SHIPS OF WATER

built of water
they sail on air

a soft armada
blue miles away

colour of cotton
out a bathroom bin

transmitting mystery
with somewhere else to be

CAFE RADIO POPS

how do i appear

to those i watch ?
                   mystery

flowers 
for
balance

~

on the radio

a classic turns seamlessly

into
urgent 
roofs

~

sale
the jam
sofas

im hearing my mass fill out 

its space in the world

pic from adsoftheworld.com

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