15 YEARS OF BLOGGING POEMS

i know 

my reports

are hit & miss

like the coat on coat off
         coat on coat off
         coat on coat off
         english weather roulette

but 

this 

is 

a self employed position 

& 

i make my own hours 

&

the targets are fluid 

& 

the quality control watchdog 

is stretched out thinking 

nothing & nonsense

across the daytime bed

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

SANDWICH FOR THE WIN

the chaos

the mindbend chaos

of 

a 

normal & nothing morning

its layers 

undo me

till brunch

FOR THE SIMPLIFIED VIEW

when i wake up sometimes
its like i am a husk

a nothing who knows nothing
empty / nowhere / nada

& then its like
i arrive into myself
like i am 

a pdf 

to open

& as i fill up 

i do buffer some

& i search my meat browser
for the button to click on

for the simplified view

MAGIC IN THE DREAMLANDS

too much of nothing
makes a man a liar
sang bob dylan

& i think he is on to something
cos yesterday

hollywood called 

my hotline again

& begged for me 

to come work my magic

in the dreamlands

asap & pronto

gulfstream prepped

wheels up in sixty

i flew a gulfstream

into orbit once

 

after id trained 

seal team six

in gold standard krav maga

FRAG 33

& anyway when the music comes on
the tub thumpers & a chord change
then i know my heart beats too

& i write a something
an effort anything
a deliberate nothing

for therapy & purpose
& the corduroy blues

PROP SATCHEL CLEARLY EMPTY

he wears four maybe five layers
& maybe a cap 

maybe a loose scarf

she wears one layer
& if a cardigan 

then its made of nothing

in the hollywood film tvs

where the funerals

are always autumntime

the rusty leaves blown 

under perennial trees

THE WAY THIS IS GOING PT 4 ( OR TYPOS *)

the way this is going
is 

all my posey will start with
yes
& end with
yes
& maybe r i p too

& in between 

n o t h i n g 

but white space

oar tiepoes*

~

until then 

a gone thing

that still holds a sting -

yes

field roaming 

in englands 

rambling footpath web
fucked on skunk 

& hysterical at bugs

r i p

yes

THE TARGET & THE TARGET MISSED

writing
if it works out right

well
its like a mirror

a mirror with balls


~


i hear cars in the distance
&
i see the birds on the wing

i hear the diesel 
running the post van
& 
the day pigeons sing

im on the daybed
doing nothing -
my thing

STUFFING THE VOID

this poem
can be 
for / about / at / up

anything . . .

scripted weeping
top 5 stolen foods
best looking teens
the poor whales
rude cities
unclaimed jackpots
bird strike costs
bodies found in a belfast home
the poor poor whales

& thats just half 
of page 2 
in an old newspaper

i added whales twice
its my poem
& they deserve better

my point is
empty freedoms gutless balls
make a mess
like this is

change the filter out
lock shit down
f o c u s

back to 
kung fu
in a
phone box

my own
open g

from tresgatos.net

FADE OUT WITH BACKWARD STEPS

pub closing
put me out 
up the peasants hill
in the 
estuary nights 
floating satanic grey

i - shortcut fuckwit
embraced
weeknight
marshside
subventure

wet got in my socks
& work in 6 hours
one thousand miles away

~

cattle 
in the 
soft walls
of 
heavy marsh mist

elephant shadows
contrived 
as the sea

they fade out with backward steps

~

i look for Nothing
maybe Somethings there

war residue 
pillboxes
squat stoic
&
fade out with backward steps

ghost farmers late night
heifer hunt tractor lights
head east
in an
up & down 
smear smudge 
mission jag

~

i am 
in a 
bathroom bin
cottonwool ball

boots
a
memory

knee down 
all gone

faded out
with
each
backward step

now 
all directions 
the same

from commons.wikimedia.org

WEDNESDAY POPS AGAIN

ONION GRASS

the wind
is a shout

an order
that moves trees

a base communique
from banished babel

i stand 
in the
dead apples
and
onion grass

earthed
on the lawn



ANOTHER POSTCARD FROM BRITAIN

sos sos sos

nationalist pathogen
deliberately released

and tho sunlight
has got to the
smoke and mirrors

it 
doesnt 
seem 
to 
matter



SAYS NOTHING TO ME

outside the window
the day throws
the air about

its a half-arsed tantrum

inconsistent
irritating me

the uniform grey sky
says nothing to me

nothing

like listening 
to late period radiohead
under cold water

from thefatangelsings.com

PICASA MADRIGALS - RULE THE WORLD

THE THOUGHT OF A CLOUD ACROSS THE SUN

theres two states-

the ok oblivion bubble

chat
you know
tv

youre on the case
and everything
is in its box

a comfortable surrender
where everything
matches up
just enough

to sit still and look at the lawn

or-

existential
planet dying
hyper awareness
anxiety jag

curious cackling angles flushed out
and
  nothing 
    is nothing 
      is nothing...

and between-

a cotton thread wriggling
like
happenstance
in
the
wind

the thought of a cloud
across the sun

from lookingtothesky.com

GUEST POST - NOTHING NEARLY SOMETHING BY SALEM THE CAT

"nothing,

nothing,

SOMETHING ?

something . . ?

no . . . nothing."

IN COMFORT / MENTAL HEALTH

1. IN COMFORT

2. MENTAL HEALTH

OVERTHOUGHT

and its hard
isnt it ?

ruling this avatar all day

we walk into the nothing
that used to be a future

and there we build
or we break
one pointless way or another

until the planet
it comes round again
and
we
stretch out

finished 

and fall into a mad sleep
with no say on the matter

and there we give away control
protected
by

old brick and metal tricks
habit and mutual agreement

overrated
on the 
cheap sheets

underused and overcharged

from onlinescamwebsites.com

RIDE

its a psychotic ride

ordinary murder

in the bushcraft vacuum

and theres

amazing views

amazing views

on

this

death trip

thru

natures indifferent glance

and

out cements hard backside

and the night is the arse of the day

if the day is a payday loan

deep in the plastic heart

of neon darkness

its

the most naked

that

wear

the most expensive

under

a sun made from bubble wrap

in the bingo ballroom

and the old gods 

gave way to nothing

to our nothing

at all

and we all shout

death is for losers

knocking on that very door

pic from bbc.co.uk

ME AS A CHILD

do you want to try this ?
you might like it ?

  no

do you want to go 
to your classmates party ?

  no

have a friend over ?

  no

what do you want to do
for your birthday ?

  nothing

what do you want to be
when you grow up ?

  stuntman

show nan your new shoes ?

  grrrrrr

  and
  i 
  would 
  hide 
inside 
the laurel tree
in
homemade camo trousers
and
pretend
i
was
a
spy

QUIT ODE

when i quit
the nights were nothing
and it was quiet
and
sounded
like 
the 
world had died

the silence filled everything
and
i sat in it
like
a bath chair

after eternity
the nothing and the silence 
became 
a something and a murmur

barely there

like
growing
eucalyptus
leaves

from galleryhip.com