NIGHTSCAPE

the vibrating pixels behind eyelids at bedtime
    used 
    to 
    be 
the gentle show of a toy kaleidoscope
    or
stoned operatic soaps

    rendered
        in fuzz  


            now
            its

silent sheet lightning 

over periphery mountains

and                                              from sitemaker.umich.edu

a claustrophobic Monument Valley

    tightly framed  
    by
machined-square corners 
    spilling

        a
whirling silver dust of steel burrs

    that
    the
        sandman pockets

            and
            saves 

    for my alarm clock eyes

from en.wiki.org

 from theydrawandtravel.com

CONCRETE FIRMAMENT

the
streets - a microcosm crater world 
of 
minibeasts 
puddles 
and 
children - its rusted lids
to
the maintenance underworld
all
say
MADE IN ENGLAND
of
Sheffield steel - heavy seals on the
patched
and 
spotted
cement 

thats the ground - its thin sister
is
a
bored grey water colour
or
a
pastel explosion - repeated in ancient strokes
by
the 
great piss-artists hand
saving
inspiration
for
industry
and calling it pollution

and
in
the distance
above
the
rolled up hills
the clouds sometimes pretend to rain
in
streaks
of smudged charcoal

thats the sky - and between
is 
our
concrete firmament
built
of
cooked squares and practical holes
and
framed
with
disciplined wood



 

 

from the gaurdian.com

OBSERVATIONS IN GREENWICH PARK FROM THE JAMES WOLFE STATUE, 200?

sense the space out there

     over London’s cranes

sense and taste the sausage I ate

     washed down with water

     cost me 1.35

feel the crunch of the paper I sit on

     keeping tourists 

     behind me

     out of my view

workmen - in yellow

     so I can see them

eating lunch with the sun

others – clang and rattle steel

     behind a mesh fence

man in brown shorts lies like its summer

     paper spread out

     alone

     on a hillock

see a single bird fearless

     flying below me

     and 

     a 

     helicopter thudding in circles

between orderly clouds

see the school I’m nearly at

     (not really missing my job at all)

     and 

     London’s new towers

they’re building a skyline 

at 

last

the dome – I feel waste

it’s desolate there

spiked

New Labours sunken Death Star

slim girl smokes alone

wearing fawn

- helicopter’s bothering 

               me 

               like 

               a 

               fly

hear foreign languages

hear phrase ‘naval college’

that’s down there too

     demobbed 

     Harrier 

     poised out the front

feel the sun on my back

     its 2pm

and the shadow of a woman startles me

she’s taking the hill tentatively

power station is quiet

next to a slot of grey Thames

(I live 25 miles east)

to the west

river curves like Eastenders

a brown sail sails slowly

there’s a logo on it in yellow 

     I 

     cannot 

     make 

     out

     smell 

     air

and sausages – want another one

     smell 

     damp

from the ground I lay my paper on

hear digital clicks

from the 

fawn girl 

who’s picked

to snapshot a lady tourist alone

orange tractor like a toy

Heathrow jet whines 

a 

sci-fi 

noise

canary wharf

huddles

its empty floors and sudden towers

its bent windows

     together

     under

     one 

     blinking light

some bird is cackling

from the dark in the trees

     they 

     sway with patience

wood and time

the bulb of the observatory

     lurks behind me

where children flock with backpacks

for the artificial line

     (we stole it from India 

     because we ran the world)

demented laughter

from a 

child in blue

squatting at the fence

looking up 

at his parents

     calling 

     him 

     back

the river

murky – then silver catching the September sun

     [I'm at the bottom of the hill now 

     where the toy tractor chugged]

look up at where I was

see silver lined clouds

and 

the 

sailors 

red ball

 

from en.wikipeadia.org

THE PAST

i
carry
the
past
with 
me
in my pocket all the time
like
a
beautiful
dead
bird
with
eyes holding secrets 
that 
i'm
scared 
to 
touch
in
case
i catch something

from neuroticcity.wordpress.com

MENTAL VENTING

i make up arguments in my head

    its
    a
    way
    to
work things out

a tactic for life / mental venting

    i always 
        choose
    the face 
        of
    an actual person
for my in-brain adversary


when ive won and calmed down
        i
    think
        i
    should
    apologise
        to
    their real-life self

    because 
    honestly
it all got VERY personal

    but 
    then 
the Fucker would win ! 

from rrrussell.deviantart.com

ANOTHER DAY ANOTHER DR

the 
clinic 
has 
a
wall
of
clear orange glass
and
bricks
engraved
with
poppies
and
odes
to 
the war dead

i wait inside
on new blue plastic seats

read an ambitious local rag

that
claims

'reality show stars
are changing the stereotype
of Essex

EMPOWERING
like the Spice Girls'

a woman 
stumbles in
in stilettos
and
spray-on jeans
because
she just hit her head on her own car boot 
and
needs
it
checked
before
the school run

looks like the same old Essex to me

i wait

drink water from a plastic cup

read nothing

scrape
some
matter
from an ear lobe
with
an
untrimmed
nail

and 
when i see the drs
they are drs
in a drs room
and
they schedule
another appointment
with
another
dr

from www.behance.net

 

SOFT POEMS DONT SCRATCH THE DIAMOND WORLD

it a hard world to write down

hysterical
and
electric - all gems buried 
under
glass peoples white noise

if i cant throw all the switches
to OFF
or RESET
or NO
or STOP
or
at least PAUSE indefinitely
to
give
me
time to go live in the green brown forest
and
THINK it into sense
in
the
quiet
of
ordinary dirty chaos
 
then
better 
to lay out a big canvas
of plucked teddy bear eyes 
crying frozen sequin tears
and
glued toy money with crinkle cut edges
like xmas decorations
and
sprayed generic slogans in metallic car shades
all
framed
with
stolen
asda underwear
from
the stinking bins of the poor

it could be brilliant

it really could be brilliant

but
then
everyone
would 
be 
looking

and thats never good

from newfunnypictures.com

PRIEST HOLES AND MAGIC TREES

dragging out the bins
i experience dawns half light
    and
    wonder
    if
    its
promise means well
    or
is a tease of phantom gold
to get us from our beds of sex and dreams

        and
when up and gasping in the bathroom sink 
    i   
wonder
how
to
juggle
    the true beams and garbage vectors
        of life and sickness
        of bill-bondage
    and 
    the 
        difficult birth of creation
            even 
            too
the needs of aimless indian summer bees ?

    i
wonder
how 
to
keep the threads threaded
    and the google views inspired
        when 
    maintenance is the relentless unappreciated all ?

we're spoiled innocent reluctant and idiot-crawling
        down 
        an 
extended birth canal - facing screaming change
        with 
        feet still warm still safe
    i 
wonder 
what now 
    the tunnel is tired and we're wary of the brave doors
        all 
        searching for the cliche light
        and 
    simple Blyton adventure of priest holes and magic trees
with
our
    night eyes almost too blind for change
and
    our heart-guts
        too fat from kfc
            too sedated 
            from classic 
            easy poisons

to find true vectors
            
            that hurt to follow
            
            that hurt to free

dull hearts from hackneyed cages of catalogue aspiration

    i
wonder
is the universal mind too full now ?
    its
    ideas
    and
    balls

        spread

            too 
            thin ?

from arranalexander.co.uk

CORNERS

you turn strange corners in your mind
and sometimes
something
opens something up 
in there

simple
as
a tinted limousines window rolling down

then
maybe
something wrong seems right now
or
something hard
is
now
as
easy
as
just
doing it - do it !  the obstacles are mirage

when youve turned a strange corner in your mind 
and
lit your brain like flourecscents 
clicking on over a sport halls rubber floor
you
wish
you
could
do
it
on order

everyday

for breakfast

from shutterstock.com

FUCKTOWNS BELLY

day has opened its windows
and
pulled
the
nights
walls down 

melted them into water

water is on the lawn with long shadows
and
is
cried
over
the
cool
cars
in shining baubles - run into rivers 
over bonnets and bumpers
as the workers fire their pistons
and
move into gear

the sky is uniform grey
like a used dish rag
or
gods
sick
turned
back
in a garbage shirt old as time

the day has rotten teeth
men
in
hi-vis
drill the cavities out
their
machines
echo
off
quiet bungalow walls

fucktowns belly bellows van motors
and mutters outside the paper shop
subdued sirens creep thru trimmed bushes

urgent but no too urgent

fucktowns belly
belches
like deep currents out in the brown river

fucktown eating us with its rotten teeth
eating
our
high street wanders
and
drs appointments
our estate agent window perusals 

deep in fucktowns belly 
it mashes us up 
into
tonights
new
adobe 
walls

from lawnsmith.co.uk

LORCA AND BUCKOWSKI IN MY GARDEN

the garden is there
like
a
lawn lays down
identical to itself with unsecrets
and
at
three o clock
its
three o clock on the dot
and
brother bear
stretches out in the chair
sitting
in
limbo
like a framed picture is there
hanging inevitable 
from a nail banged in paint
from 
tins
rusting
with bent lids
twisted like deformity is twisted
left
out
in
the
garage
for decades like forever

from mickdean.net

 

CHANGE BLOWS

bowing to the inevitable
     whether
     forced or found
     feet
         on
     the real ground 
thats HUGE and pushing UP

the
inevitable breeze of change 
    whether
    from
doctors hands
    or
    ill
mystery glands 
it
feels good and cool on a jet world mauled soul
    woken
    into
    an optimism morning

and
change is good
    we're told
        accept it
        and
    be bold
move on from the wide fib of loo tales
flush
flush
flush
into the windmills blind knight blades

and
good
aint
bad   
for a thin zen finder
   
    or 
    does 
    the wind of change blow ? 

 from philstubbsquotes.wordpress