black wall of dead bricks
but easy events on a blue horizon
and there might be a good movie waiting on the coffee table
and i'm not too tired to think
and the tentacle mutants climbing out the bookcase are a forgotten dream
and the book open on the kitchen table among the friendly scatter of crumbs can hold me and impresses me but wont make me feel small
and the radio is gentle and no white static yell
and nicotine gum and cold water are enough for now
and breath out slow
and file it all away for a mental apocalypse day
when i need to
that these times happen
Saturday, 24 August 2013
even if a giant eagle
swooped down tomorrow
and lifted her off the street
and dropped in a mountain nest of massive hungry chicks
it still would be a six months
ANYONE who listens all about
Friday, 23 August 2013
round man in red t shirt and rumpled shorts/walks a dog
stands between a pillar box and a phone box
you can picture the row of red
lit sideways by the dying sun
burning down the rooftops at the bottom of the hill
he's calls to a woman
got out an ice white Audi/shining obsidian roof
YOU ALRIGHT? he says
ACTUALLY I AM, I AM she says
because of her tone/relieved inspired alive
i may overhear some personal drama
she was worried about the mornings rain
at the chiller in the shop the juice has gone up 60p
thats quite a leap
wasn't so long ago it leapt 20p
i feel old in the land of expensive juice
the Audi woman comes in the doorway/beaming a smile
is truly average
Thursday, 22 August 2013
cold aisle/packets of bad horse and bacon
in shock from hot dust of Outside
plastic basket of meat and cheese to eat
Bomb Blast Bright
i MUST get out
big floral woman at till
asks me to pay for her marge
NO i say
Wednesday, 21 August 2013
in a land of aztec palms and twilight guitars
film a penguin
heading away from his collective noun
returned to them/he leaves again
inland/toward mountains and death
alert a base camp a few km inland
catch footage as he passess
Tuesday, 20 August 2013
Monday, 19 August 2013
suneye shines on yellowline hospital hatchbacks
turns their blue bonnets silver
to a quiet insect hum
washed out colours struggle thru a haze of beige
nurse pulls a blonde ponytail tighter and tugs down a dark dress
walking fast and late in black flat shoes
grey/white panel walls no shadow on their flat mute glare
tired green sheets
dull orange jammies
van drivers coast in dirt painted vans
their slamdoors muted in heat
shift matte brown cartons to cool white inside
Saturday, 17 August 2013
a sabre of love/a dagger of art
a shiv of survival/a Gerber of growth
whittle wisely/shave subtly
hack with the hatchet of have-nots
whistling dystopian themes)
the tall and tremendous tree of life
force and form
craft and coax
a defined and lasting point
Friday, 16 August 2013
spring turns red
strange urban crusade
camps of god bulldozed
Iran's smirnoff sea
gulf storm 1 Caterpillas on black oily sands
west PR words are weak rain
low chopper thuds on the square
bullets anyones windows
they are globe citizens
scabs with wounded fingers
Wednesday, 14 August 2013
fish dna frostproof science fruit
from across the sea
is a wonder
and arrives in time for breakfast
outback in bins
logged as acceptable loss
from meeting poor peoples empty bellies
Tuesday, 13 August 2013
after dawn is blue morning
and born with cars
and the rich conifer
like a Pixar muppet
looms over unkillable blacktop
100 animals behind town walls
flare wet noses
at a blim
of autumn draft
the orange ball tho silent
the night did
Monday, 12 August 2013
on the ocean world
in the isolated kingdom of sea
cameras catch whales warring
the deep blue forever
soft zeppelins strange appointment
in the wet universe
man is tiny
drowns a calf
big as a lorry
hundreds of miles from mans small land
Sunday, 11 August 2013
Everything is sludge green. The terrain is de-forested jungle. Thick mud and deep roots slick from rain. There is a group of us. Half a dozen. We carry bulky bags and heavy equipment. I recognise one as an actor from the sitcom Community.
The going is difficult. Visibility is bad. We pick up the pace and call out to each other in half heard voices. I have tunnel vision and a desperate sense of doom.
Things like tumbleweeds wound with christmas lights and filled with motherboards overtake us. The light in the low sky changes often. Green lightening and electric thunder. The murky soup of mist and diffuse murmur of faux dawn. Or dusk.
We find the dam. Olive slime clings to the dull concrete and monsters appear in the distance. Huge shadows in low cloud or silhouettes before the dim sun.
We work, our mumbles muffled and useless. The quicker we work, doing i don't know what with whatever any of this stuff is, the closer the beasts come. More tumbleweeds shoot past. There is a palpable sense of escalation.
Our tasks dissolved into chaos. Our hands are all thumbs and we start to run and stumble across sludge green fields giving into panic.
There is a large building just like the Richmond Holiday Inn. I go in the revolving doors. The receptionist is familiar in that dream way and tells me i have been doing it all wrong.
'Do LESS', she says, 'and the alternate realities won't catch you up.'
'You been doing TOO MUCH', she says 'there is no need for the monsters.'
We head out and slowly we wade across a river of white topped khaki.
'Thats one thing done', she says, 'so lets wait a while.'
We wait then wade thru deep mud that sucks our shoes and reaching the edge of a busy dual carriageway. Again we're waiting.
Things are seeming safer but its all very tense.
'Cross the road', she says, 'and get the box in the ditch but remember do one thing at a time, do it SLOWLY.'
The road is no longer a dual carriageway, its Lampits Hill near my house and i'm standing by the farm where we used to buy potatoes by the sack when i was small.
I cross the road between traffic. In the ditch i wait, a small box is down in the weeds.
Everything stays as it is. The sky is uniform grey-green. I pick up the box and i wait again. Then i climb the verge and stand by the side of the road in the bushes and wait for a space in the hatchbacks.
There is no path here and the overgrown verge shrubs block the view up the road. Opposite are old brown flowers on a lamppost. A tribute to the victim of a fatal accident.
I notice a pedestrian crossing right by my feet that wasn't there a second ago.
I step out on it assuming the traffic will stop . . .
Friday, 9 August 2013
JACK ON JACK ACTION
(Jack Kerouac and Jack Straw)
Lights up on JACK STRAW approaching a front door holding a clipboard. He knocks. KEROUAC answers.
KEROUAC Here I am writing on a Spanish typewriter when the door goes knocking. Can’t make up my mind. Answer or no - I’m yelling with joy and madness.
STRAW (Holding out his hand) Mr Kerouac? My name is Jack Straw.
KEROUAC (Ignoring the hand) Jack Straw from the Peasants Revolt? Did Allen send you?
STRAW No, no. Jack Straw the Leader of the House of Commons. Allen didn’t send me. I work for the government and I wanted to approach you for your support.
KEROUAC Is this a message of compassion from the centre of the universe of Essential Mind?
STRAW Yes. Yes it is. Please, take this New Labour badge. I want your celebrity endorsement to stand for party leader. The cameras are late.
KEROUAC (Doesn’t take the badge) I’ll write a haiku about this. Burn it with matches. A mighty and beautiful thing.
STRAW Thank you. Is that a yes?
KEROUAC I’m dead you know.
STRAW A party donation can smooth anything over right now.
KEROUAC Your party. Is it an unworldly state where my father and hope are hellish currency?
STRAW You put it very well. Things have been better and can be again. I’m in a soft job right now and I want power, Jack, you can help me get it. I want more than Blackburn. We’re not so different, you and I. I was there in the 60’s when it all went down in Chile.
KEROUAC My good friend Huncke says we’re all ‘yipping’ in a pre-ordained world. He’s dying from infection in a jail hospital.
STRAW We can use that.
KEROUAC Say that in church in Manhattan. I’ve become a Bleak Prophet in our own poor faces. Huncke wouldn’t like you. He’d get you drunk and rob you. Why should I help?
STRAW I was sacked because of American pressure. American pressure can get me back. Come to England with me we can get you on some day time TV. Have you a book to promote? Richard and Judy would love to have you. They like books.
KEROUAC I don’t fell well if I leave America. Got dysentery in Mexico City trying to rewrite On The Road and Doctor Sax into one subterranean book. In Tangiers with Bill - had to come straight back to the tremendous and awful walls. Tell Richard and Judy I can meet them in Denver in the fall. You got a match?
STRAW Would you do a TV spot? I think that’s what you call them here. Get you on tape saying something.
KEROUAC You’d have to drive me there in a death car, long, black, sleek, Cadillac coffin.
STRAW Anything you need.
KEROUAC No. I’m not doing it. Buddha saith ‘it is body which moves and changes not mind’. (Closing the door)
STRAW The cameras are late. Don’t go in yet. Let me at least get a photograph.
KEROUAC You need to be more realistic. You’re in the wrong country. Barking up the wrong Bleak Prophet. Get off this pockmarked stoop. Must write on my Spanish typewriter. Find a match. Write to Allen about you. I can smell your awful perfection of doubt.
Door closes as a lone photographer’s flash catches STRAW alone.
Thursday, 8 August 2013
wait for small green apples
to fall out of the tree
bounce and be still on patchy
8 pm - hot
air is still and muggy
reminds me of warm beer/of funerals
walk to the shop for ice cream
warm cig smoke drifts slow
wound-down hatchback window
off licence lights murmur and shine
the busy bottle shelves
flash me back
wild heart of drunkness
i'm only waiting
for green apples
on a brown lawn
Wednesday, 7 August 2013
made it - hello!
the age of recovery
fearless work sin hopeful
rise from tired drafts
this is home now - outlived most of the heroes
everyone on tv is childyoung now
will have 40 years of toxins massaged
out my muscles
tired kidneys will them squeeze them free
in golden streams all night
drs finger will helpfully search
inside my arse
bicycle tires hang on the back of my bathroom door
lego men stand in line/plastic psychopaths on my desk
effort poems and short panicking prose
i post to electric ether
my job does suck
it pays for trains and breakfast eggs
good people that struggle there
smile on me
lurid daytime week
i've dug up the bodies/my cupboards are empty bare
i have stopped drinking all the booze
i waved my skeletons for therapists to record
i would take over the farm
if there were any chickens
dear 40 - not out!
but still ill
sick with the world blindness and headline lice
and vented complaint
a migraine phoenix
from fire of exhausted youth and arrested development
dear 40 - i'm tired
and its difficult to think
drs updates waiting
Monday, 5 August 2013
must stink of ourselves
stink of a week in a tent
spilled booze fermenting and burst dreaming
crumbs and roaches and visitors
and the looming big moon and the low yellow ill moon
all the thick rain
ruined everything and hid the stars
must be an unshaved wart
a beer fight
a reckless dangerous running night
caught in amber
sickness and weakness and unapologetic guilt
the bedridden and whining next day
be simple and readable by all
Sunday, 4 August 2013
men are little boys
short trousers long handed down
schoolyard knocking order
smoking corner silences
staff room chat
with shirts tucked in voluntarily now
men are still little boys
their cars and bikes
freetime poker nights
Saturday, 3 August 2013
memories walk odd in gossamer shadows
from tea trees
what i saw there in the dappled puddles
what you saw there on the bleached kerbs
can never agree
memories walk odd like orphans
like i dreamt them
and grafted them onto photo's
made them up on a bad hangover saturday
covered in gin sweat and horror
wrong and created in blank solitude
i encourage them to haunt me
afraid of . . . WHATEVER . . .