POETRY SERVICE & PLASTIC UG

 

most weekdays

in a corner
of the internet

is
a
poem

for you few

~

only snow

can pretend

to tame

the plastic ug of litter

& even that

not for long

SCARED ENOUGH PT3

they got us
scared enough

to flap plastic flags
in the destitution winds

at the yellow glare
of appropriation gold

under rain & grey
& a war plane display

for yet again

another king

THO MY MUG IS BROKEN

i look at the tree bark
wanting to see tree bark . . .

tho my mug is broken

my zen is still plastic 

is earworms & bad static discharge

is running dirty

   on western 

   body meds

~

i am looking at the tree bark

waiting to see the tree bark

in a muggy garden morning

vapour hanging still

DELIRIUM TAPAS VOL2

 fascists get in thru libertys abscess   
 those infection corridors               
 those abandoned offices                 

 of swing & spin & ghosts                

 function creep crawls                   
 on the real germs dismay                

 wet market fructose                     
 in everyones plastic trough             


 ~ 


 lost in the american stories   
 my fable edges                 
 burred & blurred               
 on the skerry pier             

 jutting atlantic wise          

 out across over there            

THE LAST WOMBLE

the last womble

collects buzzwords & cliche

on the universal common

his efforts are buried now

with the fast plastic

in a landfill potters field


~


his upcyclings been hijacked

gentrified in a brass hipster rain

he identifies as council worker

but cant get the ppe 

union representation or pension


~


put pennies

in his starbucks cup

hes in the pdsa doorway

waiting on a tetanus shot

& canine
high time
analgesics

from tanysrr.com

A DIAGRAM OF NEW HISTORY & OLD TOYS

we

are

a
backed-up
stack-up
of
sudden & creeping

butterflown events
in
the
fading meat world 
& 
the growing glass other

coincidental
or god blamed

drawn unrecognisable

in
times 

tumble weed

memory 
pans

&
google flattened
in the 
electric cumulus

~


the toys that i clutched

down there 
on the

hallway carpet hinterland

their
plastic detail
&

the 
skirting board

still now are 
lurid & lunging 
mescal real

simple details / simple time

face-close
eye-burn

for 
forever
ever

from ebay.co.uk

PICASA MADRIGALS, FOREST LUNG

OFF CUTS FROM THE SLUSH PILE

PLASTIC BY OSMOSIS

how
much
of 

our lunch and supper

our biobodies and breakfast

the fish
the sea
and
water table

is
stabbed
with
fragments
now

of the
very
same
plastic bic lighters

i
bought
by
the
dozen

on cross channel ferries
on hovercraft
and in 
heathrow terminal 3 ? 

from ec21.com

CONCRETE RUG

under the million jolly jostling waves

sit abandoned subs

nuclear belches ferment
inside iron bellies

old dreams foul hangover
swept under 
20 years 
of concrete rug

from themoscowtimes.com

WHAT EARTH SHALL
THE MEEK INHERIT ?

matter of time

before
godzilla
rises

from laminated seas

with
a
fukushima
roar

and stamps us like ants
into submission
and the stone age

from huffingtonpost.co.uk

BABY JOHANSEN AGAIN

OFFCUT POPS 2

with an
ambulance rug
the cop shields
THEM
from mutant swarms 
and flashbulbs

shields US
from
guilty eyes
faithless mistake

whats NOT in there
left for court sketchers
to pastel over

big house
solution
so often isnt

~

the rivers
WERE
the same and
always different

now-
crested
with
miniature
plastic

murky and agony

heave like oiled beach muscles
in
a
flash flood anniversary
petrol station bouquet

mercury trout
imbibed a
fukushima gene
that
put
the
rainbow out

from gennadysworld.blogspot.uk

HEARTPUMPS

are
you

dragging it out 
in a botox blank
of long lunches
&
lively lies

or hanging on 
for weds rollover lottery draw

pushing & pushing 
the wall away

~

are you

in
a
weird rush
to
bury your heartpumps 
  under
  that
  new
  laid
  plastic turf

your head down 
get it done & dusted

live - check
 die - check

get it done & dusted

eulogise me already
& scatter me
where i said

~

even polyester flowers fade 
on the whiteline laminate graves

&
our aftermath 
is personal kipple
suddenly anonymous

&
sluggishly dispersed
in
a
strange upbeat cleansing 
emotional
social 
chore

pic from ebay.co.uk

DOWNSIZE HUB

none of its new
but 
theres an arena escalation
in
the
construction dips
of
the
downsize afternoons
sun stained 
cracked plastic
hub 

from craftingup.com

LIKE A STONED BUTTERFLY

he 
left
his judgement & neuroses 
his paranoia & cirrhosis 
in a gladstone bag
with 
his phone & credit rating
in 
the only working 
train station locker
east 
of
constantinople 

and hes laughing now
laughing like
his hearts beating

and hes announcing love now
in awful latin 
all alone
to the ragged mountains
broken glass peaks

he was worn dull 
with rushed tai chi
and hr penetration

but now hes reaching for now
far from the
information
capitals

hes immersed in the composition
hes immersed in the oils
hes part of the technique
hes brush strokes & whirls
hes blown on the plastic winds

hes as naked & nothing as nature now 
and now hes letting now go again

flitting fickle & deathless

like
a
stoned butterfly

pic from serendipity-crafts.com

THEY DREAM OF DREAMS

we
wallow and whine
in
the
polythene mountains
of
our
empty
plenty

manufacturing 
a 
desolate sort of acceptance
streaming films on minimalism
on the main hd tv

waiting on 
another supermoon
to tease us 
from behind
britains
overcast
indigo felt

and those others
them on the tv appeals

them that smile wide eyed
at a hand-me-down overcoat

they dream
of having dreams

from matthewoldfield.photoshelter.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

FICTION POP 1 THEY CAME FROM OUTER SPACE

THE END OF THE KIPPLE RIVER

( box says-
 'carbon neutral delivery'

but
its
all
cardboard and cellophane

and
   a diesel engine roars away )

           my new
          whatever -

     a moose fader  
   a nano claw  
    a hub opus

 its  some  piece  of  plastic

   just  another  piece  of  plastic

    it did  excite me
  with  its potential

    until it flopped on the door mat
       in the brown envelope rain

         and now its          too here
        too  sane

      at the end of the kipple river
        its  need  is washed away

   i am  in a forced retreat
    wearing  a given stare 

    i  dont even  want to open it
          anymore

from business.nbcnews.com

DONE LOOKING

for all the 
            plastic bravado
        that
            breaks like toys
        the 
            sick note word play
        thats
            a phantasm  a mask
for all the
            dark fantasies
            from
            back
            in
            the
            drunken cliche day
        that
            cling to my primate spine  
for all the
            blister pack zen
        thats
            poppies  armistice  2min silence
            in
            the
            wifi
            whirl
for all the
            video game repetition
        that
            daily reset after download night
for all the 
            missed  missed  missed
            moments
            between the steel and glass
            and
for all the            
            tiny optisim
        that
            went vroooooooom
            on
            the
            rug of nothing 
for all the 
            therapy moments
        
        when i was  new  alive
        
            out
            with
            the
            spiders  
  
            silver webs  

            and amazing  flying  birds
        
    in the mad-ordered forest 
            of
            broken
            dawn
        when my pupils 

        shrank drug tiny

       when i was  new  alive
            amazed 
            at
            the
            flying  flying  birds

for all the 
           time
           tolerant saviours in mufti 
           spoke
           simple
           sense
          
       and i let
           the carrion
           float
           away
         down stream
           and
         looked north  looked up

for all that
i still cant see my own end . . .

its
always 
in the 
last place 
you look
            they say

so i 
am done 
looking
            for today

from outsideperception.wordpress.com