SOUVENIR RAM & NASCENT LDR

it takes so long

so far round the sun

to realise the old life is gone

~

& you tell its stories
in the lang syne forest
where memories camp

with souvenir RAM
in the sage shadow
of the khaki mist

~

& acceptance - 

well it feels traitorous  

like trading 

a last day with an old dog

in the park with his ball

for a nascent LDR

with the outer rim

RETIRED GODS, A MOON WALLPAPER POP

 on the paved & indentured
    forest floors
         of 

    steel & glass
        we 

    fight ourselves

   to death & back

    with devil toys

   from the fire sale
         of 

      retired gods

    eager to boost

     their 

  diminishing  

    pension

        in their

      knee rug

        gin cafe

       twilight days

TV NOIR-KUS x 2

1.


forest torches paint 

a monochrome underworld

moss on roots / wet rocks




2.

no phone signal / duh

in the forests bone cave damp

gone thumb root aches

PICASA MADRIGALS, FOREST LUNG

GLITTER BOMBS ONLY

forest 
calls
me

cabin 
it says
air and snow

cabin calls me

build me 
it says

tomorrow
today
in the rain

be like the unabomber
it says

but 
more
acceptably 
sane

pic from pinterest

HOME TOWN POPS

1. SEA CHEST

gran had her ghost story

her apparition
at the end of the bed

a woman
hovering
on
grandpas sea chest

she
only
aired
it
once or twice

and i was sceptical
cos me id talk about it all the time

and anyway 
i was more interested
in the sea chest

in my childs mind
there was d day in there
dunkirk
u boats
sharks off the n african coast

and a liberated pistol
i could smuggle home




2. SMALL TOWN

small town
shut cinema
was pool
is now bingo

evacuated farm buildings
sit in the scraps

the waterworks so thoroughly vandalised
they
shut
them
down

conrad lived here for 20 minutes
pepys hung out in the worlds end
revolting peasants
lit the marsh beacons

the queen mother
came to visit all the oil
shook my pas hand

and the school fire
well the police asked me about that
art class 1985
when i was drawing a man
with flames for a beard

still theres forest

silent woods
rolling uphill

you could be an animal there

and if you squint
from up top
you can see
londons jigsaw skyline

like a grey 
5B smudge

pocked with fragmented pencil lead



3. CATS

we saw five cats
just out walking 
round the crescent
under a 5pm drama sky

we said hi to one
rubbed his neck
he sat on the kerbstone
where old uncle bulgaria 
used to potter
in his steptoe yard

one was in a bungalow window
next door to where 
that tv lady grew up
she added a 'van' to her common name
and 
left 
for the green rooms 
and the silver lights

he watched us like a border guard

one played in a cardboard mountain
left over from flatpacks
piled out by the wheelie bins

one was spread out on front garden cement
like he fell out the sky
landed by plants looked like froth
and a window dog
behind him 
was barking in double glazed silence

another one strolled by
like some victorian 
perambulating 
taking the air
before aperitifs

and
back home
theres ours

still on the same pillow
no intention of moving
till
his
food and shit and shot 8.30 pm

and i thought 
where were the people
in this fuckburg town?

can hear them plenty enough at night 
thats for sure

sounds like the monaco F1
or the isle of wight TT
sometimes

its oxford freaking circus out there
when 
we
are 
not looking

SOE pistol, welrod, from ww2nation.com

NATURES MOTHER GIRTH 2

TOWN

its good to get out there

smell the air and the chip oil
of the
small town
high street
black top

hear the flubflub of hatchback tires
hurry
over
the
london southend rails

its good to get out

out from the painted walls

out where
the
forest
is
a 
looming black backdrop
for sundays
and dogs

weekday invisible


FOREST

a green dressed hinterland
a dark pagan outline
climbing
behind
farms scraped brown sea
where the raggedy ends of town
peter
out
in
old cement and empty wooden halls
and
a rusted gate shut with rope 
has lost its fence
in a twisted barbed wire puzzle

and
the
dry and solid girth of earth
and
the
soil and fat turns of roots
are
living
soul
and
jazz

TRILOGY POPTARTS

ESTRANGED DIARY

i 
write
partitioned storm walls
against
death
&
the
void

estranged diary scratches 
on a caveman wall

&
i write without drink 

no
man
has ever done
a
harder thing



PRESSURE

naughty world i say

why
do
i
feel
like it must be me
who
makes
you
behave ?

UN-TECH WOODLAND

theres 
electric light
polished glass
towering steel

spacemen in spacepods
orbit
doing spacethings

&
i
dream of a forest
         a campfire

to
sit
by - on the nod

     till
     a
     dew wet dawn

MUSIC PLEASE

music please
forest mother
i
called out
to
a
peach friend

almost purple frantic
in
diamond silence
and
sweet recall

SICK BRAIN GO-SLOW POPS

1.

  i wallow in a hot bath
  i dont remember running
and
a
coffee
sits
  long cooled and forgotten 
on
top
of
todays
  to-do list


2.

the 
day 
paints stains on my clothes

  coffee 
  ash 
  miscellaneous 

they
stick
the hours together 
 
  i
  miss some out


3.

if i must
i would die
on
a
sunny
day
  
  in some animal meadow 
  of trembling grass
  or 
  in forest hinterland 
  of broken sun and english magic

but
only
if
i
must 

 from fauna-flora.org

SOFT POEMS DONT SCRATCH THE DIAMOND WORLD

it a hard world to write down

hysterical
and
electric - all gems buried 
under
glass peoples white noise

if i cant throw all the switches
to OFF
or RESET
or NO
or STOP
or
at least PAUSE indefinitely
to
give
me
time to go live in the green brown forest
and
THINK it into sense
in
the
quiet
of
ordinary dirty chaos
 
then
better 
to lay out a big canvas
of plucked teddy bear eyes 
crying frozen sequin tears
and
glued toy money with crinkle cut edges
like xmas decorations
and
sprayed generic slogans in metallic car shades
all
framed
with
stolen
asda underwear
from
the stinking bins of the poor

it could be brilliant

it really could be brilliant

but
then
everyone
would 
be 
looking

and thats never good

from newfunnypictures.com