ABOUT THE MORNING

when it comes

slouching

out of its dark hide

grey with cloud

& pale with glitter

& trojan with potential

i announce the morning

to

be

a 

Gungabean Morning

as i have no other thoughts

& nothing else to say

~

 

a collage of eyes

from magazine paper

sees

more

than

me

MAKING SPACE MAKING EYES

stupid time
stretching us out like it does

time knows it was 1989 once

but it stretched it out
& stretched it all thin

& made space

made eyes

made swiss cheese of it

so the horror
can get in

& 

the people 

can fall out

MIXED MEDS & PHILIP K DICK

it was a night of dreams

identity drama
in 

the 

dull theft of night

i blame mixed meds
&
the 

philip k dick stories

that i absorb
more thru osmosis
than normal reading

he would approve

~

dreamed i was
squat & stocky
in boxy work clothes
of dusty prison blue
with a flat pan of face
all underground pale
in the morning mirror
eyes there 

the colour of sickly chocolate
taking it all in again

resigned & resilient

a short black fringe

straight & clumped & default
with solid white roots
showing underneath
when the train wind blew
& the black hair rose

like a rigid wing
on the commuter platform
among many heavy stares

SIX GOGGLE EYES

 

GARDEN REPORT BLAND VICTORY

& over the back fence
is a deep & wild un-mowed lawn
grown up around the swings & toys

i am reminded of apocalypse films

it looks like jaywick sands

~

our cats in there

hes looking up at me
his eyes say -

you got nothing better than this

only your food

i say

only your food 

it is a bland victory

THE RHYME OF THE ANCIENT MARINADE, AN OFF-CUT POP

well theres that 

& the laminated collage of eyes

he sees there 

  looking 

    looking

      LOOKING

where they said the tunnel & light should be

land ho ?

he wonders

anciently marinated

in

sea salt & grimwald 

AN ANALOGY STRETCH, DREAM STEALER

to doggy paddle 

in baby riptides 

under a Munch oil sun

to tread water 

at the reefs end

below O Keefe clouds

to splash & thrash

in the harbour mouth  

apollos polaroid moon above

between the sinking & scuppering

  you 

     call 

         your

             sleep

~

& pushing the analogys stretch

   & its plastic elastic limit

      its the

m i d n i g h t  s a l v a g e  r i g h t s 

         that should concern you

FM DUST

my heads an fm station
all the hundred hours

orphan baselines & exiled hooks

& i breath in fruitbowl orange 
& breath out the darkside greys

but 
the dark comes out as dust 

& it gets back in
gets back in my eyes

a phantom coda
riding destiny thermals

from dreamstime.com

AUTO POPS & STREET OBSERVATION

wallow in your time

do not avert your eyes

sea rises
in
recompense
for the
auto fish


~


&
up
the
road

at no 8

they always leave 
the front door open
when
its
time
to
argue & yell & swear

hear them from my back lawn
when im counting daisies


~


& 
the garden
is like a 
story book gypsy garden

where the story book gypsy 
has gone & died
under his own blue sky

&
no one came
&
no one knew

but i see it
see it in the dust
see it in the dirt
see it in this new flu

OFFCUT POPS 2

with an
ambulance rug
the cop shields
THEM
from mutant swarms 
and flashbulbs

shields US
from
guilty eyes
faithless mistake

whats NOT in there
left for court sketchers
to pastel over

big house
solution
so often isnt

~

the rivers
WERE
the same and
always different

now-
crested
with
miniature
plastic

murky and agony

heave like oiled beach muscles
in
a
flash flood anniversary
petrol station bouquet

mercury trout
imbibed a
fukushima gene
that
put
the
rainbow out

from gennadysworld.blogspot.uk

AND WHERE IS BRIAN NOW

i wish i was like you

said poor hapless brian
always weed high
&
gently paranoid

nothing gets to you

~

now me -

i 
was 

  st gg r d
    a  e e

 un - - - tethered

  discovered

pleased to be noticed
      but
angry to be voiced
      i
   became
  suddenly
   trapped 
inside his articulation

~

i remember we were smoking
out in the service road night
i remember some horrible light 

coming ON 

inside 
    of 
    me

i remember i faced the wall
i remember i hid my face
  
   &
  like
   a
Teflon Dick
  
   i
buried
  its
warning 
  glow
   d
   e
   e
   e
   e
   p

~

now everyone -

theyre
broken 
busted
flytipped
somehow
someway
on the sofas and sidements
of the unsure foreshore

or will be
if not yet

& my eyes leave the door open
& i prak-tiss rite-ting
my
insides
down
free from disguise

wondering where is brian now 

under satellite television skies



 

from youtube

ACID SHOCK OF MORTAL CALENDAR

if you lose rhythm

look for it

its behind the hangovers

behind the never-was

behind the to-do list of not-right-now

thats long as all your arms

and be careful where your eyes slide

find a gentle shrub

with a bird on

with no appointments looming

no doorbell to blast

or little beetles 

busy on the impossible leaves

ignorant of panama 

and the tabloid scream

so careful where your eyes slide

into that glass universe

of endless dark materials

you

can

be

shaken shook smashed

like by finding out for example

just for example 

that

Home Alone was released 

closer to the Moon Landing 

than to today

and youd throw up

in your mouth a little

and

think

but wait !

thats the rhythm 

right there

in the acid shock

of the

mortal calendar

and again youre the bungalow man

in bungalow land

you dont know where the bungalow ends

and

the

man

began

 

and ok

you think

ok

thats pissed me off enough

that i can do another day

from nydailynews.com

NEWS IS A BLACK DOG HUMPING MY LEG

   8.30 AM
 the cat pads across the quilt
   he puts a paw of claws
 gently into my cheek
  like its my  ON  button

 tick tock its injection o clock

       i say 
     i'm on it fella 
  it comes out as a morning growl
   he is patient
  he is used to waiting  for me 
      as i slowly 
     fall out 
    of my dreams

  i fold myself out the bed
 like a collapsing deckchair 
    i walk to the kitchen
  my legs like dry wood

     i puncture his scruff 
 with a needle again
      he is very good
     he is completely still
 and in the smudge of sun on the lino
  he is a wonderful black-brown today

      i realise he is part of me
       those kitten eyes at 17
          his neat paws
    part of our life and day

 i manage to brew a coffee
     i manage to check the news . . . 

 . . . i am back under the quilt
    wondering why the govt this
      and why the govt that
       and why i even looked
     and what did i exactly expect to find
            in the 
           phone screen
         poptart 
           headlines ?

    the black-brown cat
  has had a drink of filtered water
   had eaten his renal biscuits
       is padding up the quilt
        curling into a circle
    resting his back and warmth
     against the pain in my hips

 i rest a hand on his miniature shoulders

        i still find it a wonder
    that this little naked animal
       likes me so much
      
         soon he is snoring
  like apnea like asthma like a tractor
    no news needed

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

FOUR POPS

we 
live 
like a row of terraces

invisiby different
till you go inside

look each other in the eye

and
dont
lie

~

its unusual

its night

i am awake inside the opiates
and
i
am
full
of
love

for you all

~

i write without drink

no
one
has
ever
done
a harder thing

ever

~

the footlights now
are
made
of
a
nuclear glow

the actors
confused & desperate
can
only
carry
on

from dudeiwantthat.com

CAT THINKS

he is thinking-
what
kind
of
cat
is
that ?
tail-less / huge / hairless
like all the rest 
but
theres something anomalous here . . .

i can see all this in his eyes 

from www.ajsgem.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

SELF PORTRAIT

ash flakes onto the desk like dirty snow from days first smoke
lit and pulled deep
he blows it away to collect and become dust
and
coffee steams out the round cup like ghosts of ground beans 
and field labour
from 
the 
first 
pot

he rubs sleep from tired eyes

he'll do this all day

he squints eyes tight shut fingers still over keys
trying
to
remember
the
words
he thought on waking
or just
from seconds ago

them he rattles them out/eyes unfocused - 
or something close anyways
and of course they seem weak and his face shows displeasure

its quiet - this effort day task one
a challenge on waking
a discipline in the unwashed dressing gown 
dry night sweat itching
a determination born of coldfire breakdowns 
and drunken wasted time

he SAYS something and launches its small creation
into 
electronic ether

the cat passes by - sits back-to-him on the wide window sill
watching
the
silent street and birds in the red berry bush

he sips coffee - opens new tabs - closes new tabs
checks the time

sometimes i control his hands

sometimes

from Hospice Matters wordpress