DAWN POP

the clouds are torn paper

& the wind
a long & stale
bogarted exhale

setting all the pink roses a tremble

LEAVES OF SPAM

wet meat plants

that grow in the dark

with the moon shining

on our leaves of spam

well what with 

the sun & the people

being the way they are & all

we count our lucky stars

when the clouds blown gossamer thin

~

& no one knows

what happens
every 

half-arsed 

cranberry night

when all our eyes are shut like clams

but it never stops 

the mornings embrasure gaping

ABOUT THE FUTURE

the androgynous
& softly beige

intergenerational crowd

gather at the seasons change
around the dry monolith

of the last standing tree

~

they murmur the old rumours again

about the old god Cloud

& how he caught the whole world one time

& bade them worship glass

SKY POP No 118

the endless & uncracked cloud

over me

the window

& home

is a grey lid
an un-popped seal

keeping the spring boxfresh

in januarys 

infinite
cul de sac 

of the soul

CEMETERY DRINKING 3

the moon
  a bleach spot stain
  on the cloud rug

headstones
  clenched askew
  like old man knuckles

the dead
  gone to ground
  no more waiting to do

the darkness
  smudged me indistinct
  under combover trees
  & wrought iron arrows
  & hallowed dirt
  fed booze revelation
  in the meaning dearth

come dawn
  squirrels beat birds
  to dew heavy crumbs

DELIRIOUS DIVINATION VOL 5

we are a lilliputian affair

a child-drawn sun 

an unrealistic cloud

plastic & magnetted

to the fridge door

~


& the baths too hot
it just makes things worse

i 

will 

never 

ply

your

trade 

again

photo by sendi gibran on Unsplash

FIRE STILL IN MY POCKET

watching the beasts 
on the retro rotunda

got jeans up to here
scarves down to there

  & 

i am in the cloud 

looking for silver linings

  &

find my blessings 

worn church stone smooth

still i am getting it done tho

head grindstone down

periscope covertly up

music box ballads on

fire there 

in my pocket

from ebay.co.uk

PICASA MADRIGALS, SHAMPOO / SPACE

PICASA MADRIGALS - RULE THE WORLD

GARDEN COUNTING

theres a gazillion birds
in the garden airspace

at least a gazillion
i counted them

and one big black cloud
whos
guilty
of
withholding
the rain i need

there two dozen contrails
made 
from
sterility conspiracy
and
unnatural vapour

and there two white feet
mine

theyre hobbit like & hoof like
changing & morphing before my gaze
and
i
look
away

( wide eyed & worried )

to
the black cat
sitting
just
right

the way they do
in
impossible perfect construction & peace

and
theres
a
moody
wasp

he looks like hes going insane

fly here fly there
and
repeat

its uncomfortable to see

hes deep in an indecision breakdown

and
i
wonder

if i should twat him
into an oozing squash

on
the
pebble
filled
patio
cement

pic by tegmin on imgur.com

FOR CONTRAST AND CONTEXT

( in a dept store cafe )

theres a woman
cackling over 
her grandchild
then
she
lists
items
in a standard xmas dinner

her family are on their phones

theres an old lady
barking
like an asthmatic dog
like an emphysema crow
at
a
flaking pastry

theres her daughter
on crutches
talking
slow
so slow
slow as illness

and quiet as a cloud

theres a silent man
nothing to eat
no tea cup and saucer
a shine of use
on his knees
on his arse
of
his
cheap black asda slacks

theres a man in a cap
eyes invisible
check shirt
tucked in
trousers high
checking out the seed stand 
for 
20 
minutes

before choosing nothing

~

i dont fit in here
thats why i need to be here

( says
  my
  ego )

i make the picture

i represent
the contrast and context

no
one
is
looking for

( says
  my
  ego
  sadly )

~

just another meat puppet

dancing 
strings
pulling
at his arm
at his hand
at his pen
scribing
words
like
spiders legs
in 
a 
small lined
spiral bound
scribble pad

in a stop and start coffee dream

from thompson-morgan.com

SPRING EVENING, FEAR ON THE FROZEN PATIO

World is almost POSING

like some movie monster
before the kill . . .

or

like
it
was
told
to 
think about what its done

like
its
a
tyrannical tyke ticked off / riot act read
and
sat on the lowest naughty step

or

like 
theres GUESTS coming soon
and
its
playing-up is just BALLS
  
and
its this long held every-breath
that
i
stand in / bare feet magnetic on the patio stone

a frozen scene / a weird kind of calm 
comforting ? not quite . . .

i might have walked into a painting
of
historys last crumbling cookie

and i go in
and i sleep some
and i know now
that
tomorrow holds ugly showbiz in high office
  
  Again / Duh
  
  but 
  MORE 
  so - dystopia spreading in salami slices

and
Worlds troubled soil
is
dry - uncrying and overmined

sink-holes and newspapers and the cloud
ready
to
soak
up
all
the
blood 

from www.ramseyrobinrye.com

CALL JUNO 101

out in the park
for air and space

a woman walks her dog
one lap
and leaves

one bench is all twisted metal strips
bent from use and fire

the other has no back

i sit on the one with no back
and smoke 
in 
the air
and space

a disheveled guy 
shapeless in torn blue 
shuffles up

asks for a fag paper

i got none i say
and
when he sits next to me
leans forward arms on his knees
i offer
him the
end of
my smoke - he takes it soundlessly

then
you busy ?
ha i say i look busy ?
he gestures at my camera
taking pictures of birds are you ?
ha i say anything really clouds mostly

more silence
he smokes the butt to death
i look up at clouds

presently he says whats this say ?
holding out a form
from inside his coat
that has hand-written 
in the top box-

    CALL JUNO 101

so thats what i say
and thats what he repeats
apparently happy with that

and after more silence 
i tell him to take it easy

he grunts
i walk off

pointing
my 
camera
at
the 
clouds

WANT TO GO HOME

work is endless
phone rings like a fire alarm
and
i
go
smoke
out by the ambulances
and
see
a
sun low as trees at just quarter to one

winter

busy

and of course i'd rather be at home
watching
the
low sun sink and burn from a garden recliner
home ground coffee in my hand
filing slow outdoorsy reports
till
the
grey fluff of cloud between the blues
and
above
the
rooftops
goes
pink
like the cotton wool
girls use to dab make up away in the evening
before
they
dress in childlike pyjamas
and fold their legs underneath them
to watch any tv
grey pink clouds
left
on
the floor
by the bathroom bin

UNUSED NIGHT

i am calm in a cloud of an unused night

i saw the dusk turn the streets monochrome and orange
i saw the moon light the foxes slender and strolling
and
i
saw
the solid doom of dark before the creeping lid of dawn

soon people will come
in cars and with dogs and rubbing the sleep from their eyes
talking with loud morning voices
bright and busy and ignorant of the still stages of night

i am calm in a cloud of an unused night
but
this white racket will soon expose and tire me
and wear me thin
thru
the
long
day