TIMES BACK THEN

there on the cricket crease 

where we pooled our pennies

for the bottleshop & chippy
inside a long summer afternoon

& the warm dusk elation

& the nights secrets ours

smoking on the hill bench

smoking on the hill bench

the bell for last orders 

far & off & away

TWO X HAY(NU)KU

chinatowns

summer corners

times square sleet

~

holiday

to innsmouth ?

no no no 

PUNCTUAL SUMMER

summer is on time

& unusual because of it

& 

in the heat 

is a hiatus of things
& 

all the muggers 

lie down with the lambs
& 

crane flies come inside

tired of the wild grasses

& 

we have ice cream

& 

nothing is urgent

& 

everything 

is 

simple & still & poised & placed

as a sofa facing

a quiet tv thats on

 

SUMMERS END PT2

in the dearth of purpose

of summers end

the sun sets wild & orange
on the rippled aluminium

of warehouses

& showrooms

& incognito cannabis farms

& workers in autumn shorts
with clipboard hands

& pda pockets
rush a smoke or a vape

on the loading bays concrete aprons

of chevrons & cracks

& shadows too long

surely too long

for half past four

in the afternoon

i pull the blinds

in the vacant unit

& curl up in my clothes
on the office furniture

resting

between heists

NOSTALGIA GOLD

the stone roses
tub thump

in the memory

of a patio wind

& an imported 

beach movie glow

~

& the chess board

& the gin bottles
& the leaf mottled sun

of a summer that was a summer 

are all edged now

like sparkling surf

in nostalgia gold

MOON PHONE

after hanging up
the moon phone
nixon held aloft
a balsa wood space plane

& i think about sugar magnolia
in the march of the shadows

picking plums

&

carrying bones

in the summers holiday surround

VERY FABRIC OF NIGHT

the summer leaves
are small & curved

as if to give

& they tumble down

yellow

onto the lawn of plums

~

theres a green bug
on my black shirt 

& i wonder 

if he thinks
he is hurrying 

amazed

over the very fabric of night

& IN HINDSIGHT FREE

the
fresh & glorious
summer funk
of just-cut-grass

ballooooned

across the school field
in the lie of the sunshine glee

~

water fountain running warm
in the demountable shadow

we ran in plimsoles
kicking straw
&
in hindsight
free

OFF-CUT AUTUMN POPS

autumn the first 

tar on the breeze

falling falling

fallen leaves

~

& the sun is slung 

underhand across the sky

sixty minutes late

& eyeline high

SANTA, JESUS & OTHER ANGELS

HOLIDAYS ARE COMING

beach body horror !

count now
our natural wrinklets

so what tho
so what

should we pack a scalpel ?

isnt life in the eyes
&
the free child inside . . .

~

& anyway
too soon 
coca cola truck
will 
come on the flat tube

like from heaven

beach memories
dialled down
to
a
rare winter zero

~

santas a pimp 
indulgent overweight
taking back the night

his
indentured beasts of burden
thoroughly trespass
on
your
eaves
shingle

&
jesus is jesus
pinned to a lolly stick
persecution thin



DEAD THIN

mouse-nibbling
between weigh-ins

aspirational angels
flash cadaver chic

sell smells
in faux art
movie shorts

sell 
impossible
dr dangerous 
slim 
thin
tomorrow



OTHER ANGELS

angels now
rot inside
from gin

avoided on the uptown stoop

that was something 
i read one summer

car-flat carrion
on
the buy-it-now streets

&
its
stayed
with
me

always only
three thoughts
away

from roofcalc.org

INCOMPLETE SEASONAL FONT SUGGESTIONS

SPRING WASHING

BAD MEDITATION

kundalini
ate
my
third chakra

when
all the thoughts
i let drift by
like
clouds
in
summer
breeze

became stukas 
that
dive-bombed on my face

stuka wreck north africa 1942 from pinterest

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

POP POPS

1. AIRWAVE OF FM OPIUM

uselessly i am in a cafe

radios
on
like
anywhere 

its
soft bleats 
canned icing
on
the
day turd

too early for anything and summers over 

 from thehungryhousewife.com

 

2. GO IN ON YOUR NEW BIKE, LIKE THAT WILL HELP ANYTHING

theres wet cheeks
on
school kids
dressed in sober adult black
and
ushered by force / relief / love
back
into
the
school machine

 from medicaldaily.com

3. ONLY ME HERE, HOW IS THE CHEF SO BUSY ?

useless in a cafe
i
stare
at
sausage pastries
and
a
full tupperware of eggs 

its all
naked
soft
somehow disgusting 

from pinterest.com

4. EXPATS MISS BIRTHRIGHT DREK

tiny
englands corner
tries
out
an
autumn suns ballshine
for
size 

finds it weak / cold
and
fitting 

 

from rebloggy.com

WHO SHOT THE SUMMER

the grey-blue summer that crept
into
the
coffee cup kitchen at early dawn
is
only
a
postcard on the fridge door now
and
tho
the
fickle autumn may throw us facsimiles  
like
teasers
or
trailers
or
reminders
the 
farmers still burn their stubble down
and
stink up the streets with toilet fertilizers
and
the
little moths like rolled crucifixes
will
be
sat still or dead on the paint of indoor walls
and
all
the
cold and hungry spiders run up the lawn
to 
turn our high warm corners
into
guarded shelter
and
hunting grounds
and
night
will
creep down with a solid sadness
in
the lonely low tide of late afternoon
before
i
am
ready 
for it 
at all 

 from skadieverwniter.deviantart.com

4th ANNIVESARY GUEST BLOGGER 5 - MISS MORIARTY

Beware the Cyber Cunts
by
Miss MoriArty

It’s just words

From behind a screen

I was naive

You were keen

I won’t forget the times we had

But all those words are now just bad

Take them back

Delete, wipe clean

Some words I wish I’d never seen

If we now met

I won’t see you

I’ll see the words, the lies, your game

Things will never be the same

They’re only words

No harm done

So for you

This is my last one

CUNT

 from store.vampirefreaks.com

The Death of Summer Love
by
Miss MoriArty

The last hot embers of Summer

Begin to fade

Drift off

Into dewy Autumn trees

Orange – Red – Gold

They hang there for a while

Glowing

Contemplating their demise

They fail to cling on

Whispered screams

As they fall

Onto Winters cold hard ground

To rot

And be forgotten

photo by miss moriarty