HONEY ROASTED

& i do this here in the mornings
log in / clock in / report for duty
& trawl my notes
& my mind
& my memories 

& hiccupping intention

& the stumbling dance is on
in this early buffet 

of whimsy & effort

& needy blim of creation

till the washing machine
sings its electric finishing tune
& i get into the cheap cuts

of the buffering day
sliced thin but honey roasted

OVERHEARD IN MY NOTEBOOK

the whole Unfinished School thing

[he says 

 half on the nod

 in his retirement chair]

was an happenstance creation

& little to do with minimalism

but about running with the muse  

[he makes finger pistols

 aiming nowhere particular]

think of it as a tactical reload

& a deadly allergy to the baroque

~

ossuary
ossuary
meat ossuary

notebook on my buffed canvas knee

the colour the woods 

look at night
in the light 

of mad yellow flames

THE LAST PISSER ON THE LEFT

our creations misbehave

&
destruction shouts for itself

hey function creep

wear my shackles !

we are grout crumbling

in the last pisser on the left

harmony somewhere 

in the 

middle muddle & margins ?

ask buddha / ask the animals

dont ask me -
im barefoot in the dirt
burning paper poems

i folded into hats
in another bland dusk

photo by mango-tango monkey-pyjamas

A PLASTICS BOY

a son of oil
  &
a plastics boy

  hidden & sore -

acne in a patchy beard

~
 

  & 

time sleeps & time flies

when creation

  is afoot
  is alive

  ebow frisson in the stereo slide

photo by Heather Zabriskie on Unsplash

BUK RULES

in the submission rules
for a little mag
it said 

 ' no bukowski style

   im drinking
   im writing
   its great

   sort of stuff 
   thank you '

maybe i get what they mean
and i cant drink anymore anyway
but i hear a snobbish drift
and pleas for rhymes about daisies

those small eclusions
hold essentials markers
of 
truth
creation
escape

and 
the screaming
at the thin end of it all

that theyve never heard
and wouldnt even know
if it blew out their arseholes
during their broadsheet sunday brunch

by buk from poetryfoundation.org

FEEDING LIONS

how to put the day to sleep
when
youre
stretched
out
TENSE
on the cool dusk sheets
WIRED 

with
the knowledge of the Big Wrong
and
the
Escape of Tumbling Time ?

i feel
i've failed 
to fill
another waking cycle
with
Massive and Awesome Creation



i've let another day
back-up
like
fat in the drain

and
now i hide still and quiet
hoping
the
lions
wont find me
and
eat up
my
soft ambition

 

FROM BBC.CO.UK