ABOUT THE WINDOW

the godlight of spring sun
finds the windowsill plants

& paints there 

laser-like outlines

of blue & gold & white & yellow

around the points of leaves

& the swoop of stems

& the wings of petals 

& up the plumb of pots

& its life & glee & art

& the reason & an answer
& it  g l o w s

like heaven glows

in books & stories & tv 

DREAMFLUB & FRAGPOPS

i dreamed

we buy a red balloon together
& we let it go together

up & away & small 

into the sky & morning

of central parks
new bloom spring

~

well

always

i

am
looking for
a name for it

for whats lost
to reclaim it
whatever it was

POLO MINT HOLE

in the gloam of undelivered winter

i pin mad hope
on the accruing spring lands

it is impossible pressure
i know
for only a season to shoulder

but the emptied airs all dead

& in need of natures basting

& the hope is in the hope of it

like a polo mint hole

if the hope is anywhere

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

SOFT FIST SCHEDULE

& winters
iron back
is broken
by
the
soft fist schedule
of
springs bulbs & buds

~

a double daffodil
much more yellow
than its ivory fellows
is alone in facing
to the east

SOME BACKSTEP OBSERVATIONS

in the almost 

almost 

spring-fresh air

crows call 

intelligent & coded instruction

from the tv lines

& heavy leaves clog in the grate

~

the cement is darker  

like its been coloured in

& the chairs drip
drip drip drip

& bird seed sprouts in the feeders

LICHEN BENCHES

punctured
we leak

onto the lichen benches
of
the
struggling cemetery spring

squirrels there

on headstones

flaunting their 

animal zen

SEASONS POP-FRAG

waiting for spring

so i can wait

for autumn again

FALSE SPRING RAIN, A PILL PACK POP

 

GREMLINS IN 1

i look at the trees

stripped sans shame

& yes i think
  
  or 
  no . . .

  are we fallen leaves too ?

~

my
metaphor radar
got the 
short day
winter
gremlins in

clarity waits
outside the back porch

for
spring
to
please
come
soon

from youtube.com

SPRING WASHING

HARDLY BOXFRESH

new year then
its hardly 
boxfresh 

the postman brings
folded fragments 
of the future

potted
pamphlets
from the past

~

new year then

so soon
its like an old sock

same old card game
same old hand 

come on spring come on
your distance disturbs

afternoon patio
birdsong in the sun

~

and that 
last night
of a
gone year
used
to be
nostalgia 
unbearable

used 
to be 
fletch on 
bbc2 
00.10 jan 1st

dregs of drugs
take till dawn

~

and the 
night time bath 
i draw 
these n/y/e days

could be the same water 

as lemmys
last jd ice

pic from ebay.co.uk

HPPY NW YR ETC

again a years gone

thank you for reading hatchbacks

springs
distance
disturbs

pic from haltcatchfire.com

ANTS DISRUPTED

mon AM
and
theres
fog
come
down
on the f-town barricades

and it hides us
and trees point up
and i feel the 

           e       o u
heavy &  n   b   l     s
               u 

arcade fire nostalgia

that
is
autumns emptying

autumn -
an enema artist
painting
in all the shades of brown

~

and all the 
quilted 
regular 
assassinated 
street joes
are
ants
disrupted

by the pilot lights of old mystery 
the still flickering half happened 
Could Have Beens but Never Was

~

and
this autumns fag butts 
become
last autumns fag butts 
become
all autumns fags butts
in
a
spun bunched ball of sad brown gold
tugging 
on 
all 
the 
hearts
left
swinging outside of summer ribs

~

and sometimes a real light will glow

a traffic light
like an envy moon 
or a greggs bakery window
misted with cooking

and
then
some ants disrupted
will
have
some living target 
to head their meat toward

~

autumn -

its teaching us how to die

if
we
would
only look
and 
walk and learn 
in its bronze rot
and
read aloud 
from its falling yellow library
of
almost
almost
mulch
wet now before the dry grave

~

cos the fogs come down
on f-towns barricades
and the worlds
become only
phonebox big

it rings with remembrance
where you thought to forget 

its memories calling
them that were impossible 
in the cooked drull of summer
and
them that were invisible
in the perfumed hilarity 
of 
that gone and trivial 
lamb bang spring

from qt.com

THE EVE OF CONSTRUCTION AND THE GIN FIELDS

life
was
a
shit
and
a
fuck
and the midnight got inside you
like the cold got inside you
and it spoke to you
and it said no bro no
not this lifetime

~

but there was a freedom there wasnt there ?
in the silence
and in the nothing

and that band sang

oh that magic feeling
nowhere to go

and you clung to that
thru the eves of destruction
out on the cigarette corners
counting up your telephone coins 
stood at the cabstand alone
with something to drink
but nowhere to go

~

and it got deeper inside of you
and it ate its way back out of you

from 
d
o
w
n 
where regret ferments

and the hard ice you were
achieved a difficult spring

~

and you got inside each other
and you built a metaphorical
solid gold home together

and it said go bro go
its time for some summer

and all the irrigated gin fields
were 
sown
with
enough
sunflower

to weather
the sickness dusk

from amazon.co.uk

OLD SCHOOL

i
remember
there was like a promise
in
the
cool
air
of those old school mornings

spring emptying out

the cut grass

a kind of freshness
of a town unwrapped

~

but 10 am lasted forever
and i felt trapped there
stranded and beached there

on 
a
grey plastic seat

behind
a
bubblegum desk

hand up for the bogs 

all 
the 
time

just to be alone

~

there was elation 
on the playing fields

freedom and space

scuffed shoes kicking
a dog chewed tennis ball

running and falling
there was always blood

and i remember
dirty bottles 
of sun warm
fall fat milk

monster munch crumbs
stuck
rounds
mouths
all day long

~

and the three pm bell
and the rush 
and bustle 
and buzz
of it being over

and the new reading book
and the new book mark

( cut from a donated greeting card )

turned into a heavy dread 
i was too young for

turned up blunt
down by the lavender bush

( scary bees & 
  ford cortinas
  vinyl roofs )

summer holiday ennui 
on the 
summer holiday lawn

i would hide
inside the trees

like
a
kid
in a story book

~

i remember
the autumn mornings empty blast

it fit like a coat

a parka
pen pockets
on the sleeve

i remember 
a kind of independence 
a kind of plastic calm
when after breakfast
i was putting out toast crumbs
for 
the 
birds

before school
fools
hormones
and
a 
nuclear winter

unfound savilles
on the bbc

from pinterest

THE ROCK STARS ESCAPE

  bowie
   lemmy
 lou reed

  and so on

that awful two-oh-fifteen/sixteen music cull

   well i am tempted to say
 it looks like
        they got out 
     at the right time  -  legends anyway and dead now
                             we 
                              may 
                            be 
                      their bad dreams

  now the teletubbies hold the nuclear briefcases
 and we tear the earth a new arsehole everyday 
       like mad gods on red bull
                       on teenager testosterone
            like we got a Home World
               elsewhere 
           sunny and safe for later

                   when we Dont

        or am i
  just counted and logged 
   home in supermarket pants
     desperate enough to impose an order
          on
        the chaos
 when i pull others up for doing the same

        the square peg 
    goes in the round hole
           if you got a club hammer
 and dont mind splinters in your eyes

            so
             i
           list
          out loud
        all the horrors 
           bowie
          lemmy
             lou reed

          and so on

 that awful two-oh-fifteen/sixteen music cull

           lived thru
   chugging chords  and class As  and magic

     and
   depress
    myself 
  even more - i am putting out a fire
                with gasoline
 and its like satans greatest hits out there

      well i am tempted to say
 its not the events so much maybe
      but the level of awareness you have
          when they occur . . ?

     is there peace 
  for my hurtling and loose mind 
         in that hiccuped brainjag ?

      i show the day my back
     in a check shirt again  -  unironed 
                              buttons missing off cuffs
  and i go down to the wild pergola
         where
           i
           can
          see
       nothing
        but
 free wood and worked wood
      tumbling leaves
  and springs first palette mix
         my still hands  -  ink and turmeric under my nails
     and my troubled feet
  in second hand soldiers boots

            and try not to Think 
           
             At 
          
          All

  but even my farts sound sad today
     mournful like a steamship foghorn
   in the last days of a golden age  

from the-indie-pendent.com

SEASON POPS

1.

smells like spring inside

tv talking to itself

sofa 
& 
blanket


2.

springs solvent abuse

after winters cooked bark

flying
birds
of
time

ANIMALS RULE

        
us -      cutlery monkeys 
          online in order
        
          ibombing
          & 
          beer drinking
          in 
          the 
          sick tease of the weekend

animals - just 
          LIVING
          in    
          a blameless 
          riot of murder 

    no 
spring 
fashion essentials 
needed

from www.zastavki.com

WRITE IT

Write !

in
blue and yellow 
in
honey and sun
in
mould and organ chords  

in Courier New

empty out your head of rain
lick your aches with sweet recall
swim gorgeous in repulsive wax

like
its
always
spring

 

 from www.sekslike.com