FRAG 21

its a dead world

   or it feels like it . . .

. . . feels like it will be

a world on pause

   so it seems - 

      waiting

or its a pregnant world :

   natures delirious & rife

mushrooms 

   always telling

      the trees what to do

outside our human 

   drek & bomb art

THE MARIJUANA SPIRITS PLAY

like any hunted thing
          i had dug a mind hole

  
& mesmerised by the 

          moving-picture rolling news

on the train stations 

          lcd widescreen exclamation

the police dogs 

          ringed behind me

sniffed for bombs

          & not weed

the marijuana spirits

           playing with me again

CAFE NUPTIALS, WITH NOTES

sometimes
what i do is pick a title
before i written anything

i write where i am
& add a word on whim

so here goes 
Cafe Nuptials -

~

Cafe Nuptials

i half recognise someone
but thats just being out

( disregard that - false start )

~

Cafe Nuptials

i carry a tray 
for a lady 
struggling on sticks 

her husbands gone off somewhere 

they do that i say

me having gone off somewhere myself

&
in a booth
my 
tired 
leaking
meat
googles news

( bit better - should stop here )

~

carboloading
i try to remember 
if my 
'vote' 
was ever 
'successful'

when thatcher was voted out ?

when thatcher was voted out
Its All Over Now Baby Blue 
played out of student hatchbacks 
on another pub-side lunch-run

( i didnt stop - 
  burped a memory pop instead )

~

& 
with 
the 
homeless osmosis wisdom
of 
my 
designated years

i
know
now

that democracy 
is / was 
an aim 
an Ideal 

eroded in white bread slices 
ever since rights were hard won

( i swell with faux profundity )

~

protesters are banned 
from the capital streets
&
a gold toilet is stolen

& i think - 
green is the colour
our children shall miss the most 

(eco-conscious blab plus headlines )

~

&
i think i am maybe against borders
&
the bomb-bang lands
are only miles away

just air between us

consensus & air

( basic philosophy & maps )

~

swelling 
with
faux profundity 

in 
the 
cafe nuptials

of coffee & world & me

i stroke the blind glass 
under a false ceiling

( slip in the title & some commonality )

~

this glass
we touch
we cant SEE thru . . .

& 
i feel like 
i am 
at the end of something

& i dont mean just this coffee

( repetition & sign off )

from foodspotting.com

EVEN GOOD BOMBS ARE BAD

be the change 
you want to see 
in the world . . .

i 
get
it

it
sounds 
ok

sounds
good

achievable

but is it 
sop for our 
conscience

or could 
it really 
work . . ? 

~

so im nice
to my neighbour
even
when 
he
brings up
his pet subject
of those blockpavers
those romanian blockpavers

and all the stolen vans

( the dimlo arsehole Sun-faced beer-sack )

i guide him away
with soft disagreement
like
hes
a
simple child
parroting a bad uncle 
so 
it 
doesnt become a Thing

and
anyway
it
all
falls down
at the next news broadcast

its bombs galore again

on 
the
death tv

~

i propose
instead
we all
paint roses

maybe even everyday

because
hitler 
was the change
he wanted to see
in the world

soon
after 
he had stopped
painting roses

timberlands from pinterest.com

FRIDAY POPS

ART IN LEATHER BOOTS

monsters rule the earth

science goes underground

we are superseding the insects
our brains blocked with plaque

and our dreams and hopes are embarrassed now
in
the 
loaming
fields
of 
stone

art pulls on its boots
and walks on down the hall

looking for the library
and the weapons there


BOMBS

what was there
is not there now

thus spake bombs


SCREENBURN GHOSTS

whenever i close my eyes
you ghosts drift curious
into the doorway

youre ghosts of my memory
not ghosts of the grave
tho
you
mingle
with 
the grandparents 
and 
the assassinated miscellany 

you are the shadow of all our youth
on my eyelids

a soft screenburn haunting
wondering where i am now
and
friendly


CANDLE

candle burning
at both ends

till there is no wax left

and soon no wick

then briefly
i am

entirely

only

an orphan fire


STRANGE DAYS

so one strange day i woke
a member of the

  world of adults

tho i knew i was once a child
and why some things make more sense now

its
nothing
i
had
questions
about
back when i was small

a plastic mouse 
in my 
school trouser pocket

pic from bluemaize.net

PERGOLA (EXPLODED) HAIKUS

sat on a bench on
slippery 
winter 
decking
berries are bright red

across 
the 
sea 
bombs 
are falling onto people
here - brittle birdsong

outside my boots rest
on 
a 
cheap green plastic chair
workmens 
toil 
echoes

EXISTENTIAL POPS

1.

infinity
eternity

just theories
science buzzwords

surely ?

otherwise . . . what does my lunch matter ?

  oh
my poor mind - thats
               how we explain 
               an end
               we cannot see ?


2.

  i 
stare at the cafe tray
  i
stare
at
the
cafe
tray

plastic moulded just so
empty mug finished
evacuated banana

  i 
stare at the cafe tray
thru
  a
private
fog

far from bombs

apparently safe


3.

to get up and out
of
our
warm
beds
and
onto
the cold lino of the land
is
to
break a strange spell 
  cast awkwardly
  last 
  night

from photobucket.com

HATCHBACK HEADLINES

hatchbacks 
burn in masked riot backdrop
tear gas
barricades new war on high streets
old globe 
in heavy shop sickness seeks cure
pixel
light of future faction arrives
headlamp
signals seen in high tide beach mist 
priests
claim Evian rain miracle
second 
gear wheels revolt against cash slick
honey
trap struggle of workers ennui
doctor
spots pilot lights in coma eyes
babies
wail heard inside earth hurricane
haunted
bugler hollers in dishrag dawn
youths light
rubber tires and hydraulic oil
bonfire
of electric numbers sold out
ebay
offers life beacon for peasants 
judge rules
deep sleep ending alarm clocks rude
billboards
pocked with new graffiti sores 
public
to pack overnight toothbrush bags
to 
end 
at 
last
bomb babies hungry on the death tv 

from theneedlessofwar.blogspot

KNIFE BOY BUSTED

when i was a kid
i knew this kid
lived over the other side of the park
beyond the fire path 
and the cycle barriers
and
all
the
big flea dart bushes

he always had a knife with him
pen knife
but a big one
he had a mouth full of bullshit
and
we called him a perv 
before we knew what one was
there
was 
sickness 
in his eyes

he knocked on my door one night
the time was inappropriate 
he was turned away
he stayed out there in the half-light
sawing
at the 
conifers 
with his knife
i
watched from my window
peeping from behind the net curtain
and
he
disappeared after that

years later we're both soul-sucked
dying of retail
working in the mall
trying to remember our dreams
and
one saturday theres a bomb threat
the whole place opens late
car parks full
police horses crapping in the bus station
and
queues of hungry shoppers 
at the big glass doors

he'd rung his hoax into Special Branch
he was after an easy weekend
with his perversions 
and 
knives

he used his home phone
he was easily busted
and had to write an apology 
to every retail unit in the mall
to 
be 
pinned to Nobo boards
in the staffrooms

the IRA had been knocking about in Canary Wharf
with a Transit full of explosives
and
there'd been that Pub in Covent Garden too 
blown to bits one summer afternoon

so
that
was 
the 
least of what he had to do

from squirrelbasket.wordpress