Tuesday, 28 February 2017
A DREAM TO THE TUNE OF A SONG
i look in thru the windows
i look inside the door
everyone in there is playing god
on a ps4
i am falling asleep at the rendezvous
falling asleep on the floor
when i wake my belly is swollen
ribbed and ripped and ready for war
and the crabs are calling for passports
calling for their own custard creams
there is benzedrine in the breakfast potion
its washing my mind out clean
and in this dream i am suffocating
doesnt matter what i have seen
open another box says homer
doesnt matter where theyve been
from inceptionradionetwork.com
Labels:
belly,
benzedrine,
box,
clean,
crab custard cream,
homer,
ps4,
suffocating,
war,
window
Sunday, 26 February 2017
Saturday, 25 February 2017
Friday, 24 February 2017
TWO HEALTH POPS
DYING LIGHT
our soft pools
cloud
in
the unkillable crematorium autumn
our tunnel mazes
clog
in
the
carehome winter
( all the plumbers have been deported )
but our memories
shine brighter
divorced from reason
from their wild edges
age drenches them in a rose coloured sun
now
everything was always
a
widescreen childhood summer
from en.wikipedia.org
SUSTAINED
yesterday i felt a 3.5 out of 10
today i am a 4
i hug my wife-elect
i squeeze our retired cat
i write down
w h a t e v e r
i can think of
watching the weather and the sun
i pick a movie
a book
a spiral scratch
a slice of timed art is time out
a journeydream in other skin
these Everyday Miracles = sustained
tomorrow
i will be prob a 4 still
or maybe a 5.6 . . ?
and thats ok
today
from livewithcfs.blogspot.co.uk
Labels:
autumn,
care home,
cat,
cloudy pools,
ill,
wife elect,
winter
Thursday, 23 February 2017
CALL OF THE WILD
its a strange world
a hiccup life
smeared and weird
bricks and upvc and cars
block paving round the fruit trees
where we tried
to improve the ground
and too of course the endless plastic rain
step back take a time out
and
come
on
d
o
w
n
see we are beasts on the carpet
phones now where our claws were
see we are animals with tiles
insulated from the call of the wild
we still hear it . . .
its an itch
we talk about
in the
therapy room
the steel edge in our laughter
after dusk when murder
is
for
the good of the brood
or
only
the
dinner bell
from wikiality
Wednesday, 22 February 2017
MO' POP POPS
1.
did we grow up
to get here ?
adult ville . . .
the single use park
the think yard
we can see all we left behind
thru bathroom glass and old sun
but back then
it
was
its
own
horror
i was an alien in a skin suit
when it should have been gravy
so i make gravy now
2.
theres a black presence
a dark weight
down by my feet
i am still in bed at 11 am . . .
its not sadness tho
its the cat
he purrs
hes asleep
his incisors framing
his miniature chin
from thetangential.com
Labels:
adult ville,
bathroom window,
cat,
chin,
gravy,
incisors,
old sun,
sadness
Tuesday, 21 February 2017
TWO POP POPS
1.
carving steel and ice
from the medicated sludge
is
king
mission
one
2.
no regrets ? lucky . . .
. . . you / rose glass rear view mirror ?
( or )
plans
for
next
time
round ?
from thehuffingtonpost.com
Monday, 20 February 2017
SEASON POPS
1.
smells like spring inside
tv talking to itself
sofa
&
blanket
2.
springs solvent abuse
after winters cooked bark
flying
birds
of
time
Sunday, 19 February 2017
Saturday, 18 February 2017
Friday, 17 February 2017
BUCKOWSKI AND ME AT 43
i read buckowski
on the toilet
magically putting
my guts in
the plumbing
read his poem
about being 43
about the $22000
in three months
his grey hair
and pot belly
typewriter
in and out
of hock . . .
i stretched out
on the pm bed
on my side back
against the sun
hands in an
almost prayer
in front of me
the endless
lexicon
of workers
and managers
out there
behind me
making their
desperate moves
the little cat
comes to join me
so i know
i am doing
it right
he lays down
in a mirror image
of me
his paws out
in an
almost prayer
his claws touch
my fingers
his head rests
on the same pillow
his pot belly
his few
grey hairs . . .
theres always
poetry
endless poetry
behind the closed
curtains
and in
the dust
always fables
of the
storm cloud
written
by the
unkillable
husbands of
the moon . . .
my grey hairs
shaved away
my pot belly
slumped
same as
the cats
like two
half empty bags
slung on the bed
he keeps his
illness in
check
eating right
doing his time
and so do i
and we close
our eyes
together
against
the incredible
size of
another
afternoon
and all
the things
to do
Labels:
bags,
bed,
belly,
cat,
claws,
fable,
fungers,
managers,
moon,
poetry,
prayer,
storm cloud,
typewriter
Thursday, 16 February 2017
MAYBE IN BOLD - A POEM POME
these Werds are inadequate
just a scribbled attempt . . .
moans the Poet over his breakfast eggs
they come out so quiet
might
as
well
be
a
silent yell of breath
the Poet looks at the uneven prongs on his fork
but such breath
such yelling would only
invite
dull
questions . . .
and the Poets eyes widen in fear questions . . . but
they can question the Poet
but they cant ask the Poem
the Poet cries in victory in vanity (?)
and the Werds had purpose once again
like distance
like stone
and freed the poet Wrote of animals ;
now these quiet animals
naked and woolly
have the dignity of weather green statues
in their living silence
in their unattempted poise
and
there is mystery enough
i think
in their multipurpose bleats
they speak hard with their huge eyes
and with
honest and easy
and unapologetic
habit
and appetite
and action
and the Poet laughed all the way to brunch
from www.tvtropes.org
Wednesday, 15 February 2017
WELL ELECTRIC BLEEPS
well the electric noise
from the retro video game
coming out my hd tv
is primitive
is a friend
is old comfy socks for my mind
i am still here
i have lasted enough
that
these
noises are nostalgia now
i can enjoy the rose glow
that never really was
~
electric beeps back then
they were a hound barking inadequacy
to my tiny mouse
confused
down
by
the skirting board
too few coins
too few friends
electric beeps were acceptance then
i had games
i had a disk drive
and tho kids came round
they rarely came back again
~
seaside arcades
were
sand and
sun cream
shrill alarm bells
dirty carpets
clinking change
cigarette smoke
smell of chips
smell of doughnuts
tinny radio on a rock station
and a fringe of danger
~
seaside arcades
were
hiding in the vampire gloom
from
brown tan
spotless youth
parading and playing
with
Perfection and Purpose
in
their
uninterruptible
healthysexlife
drivinglicense
light
~
i am so full with these flashback
that
i
head
out
to the lawn
for crisp air
and the
mental enema
of
clean and guiltless
Reflection
with
Perspective
aberystwyth from ashleyabroad.com
Labels:
arcade,
carpet,
chips,
coins,
healthysexlife,
hiding,
light,
perfection,
purpose,
smoke,
sun,
vampire
Tuesday, 14 February 2017
SKY, ANXIETY AND TELEPHONES
the sky is a grey i would call dishcloth
is calling the sky dishcloth fair ?
it is the SKY
the sky is blank canvas
the sky is lead or leaden
the sky is an unmade movie
a child also unmade
a clean sheet dawn made the bed
there you go better ?
anyway my anxiety finds a target
magnifies blemishes to the moon
who are you ? it says
is this enough ?
what is enough ?
what are you doing with life today ?
it tells me i been mean to the sky
it laughs at my nascent plastic zen
~
the postman has nothing for me today
he is missing a front tooth he always has a smile
anyway i am not dressed
i was interviewed to be a postie
they seemed unsure that i could get up early
they explained a posties bag gets lighter as the round goes on
it was weird i didnt get the job
theres nothing new for me to see out the window
number 4s new lantern is old hat now
number 2s detritus is static
always the red berry bush tho
full of brids
full of bees
spiders live deep inside
there is no one to look in and see me in the window
or there is
dog walkers
school runners
an anoraked active oldster with a purple plastic bag
no one looks in tho i would i do if i am out
look in in the sweet spot
early dusk
dark enough for living room lights
light enough out for curtains to be left wide
see the tvs on the chimney breast
blue light on faces
~
so my anxiety finds a target
a limpet on a forgotten carbunkle
act now it says or tomorrow is under threat
so today i am worried about battery leaks
its acid you know alien blood
inside those little magic sealed tubes
inside those flat black slabs with a sticker on and gold teeth
i got a box of old mobile phones down there under those hardbacks
theres memories of the streets in there
they got batteries
try explaining this tech abundance to an older generation
its upside down economics nan
i dont know what to do about that
the third world mined my superconductors with their hands
i dont know what to do about that either
i open this box
i take the batteries out the phones
i am worried about leaks you see
theres tobacco smoke words and old old plans behind the keypads
yesteryears anxiety on a circuit board
i go round the house taking the batteries out of everything
i put them in a freezer bag in a drawer in the back porch
i am worried about leaks you see
i leave the smoke alarm alone duh
i leave the tv remote alone too double duh
i leave them in the stereo remote too mega duh
i even make it into the loft
dusty shapes of forgotten kipple loom in there
i can see outside thru bad masonry
i can see out the small window
useless and mysterious from the street i can see thru the bathroom extractor
see down to where we bath
i take the battery from an old camcorder
i ignore the tapes
fuck hell yes i ignore the tapes
i sweat in the dry dust
anxiety has a lot to say
i know there is an old laptop up here
its got a skeletor sticker on it
its got a desert eagle sticker on it
i wrote a bad novel on it
i can picture it but i dont find it
and oh my god theres so much stuff up here !
i put that on the back burner with herculean effort
i sweat more in the dry dust
its like visiting my own back brain up here
~
anyway this box of mobile phones is memories of the streets
i hold one
a wap phone remember wap phones ?
wap wap wap
a quick phone memory more another time -
it is the motorola i used when i had absinthe for lunch in hyde park
it was my birthday
we had no food
i remember office workers were coming out for lunch
they were getting their legs out for the sun
~
i remember how when mobiles were new or when i caught up and got one
i remember i would only use mine in a phone box
ha
i would only use it in the rusty smell of old piss and fags
this made sense to me then
it was like it was some kind of progress protest
i would walk in the street with it ringing . . .
i remember there was that rich kid at college
red soft top sport car car phone 1989?
twat we said twat
that sentiment was universal then
i remember my first glastonbury 1992/3?
i remember it was like a mad max barter town
i remember the beastie boys were on the friday night
i remember everyone who had a mobile ring there was RIDICULED
that sentiment was universal then
i remember i left my blackberry at home once 20??
i went into town without it
i thought it would be fine
it was bullshit
just bullshit
you dont realise
you dont have the old network
you dont have the old habits
phone boxes now got the coin slot welded shut
phone boxes assume you want to make an international call
just bullshit
~
i remember a burst of new phone boxes
it was like a rash 199?
i remember they appeared outside the macdonalds and seven-eleven
out where that girl bit that other girls ear off
trail of blood there for a week
i remember there was a whole paved square full of them
phone boxes not ears
they were all painted different colours
they were all owned by different companies
they were all different shapes and sizes
they came up out the high street blockpaving overnight
some were internet phone boxes
it was weird
they all disappeared as quick as they came
it was some kind of deregulation ejaculation
no on else seems to remember this
anyway i done my bit to prevent battery leaks for now
~
loft . . . whispers anxiety
from btphonecardcollection.co.uk
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