SAM ROCKWELL

one day
sam rockwell will get the oscar
and NOT for playing
a
disabled
or
historic
or
sick
person
either BUT
it will be in a screenplay i write

so
sam
baby
lets talk

HUG POP

my 
hugs
existential
desperation
and
quiet
urgency
is clear in their
length
silence
and
consistency

FIVE AM

sitting again
where
i
write
and
dawns
yet
to
break
any
glass

i wait
for
the
world
to fall into sentences

and
for
the
coffee to boil

NOT DANIEL CRAIG

so a guy comes 
to mend our inkjet 
and 
he 
looks like daniel craig 
or 
would 
if daniel craig 
had 
had 
a heart attack as a young man 
and 
a 
stroke 

he's in a three piece 
with 
cufflinks - for an NHS IT job!
and 
his 
collar is all scruffy 
and big 
and un-ironed 
and tatty 70s looking 

he 
puts 
his 
leather laptop bag down 
and 
he 
squats down to rummage 
in 
tray number two 

its a plastic universe in there 
and 
it 
hurts 
my 
head - the detail! 

it scream clunks like a ancient ruined Bentley 

these teeth 
he says 
these teeth wont engage 
and he digs in there with scissors 
they're facing the wrong way 
he says 

he is absorbed in the tiny detail of the world
that
i
wish
was as smooth
a mill pond water

so 
i 
focus on his cufflinks - so much detail crams the world! 

his cufflinks are simple silver squares 
so 
simple 
simple 
simple

simple smooth silver squares

RIP DIGNITY

there is 
misery in the land of plenty

because
of
greedy 
cunts


the end

FAMILIAR STREET FACE

painted on 
liquid blue jeans
and
a
coat
like a farmer might wear
but
probably
cost more
than
my whole outfit

she's
followed
by
four girls - school run
kids
taking 
home
friends
to watch youtube
and 
play at pop star on a wii

her
face 
is
familiar - we nod good afternoon
but
both
make
second glances

maybe she looks a bit like
someone
on
tv
or
maybe we went to school together
twenty 
five 
years 
ago

NIGHT NOISE

at night

i hear

the electric light

whine

and

i hear the refinery refine

i hear the shift change sirens rising design

and

the

thames boats 

fog horns 

drone

their invisible silent mime

METAPHOR ATTEMPTS

bunny rabbit in the headlights
is
maybe
a
good
metaphor
for
us all
in the approaching energy crisis and rising seas

unprepared
paralysis
of ironically empty roads
and
storage battery tv

or maybe a flattened burst rabbit 
bubbling red 
on 
the 
blacktop - the tail lights
of
a
government car
leaving
the
scene
a
black
smudge

is a better one

WELL ITS SICK

oh my
the SIZE of the world

its ENORMOUS headache
barks
its
nike children out of bed
before dawn

well
its
endless blacktop and solid steel rail
cuddle-shoves
the
bondage billions
into
fluorescent and neon
still
sluggish
with
plasma

oh my
the STRUGGLE
with
the
bomb-art yangying

and 
well 
its sick

wheezy
with GIANT history-flu
mega sneezing
deadends and fullstops and circus circles
from satellite drones
and
billboards

THE COLOUR OF HORSES

clint eastwood
johhny cash
the bible

say

Hell will follow a pale horse

the horses in this town -
this concrete estuary blip
of
sold-off dirty farmland
nail bars
and
shut cafes

are
dark stain colour
like
a
dead
mouse

and
all
that
follows
them
is their own flyswish tail of cobwebs and bumnuggets
or
puffa 
coat 
gypsy's
in a bouncing wooden buggy

AIRBRUSH

hail!

hail my gnarley buttons
surprise 
stained 
trousers
and
squashed
summer
plum
shoes

hail the ugly uncomfortable musts
falling
into
the
morning
bowl

hail the stale butterless sandwich lunch
the
frozen
mind
lingering
like
a late morning moon

hail the mystery bites itch
and
scabcrisps
falling
in
a
dry
rain

hail the imperfect disaster
that
works
for small pounds
in
cracked boots
in
a
dying
institution

hail the scratched ear creams
nail
cheese
and
dark
clumped
crevice
fluff

hail mistakes
tears
blackhead scars
and
surgeons best clumsy knitting

hail the riptide ignorance of history's repeated circles
hail our greengrey concrete pit
and
my
quick dinner
cut
from
wartime brine tins

WORKING MANS LAMENT

friday afternoon

there is some air

i
can
breath


-


no bosses to parry
or colleagues to carry
i'll
be
free
listened to
and
at
home

ON HE GOES . . .

the early winter
sun
shines
on
rain stains

and how sadly . . .

belt up poet!  jessssus

wot about the wars and the bomb children
that
fell
off
the
front
pages?

wot about the relentless bash and thump of mornings
that
get
in
you
without
permission?

wot of the illusions you MUST hold true
or
else
all
is
a
real
hard 
nothing?

not more sad sun/more autumn nostalgia

time
to
put 
your
balls in the fire again

FIREWORKS LOST

yellow and red banners
with
happy drawn rockets
go 
up
on
old
A-frame
trailer
and
on
the
tumbling
front fences

the bungalow on the derelict compulsory-purchase corner plot
open 
for
business
one 
last 
time

one last time to go in the french doors
onto
the
carpet
of dirt and buried rugs
and
get
talked into buying a bigger box of bangflash
than 
intended

before
its
flattened
for 
'800 new homes, 35 percent of them to be affordable'

AUTUMN AGAIN

the 
smells again
now 
its autumn again
like 
the oven again
the 
black 
metal 
warming 
up
and the heating again
those 
old 
pipe clicks
and the dead afternoon again
the 
empty 
air
under a dead mouse sky
and the memories again
all 
the 
army coats 
i 
wore
and the sudden evenings again
falling 
dark
like
armageddon hugs
on 
college commute trains
and 
the home car drones again
to
scald hot taps
and
ice tile floors
and
the
long long nights again
to
the
lazy ink smudge dawn

CAPITALISM POP

shopping
is
a
drug
and
a
liar

a dark gene

kick it
with
window shopped wishlists 
or
sate it with charity

we got all we want
unused
in
guilt
cupboards

Cat and Blinds

Cat and Blinds, a photo by ford dagenham on Flickr.

Window Bug

Window Bug, a photo by ford dagenham on Flickr.

A13 AM

rumblestrip 
rat 
race 
rolls west
on 
cone clogged
ice
bitten
blacktop
to
dawn skyline
that
sparkles dim
with
cranes 
silver chrome curves
and
skystab shrines
that
points
to the pale moonstain
who
looks
down
on hatchback twin crimson eyes
that
light
sad
verge
shrubs into night monochrome
and
brittle hooters
bark
tempers
under the morning bridge

OF TWINKLEDULL

the shadows tears cast

look
like

the
dense
black
bricks
of sudden arguments
and
the
spiked anxious light
of
the 
cold cold 
danger
of
diecast mindfreeze
all 
twinkledull useless
on 
the 
greasy 
lino
of the deadhand nowhere kitchen
in
the
silent-bland and coffee-nervous
middle
of
a broken broken day

HAIR POP

hello

hello new hair

look
at
you

sprouting from my fifth ink

you
werent
there
yesterday
i'm
sure

like an ariel

a bent willow

a totem

now
let
me
fetch
my
scissors

you cheeky hair

goodbye

BLACK JENGA TUMBLED

for
an
instant
it
was
as
if 
a curtain was lifted
and
i
could
see
LIFE in the sun

out
there 
was 
a clarity of thought
and 
a clearness of purpose

a happy train on shining rails

then 
it
fell
back
like the visor
on
a
welders helmet

JUMPING THRU HOOPS

they tell me
that 
of course they do not doubt
the 
validity
of my
reasons for sickness
and
that
i
am 
not suspected of skiving oh no
but
that i should think
about 
how 
if 
everyone had my sick record
then the hospital could hardly run

could 
it?

anyway
heres
a 
verbal warning
for
your
permanent file
and
the right to appeal 
inside
21 days

now if you'd like
to
wait
outside
we'll
give you a copy
of
this
meeting
on a compact cassette tape

BLUEPRINT

catchy opening/imaginative/possible proposition
grit
accidental rhyme
grit
looking deep inside
name drop
location/time
brand name
grit
looking outward/draw contemporary conclusion
flowers and alliteration
resolution line/possible juxtaposition
beverage

TIME WAS

saturdays
were
hungover
laying 
around
militantly alone
fighting the mercury
shakes
and guilt
with
eggs
and juice
maybe
beer or stronger
and
codeine
and
a
little weed
till i
managed
to shop
for
gin and steaks and spice
to
put
me back together 

these saturdays
i lay 
around
sober
my head
on a 
sweet womans
cotton belly
my
hands
deep in the fur
of
the
worlds
softest
cat
thinking
about
the other saturdays
and
the white rage
now
gone

Werd Army Tatt

Werd Army Tatt, a photo by ford dagenham on Flickr.

Werd Army

Werd Army, a photo by ford dagenham on Flickr.

Four Hans One Chewey

Four Hans One Chewey, a photo by ford dagenham on Flickr.

INTERVIEW WITH A CAMPFIRE

Global Citizens Magazine interviews Ford Dagenham.

after numerous attempts to contact Ford Dagenham we succeeded in securing this interview.  we hope it throws some light on his poorly defined world view. 

gcm - tell us Ford why all the camo?

fd - i am a soldier.  in a war.

gcm - tell us about this war?

fd - read my reports.

gcm - your poetry?  we have.  you call them reports.

fd - filed from the war zone.

gcm - where is this war zone?

fd - everywhere.  all day is a war zone.  peace and truth MUST prevail thru common peoples subjective truth.

gcm - from your 'reports' we see you struggle with time.  who else do you fight ford?

fd - THEM!  and time will soon be an ally.

gcm - and your poetry is your reports on this war?  could you elaborate on 'them'?

fd - ADVERTISING! and the dim corrupted moles.  those who dont put living people first.

gcm - will you win?

fd - no! then i will become them!

gcm - you fight a war you know you will never win?

fd - i fight a war i decide i wont win.

gcm - why?

fd - the struggle is the juice.  i am the resistance.  truth and warts will always be there to report.  WERD ARMY!

gcm - now 'werd army' ford, who is this 'werd army'?

fd - writers who hang their balls out the window and put their faces in fire.

gcm - we see online you favour wearing paramilitary camouflage  there was even a camouflage painted typewriter on your blog.

fd - WERD ARMY!

gcm - does this army have rank, a chain of command.

fd - one rank.  WRITER.

gcm - and how long will you fight this war?

fd - till i die or dont.

gcm - on your blog Hatchbacks On Fire we found a poem about your cats deposits in his litter tray and your own deposit in the toilet.  is this military strategy?

fd - you misunderstand.  that is warts.  truth.  reality turds.  its a counter point to the airbrushed 'plotation.

gcm - so ford, how do you measure success in these 'battles'?

fd - with WERDS!

gcm - do you see your blog audience growing?  we are still unclear on your aims here i'm afraid.  are you after literary success?

fd - success is what THEY want you to want.

gcm - also on your blog and your flckr account there are numerous pictures of you cat and of toys.  how do they fit into your plan?

fd - soldiers!

gcm - your cat and these toys are soldiers?  in what sense?

fd - cats are TRUTH.  their dignified posturing is transparent.  this is DEEP TRUTH.  and toys are innocence.  for real!

gcm - well thank you for time Ford, to wind it up would you like to tell us something you have never told another interviewer?

fd - i find ripe fruit horny.  and deeply true.

MIST HILL LIST

the mist on the hill
is
the american indian
ezra's pounds poems for the common man
the library at alexandria
the ghosts of armenia
and
the secrets in the mountains of madness

the mist on the hill
is
democracy's flawed origins
an orphans christmas exhale
de niro before american express
the dust of 13 little people
and
a memory of the dreams last night

dying in the daylight

WERD ARMY

every day
all day
is
a
fight/a vicious battle
with
the
clock
the
boss
the
soft machines limits
to 
annexe the kingdom of control
and
hold
the
hills of clarity
with
expression
and
minor
utterance
of
truths
proofs
and
reports
against
advertisers
newspapers
and
dumb generations
repeating
dim werds
of
previous
dumb generations

werd army - short hand for danger
and
a
lamb
in
camo