PUTTING ON A SHOW

gimme
a key change
that saddens & elates
&
gimme soft drugs to dream on
like a drone pedal sustain
&
i will mind-paint
interpretive dance & weird pop
in
a
gallery of caged paintings
by the victorian sea

~

artisans scarves 

is the theme
& 

in the sand
theyll be gold on fire
in the footprints
you will follow

WHAT IT WAS I DID

i wonder
what it was
i ( a slow dive / a pensive peacock ) 

did to time
to make time ( a real geek & goofball ) 

do whats its done to me

~

well thats peeled ego & old grapes

washing machine fluff 

too keen again

on the trouser weave

&

a sand grains fury with the rock face

ESTUARY BEACH POPS

rock the sand
into
the
old
heave ho

pleasure run-off
down the estuary string


~


tide signs
the 
stink
mud

with bait worm punctuation

naked 
causeway 
ellipsis . . . 

to kent

from worldwanderingkiwi.com

UNTIL THE HOURGLASS IS FLIPPED AGAIN

and
all
the
bad things
i taught myself

and
all
the
flat things
i said

are sand now
gone thru
the glasses neck

for the tide
to collect as is

~

( or leave behind

  to remind

  and season

  on this strange winter beach )

from wallpapers-xs.blogspot.com

I ATE SAND

   as 
    a
 kid
out on the 
   halfday closing
  dogshit  pavement

 i  would hide behind
  the  parked cars
 on our  dead end street

  in a blue and white

   supermarket tracksuit

  
 i would twist ankles on the kerb stones
   and  look for rainbows 
       in  the 
        spilled oil
  on the forecourts
     stony  cement
   
  we sheltered from the rain
    in an open garage on this forecourt
   silver jubilee rain  1977
  i was dressed as a cowboy
   and ate some sand
       from the floor in there 

 and  where ever the cement
  was cracked interestingly
   or the  tarmac melted
 into  torn topped waves
i thought it was slow earthquakes
     or lazy volcanoes
  coming up thru
       englands ground

 i hid like the bellisario heroes
        i saw on tv
   wishing i had black hair
        was called john
 and  had all the 
     panini stickers  in the world
   
  i hid  behind  granadas and cortinas
     with vinyl roofs
       hot to the touch
  and  behind an black opel 
    that seemed exotic then
  and  behind a white work van
    with  LANG written on the side
      always parked  
 in the  penny lane  lay-by
   where the flea dart bushes grew
 over the pink and yellow 
     patio slabs

  there was no sad afternoon sun
   or  school morning panic 
    down there
 where the tires rested on the blacktop
    
    and no one was looking for me
   so  i  kind of always won
    and 
      it 
     felt 
          very  
               safe

from aronline.co.uk

NATURES MOTHER GIRTH 1

it keeps her down
hides her

and we forget

the bricks
laid 
in
sand and patterns

the steel that rises up

walls
all the walls

our hutches of glass and pipe

the patchwork quilt
for
the
cars
to
follow

the huge and heavy buildings

keep her down
hides her

and we forget