FRUIT & SOUL

 

i
am
trying here

for a full heart offload
with crisp stereo imaging

& a lengthy warm decay

cant shoehorn that
into some
dusty old pentameter

without

killing off

its gnarly fruit & soul

ABOUT WRITERS RESIN

i sweated 

raw plasma

writing that

thick like syrup 

like spruce sap

hefty globules of it

my glucose of the soul

~

anyone else 

need to change

their writing shirt

when the morning writing is done ?

SKY POP No 118

the endless & uncracked cloud

over me

the window

& home

is a grey lid
an un-popped seal

keeping the spring boxfresh

in januarys 

infinite
cul de sac 

of the soul

THREE HAIKU POPLINGS

the burning men

passed out waiting on the rain

say their robert paulsons

~

tv eats the time

the garden gives you back

patio & coffee


~


trying to art is all

pennies on the railway track

misfires of the soul

AIR TRAVEL OFF-CUT POPS

on a plane
it reminds me of being on a plane

& nothing else

~

i am between time
citizen of the sky
temporal & dulled

right documents / exported soul

~

with the white noise

& 

the death of expectation

well i become 

a cipher greeting dusk 

meat pondering the dawn

~

no movie any good
pills essential
nicotine in any other forms . . .

& sometimes snuff had to do

that went down well with the stewards

SOULS ON WAX

recordings & headphones
take the afternoon away

gone musicians knew this

it why they put

their souls on wax

to ground me 

to lift me

with this the common miracle

with this the peoples magic

LONG PORK BOOTS

theres a thinking machine 

atop my meatstack

i say machine 

could be sickness 

or a deepfake hoax

maybe a burroughs virus

dominating my animal twitch

& theres cotton covered long pork
hanging there underneath my soul

randomly unresponsive
& pendular

making up its own rules
with boots on

SOUL BUFFET

im a conduit

ailing - theres gaps

light gets thru

~

thru the unoffical bypasses

from the heavy metal fatigue

you
find
it
here

ether filtered

like cosmic volvic & meat evian

a flat platter from

my fragmented soul buffet

lets meat from ny.eater.com

PASSENGER SEAT OBSERVATIONS REDUX

theres dog walkers

on

the

ambient soul

of

the

grassy knoll

holding

plastic bags of shit

& its golden crown

of pasty crumbs

is sideways sunlit

soft autumn low

~

the

jewellers cat

on

grocers corner

is

sat dead central

on

the

bubblegum pavement

a radiating beacon of nevermind

in

the

high streets

fallen

shutter

ensemble

~

look

how

shoppers break around his bow

their rushed meat

plastic-bag stumbling

in

his

imagined wake

from smallbusiness.com.uk

OBSERVATION FROM A PARKED CAR

how
does
that
fat man

shave those rolls
on the back
of his head ?

hello bulldog clips
&
a three mirror set up

hello razor burn
& sweat dense lint

wife tut-huffs
in the doorway


~


beautiful white dog

got everyone looking

sleek & whip alert

he is nature juxtaposed

a stock image

there on the high streets
chilled 
shutter
ensemble


~


the 
eternal 
jewellers
has shut down

you name it
they had it
with a clock on

bookies never close



~


giant pot 
tree stub
on a rainbow bed
thats moribund

reaches

kinda 
reluctant

for a greyed out sun


~


theres 
dog walkers
carrying shit
on
the
grassy knoll

theres
the 
jewellers cat

radiating nevermind
& soul

from flickriver.com

WORLD MOTEL

his paper soul
his carbon self
his dna id
his grand right turn

hangs by fingertips
from
the
window ledge
of
the
world motel

he is at full stretch 
in the machine wind

unsure 
it the fall is Freedom
or just what They want

~

he will stay there
he decides
for another
18 yrs

18 yrs at full stretch
in the machine wind

& tweets as much
blinking bluetooth
into his web lens

subscribing again
for drone care
retro denim
call out
dry clean
& 
eventual inevitable
herdfund enterprise
body consumption

from businessinsider.com

GOODBYE DINOSAUR

there you go old man
i said

i had reset
his spare room
tv input
to antenna
so he could
watch football
in there
safe away
from his
dead wifes
bedroom living room kitchen memories

her soul has gone he said
but her spirits still here

thats nonsense old man
i thought

goodbye dinosaur

pic from aframe.com

DOORS

GET IN THE BACK OF THE VAN

i watched Bez
protesting
placed
in a police van

officer hand on his bucket hat head

slamming the back doors  
like a movie 

i didnt realise who he was

till later

when
he
was
doing
the
bicycle monkey dance
with his maracas 
on the reunion stage

and the police
were
breathing in
free
reefer

behind me


COMBINATIONS RESET
TO A BAND
OF MONOCHROME ZEROES

when the door is opened
to honest-to-death admission

its like a spring shower
and i feel
clean as a brook

and
when
hot lake
meets
hot lake

then the skeleton cupboards
all 
misplace 
their 
keys


HEADSPACE DOORS

and theres like a door opening
in your headspace

when
the
soul
of
a
poem 
appears formed
like
the
ghost
of a dead relative
after
a
of
cup
of
tea

till waking or distraction
renders
it
just a single heart over your head

like in a Tex Avery cartoon

with
one
beat
left

'withnail & i' from imoviequotes.com

SMOKE POPS

1.

  cigarettes 
  fill
 an existential hole
       in
      the
   madness damn

   defiance 
  in the face
    of the 
 fist of the world

  and
  a
victims journey
   to 
 heavens core


2.

  fags are food 
 for soul and mind

   and 
   theyre death
      
      to
    keep
     their
  poetry
  perfect
    
 and complete


3.

theres this young guy
puffed up and prowling
hood up  joggers hanging down  pants out

sucking on a fag in his fist
like wannabe hardnuts do
outside the vape lounge
used
to
be
a
godfreys  where i bought my camera 
hood down  trousers up  pants in

a whole nother world away


4.

  in
 the
morning

 smoke comes out

  and 
   i 
rise like a common phoenix

   and
 perch

touching up the wind


5.

  the
 smell
  of
   match sulphur
 on the night air

  is
 forever 
   a
midwinter
bottleshop
corner

change in my pocket
  and the
 day on the run

from weheartit.com

CROSSROADS DENIED

whatever
i
write
and
file
under the sun

night still comes
when
my
disguise
is
tired

and
calls my soul contraband

from trueblueser.wordpress.com

4th ANNIVERSARY GUEST BLOGGER 3 - RON HECKERT

The U.S.S. Ego Beagle 

Meets Mephistopheles' Dog Rock

by
Ron Heckert

 
from www.suggestkeyword.com 

Somewhere far on down the line
he discovered he was a mostly happy guy
…if he didn't bother to focus
Just skip the fine print
AND SIGN

And should it bother him
That not many care
About his words
His voice
His thoughts?
But really
Honestly
It did not
He did not give a fuck
Well
Not a BIG fuck
Not a REALLY BIG fuck
Not two hefty folks fucking fucks
Sweaty fucks
funky fucks
Fuck
fucka
fucka
fucks
NO.
NO!
That's just Tourette's

His voice is now curdled
Like sour milk
Mixed with alcohol and blood
And drank by drunkards
and Visigoths who wonder how
They got suckered into this mess
This Maasai tribal
Blood drinking mess
This African shambles
Woozy and unclear
Threatened by spear point
To speak a language
Long abandoned
too foreign
slurred vowels mixed
with consonants and blood wine
unclear and disgusting
Damn Visigoths
Chicken shit bitches

So here it all is
Suddenly stuffed
Unexpectedly
into an incorrect
bad math problem
known as the shit poem
Full of obscenities
Vile like
Indifferent
To mediocre opinions
Of what it should
And should not be
Are you a witch doctor
Or a televangelist?
Do I win three wishes?

Or did you just trick my soul away?

He's really quite an angry onion underneath
Isn't he?

 

 from usualsuspex.deviantart.com