NOTEBOOK ON MY KNEE

i write OLD
five times
in the notebook
on my knee

& then TIME
seven times
with this pen
that the nibs
gone all feathery

& next is war
& i write that like a whisper
like this would make
all the tanks & planes
turn into whispers too

& last BOLLOX
eight times
one for each season of the year

OFFCUT POSEY No 32

now i am the man 

out in the garden
whos waving at all 

the planes sliding by

there they scratch pale stripes

in the stonewash sky

that grow - undulate

till it looks like 

fine beach sand looks

after the tides 

~

all the city airport

pilots know me 

i reckon / by now

& they radio each other

'hes got the blue hat on today, over'

or something like that

PICASA MADRIGALS, GOD IS PLANES

gods chewed nails

scratch the sky

like he

wants

back in 

we say its planes

MUSIC POPS

1.

old 
record
spins spins spins
on
the 
player

i watch it
with a cup of tea

and a smile

needle goes up and down
in
the
round landscape of cliffs

a 
calming 
meditation 
in 
movement


2.

the 
45
is
a
wax photo of motor city hearts 
      
a 
blueprint blacktop
of
tar and gravel

an 
inevitable powerful chug
like 
a 
killer laying waiting
or
a
coup in the night rain

that
rings 
true
bells
with 
my 
dna
my
heartpump
and 
my A13 diversions 

from www.45cat.com

SKY AND MEMORIES AND LAWN

from aceterrier.com

  

  a
plane out of city airport
racks
up
a
giant drug line
across
the
dusty blue - i can taste the medicine tang
             in
             the
             back of my throat

cotton-fluff like the good stuff
       from 
       southend jackie chan 
       on
       a
       199? 
       saturday night kitchen counter

  beck and mercury rev 
  on the player

  the 
plane shouts out 
science and speed - always a marvel to me
                    looking 
                    up
                    and
                    up 

the lawn creeping over my boots
and
the 
clouds
falling into rainbows

from telegraph.co.uk

TWOFER POP

1.

planes
leave
chalk
on
the
blueboard
of
the
sky


2.

old jeans
  its
  sad
  to see you 
  in the bin

worn thru 
  in 
  an 
  intimate
  place

old jeans goodbye

from icons.mysitemyway.com

SCREENSAVER

the sky is an
endless
and
ripped
picture
of birds and clouds and planes
tacked
over
our Truman hubris hanging heads
like
a
screen saver
to
keep
the
fraud

from burning thru

from tboake.com

NAKED WASTELAND BLOOMS

the garden is noisy with birds 
softly rattling their news
and
the metal thrash of mile high short haul planes
heading into city airport
is
only
a
drone hum
down here

i
sit here for dead-blank timeless hours
still as a burnt-out car
gently buffeted / cleaned / awoken
by
the
noisy quiet 

( my naked wasteland is full of blooms today )

a
chewing roar throttles in - a circular saw grinding roof timber
is
reduced to a soothing balm
by
my
armour
of
hedge and trees

maybe i'll sit here till i die

my
last
cigarette
rolling smoke
up round the brim of my hat
up
up
to
the
vapour trails
pointing to city airport

battle of the bulge vapour trails from library.umkc.edu

FLY

leave a country for another
so
easy

climb into a machine that shoots itself
into
the
high cold black
for
small cool dinners and microwave hot towels

fall down into a sea scape of orange glitter
and
climb out into a still quiet world
a
shining
sterile
labyrinth
of teleported bags
and 
show another machine
a
likeness
of
your
face

no one says OI! or WOOHOO!
or
shakes your hand 
or
even 
taps you on the shoulder

in recognition of this feat

at
all