DISASTERING

cannot
fully
look
upon

our wretched condition
& rolling disaster

without me disastering more

~

i consult my volatile slab
of magic & deception

for any countdown delay
or its possible illusion

in the elongated

gout of the world

SUCH IMMENSE PRESENCE

immediately 

as 

i wake in bed

theres led zeppelin
playing in my head

the soundtrack maybe

to my last lost dream

~

hangman hangman

swingin on the gallows pole

~

its 

  easy to forget
that 

  music is  i n v i s i b l e
cos 

  it has such immense presence

THE THINGS I CARRIED, A SCHOOL POP

in the pockets of my shorts

was
a plastic 

speedy gonzales

i chewed off 

a gifted key ring
&

a folded handkerchief

too big for me

i didnt like to use

&
an orphan mortice key
that i wanted to be magic
but knew it never would

OUTDOORS WITH THE BEES & FLEAS

 

i found
in the garden
a sarcastic rose

when i was 

only searching 

for magic

BINMEN MY BINMEN

steel shrieks in the sub dawn

hi vis trash fairies 
purge the plastic proof

of our consumer guilt

consumer guilt paused 

like smoke in a photo

of

a

parisian balcony night

~

sometimes i wave to them
if i am up & backlit
in the front window

but i am too old for that

& it dilutes the magic

like a trumpet

in the trees

~


i feel
a tangible absence / a lightness
tugging the empty bins back in

consumer guilt . . . gone ?

no - taken

to foreign beaches 

for brassic foraging 

a plastic bird in the hand

worth two in the toxic bush

SOULS ON WAX

recordings & headphones
take the afternoon away

gone musicians knew this

it why they put

their souls on wax

to ground me 

to lift me

with this the common miracle

with this the peoples magic

BUTTON DOWN POCKET OF HAND-ME-DOWN FLARES

when i was a small me
i read some books about a kid

with a special key & a magic cat

i might be recalling it wrong
i might not be telling it right

but i remember 

being compelled 

to attempt the same 

i acquired an orphan key 

to a long gone mortice lock

& i carried it inside 

a button-down pocket

of my hand-me-down flares

always worried i would lose it 

&

the only cat i knew

was a sack of alley scratch hisses

& 

the magic

is here now

in the rosy gem

of hinterland hindsight

photo - Edward B&W Fade from the Dagenham Archive

MAINLY GEOPOLITICAL BUT LOOKING FOR MAGIC

the disadjuster

uber-unmensched

whos hands are these . . . 

world
gone
2d

like a waldo / wally foldout

a quiet crisis
matrix-like
in
its
glitching

~

i take off my glasses

& there it all is

its impressionistic
with drunken clarity
& undeniably real

longshadow me longcasts
across the lawn & cat

& the shrill grunt
of a 
handbrake streetside
wedged 
itself
inside
a
crack in time

postman i thought
or
the stepsons 
who visit
across the road

~

& 
i 
travelled around the world 100 times
in
that
single smudge / one planck unit
of
afternoon sun

mainly geopolitical
but
looking for magic

from bl.uk/events

DREAM POP AFTER READING

1. THREE POMES


three pomes

hover before my sleeping eyes

fruit flies with cheeky grins
who 
wont
wont
just
wont settle

during nights half coma delirium
and
its
rotisserie chicken parade

of course 
they escape

or

of course
never
never
just
never were

~

but the day washed up this tube pop

on
the
back
of
boiled eggs

at 11 AMs low tide




2. CUL DE SAC


its a cul de sac people !

we are in a cul de sac

we are cul de sac people

dont fret
back up

this is nowhere 
we havent been 
before

break new ground
is all

break new ground

with respect for the tools
and 

the magic underfoot

from theramp.org

LOOKING UP

THE CHILDHOOD LANDS

i
remember
our
afternoon empire
of 
the park

an 
unfinished 
pot holed
shithole
of
blood
and
animal ignorance

our
ownership
sometimes
shattered
with
the
calamity of ambulance tears

its gates 
rusted open
then
one day gone

and another day
a great cement circle
was laid down the far end
for
no
reason
anyone
ever
knew

and there were places there
unzoned and feral

i would explore there
not allowed to be there
collecting stains

and i brim now
like a pot on a rolling boil
with an understanding
i cant put in words
for
the
me
of
me
then

always looking 
for famous five adventures
in the no mans land
of rubble 
carpet offcuts
and
burst paint tins

the adult throwaways
dirty landmarks
in
the
wild growth
of
pissy nettles
and
white
dog
shits

hoping for a wall
with a door
to
magic
and
mystery
and
escape

but even then i knew 
there was nothing like that
a n y w h e r e 

the biggest question
on the street was 
bikes ?
or on foot ?
and i wanted to be a spy
and i wanted to be a detective
and
hide behind cars
and
sneak thru alleys
so
i
did
alone and weird

kerb stones
concrete 
and tarmac
were my low down
world of worlds

and i would hang it out 
till the last second
before
rushing
breathless 
home 
for 
tea

spam and beans
and the pedos
on the bbc

from thetvroom.com

WAITING ON ANOTHER ELVIS DAWN

that cut grass smell
is
a
sip from yesterdays rainbow

and
next door
they
all
gone
out

taking their racket elsewhere

and all our doors and windows
are
open

and the peace is palpable

an elephant on the lawn

~

time was
summer nights
falling sun
felt like magic

or magics shadow

it was like watching a cats tail
sliding away
thru the door

and it left the hint of a spell
on the warm cement
to
drink
to

and
id
drink
to 
it

spilling my brain all over the black

waiting  
on
another
crystal dawn

that wasnt so much magic
as a reward

or red cross relief

and
there
was
elvis
on the radio

singing like he did
like he still does

elvis in 1973 from picmonkey.com

POEM IN A POEM

i read
always have

like a good little spod

secret torches at night
as a kid

bad eyes

allowed the lamp on now
as i am 44 

(43..? 45..? 8..?)

only when the white noise lets me
of course

i hide and dream and live and steal
in
books 

theyre the simplest magic

a surrender of the soul

and
when i pause and look up
its
with
surprise
that the room is exactly the same

tho somethings changed...
its me that changed

changed by books
the simplest magic

a surrender of the soul

in one of these pauses
when i was 
undrugged serene
all magical like

i wrote down -

dr 
says
my metabolism
is
in
hibernation
from
the
autumn beginnings
of
a
culture winter

and i wonder now what i meant

cos it doesnt sound good

and
what on earth
i been reading
that
simple magic day

surrendering my soul

photo by joel robison from brainpickings.org