Wednesday, 18 April 2012

The Outsider

Distant eyes

Peer out

And a rare sight can be seen

As a man smiles behind nicotine stained glass

For the rain falls on everyone today
and he is justified
and can speak in common with people

But he doesnt
and wont

For the purpose of the curtain and the window
though put together are separate

And the window smears
as rain drops slip down the pane

He sighs with a shallow breath
And the warm and dank of his forgotten voice
leaves a moisture mark

He stands and turns his back to the window
And leaves for the front door

People appear suddenly around
corners and behind windscreens
With shot gun stares that gaze for an instance
And are gone

Tires heat and shred beneath them
And the smell of burnt rubber lingers in the ether
as the man steps over the scorched remains of a tires sole that left its mark

The car roars off down the high-street
 and reduces to a faint purr
As the man crosses the road

The pavement
and  getting to the zone in which he operates quickly
is all that concerns him now
and he walks on what seems like a running wheel
a vortex of red bricks which forever spin beneath
as he scurries along

People see the man and glare for he is known by face
and uniform

He contently pulls out a pad and writes
a ticket

Thats a beamer on a double yellow
he thinks

And slaps it on

what luck

Thursday, 29 March 2012

The Old Man at the Pub

And the Old Man
sat decrepit
slouched in his chair.

With a burnt out fag
perched delicately between his lips.

For any murmur now he spoke
smelt heavily of whiskey and cigarettes

and when he spoke he seemed to purr over the room
candle like wisps of language
That groaned with an age old scent of antiquity and longing
much like that of unfulfillment

but as he spoke the cigarette
remained still

His eyes sparkled and were different
to mine though

They looked foreign to his body
Like jewel encrusted Orbs
That mirrored in reflection the opposite to what was in front of it

And as his stories animated the Autumnal screen
of opaque and cigarette burnt film,
That he used as a frame to separate his life
from any other

We drank to his younger years
and his failing liver

he was a good bloke

Monday, 26 March 2012


I love the way my lady smiles whilst she sleeps
Although i've never seen this sight

As a drunk's dreams are destroyed by his endeavor
but rests his soul soundly throughout these

For this smile although never actually seen
can be found in bodies enveloped with intent

and bound in this woolly sunken dream
that distort the coverings of her snowflake bed

Whilst  pillows turn our weary sleep
And cool our cheeks
for this nocturnal prey
my soul will keep

And while skin sheds
upon this bed

And left foot prints that marked the beach
As the sun rained rays upon our head

And i will never doubt that it isn't there
the smile that shines crescent beneath her auburn hair

Friday, 23 March 2012

The Basment & The Alcoholic upstairs (The Co-Ed Killer)

The only light that can been seen
is from the Key-hole

And streams in like some
Golden Pathway

Animating the falling dust and the few insects that dance
along its course

And this basement

outside of the dark,
the cold
and the damp,
seems safe

I hear movement above like a groaning complaint
Which releases dust from the floor boards
and some falling plaster that hits my head.

Reminding me of her touch and why i'm here

Im not sure how long ive been here
But the light creeps along the floor and stops just before it reaches my big toe
it has done that 10 times now..

So maybe ive been here 10 days

At first i had company

But all that is left of them is the decapitated bodies
And remnant heads of twisted plastic

I hear a heavy crash above
and a cold silence after

I smile and imagine the
Whiskey bottle that caused the Crash
and the scene it created

I'm a Child now
But these days will make me miss out on becoming a man

For only Monsters and the waking dead live in the shadows and the dark
And one day my Mother will realise this fact


Friday, 16 March 2012

No Bets on State-Benefit...(A day at the Dogs, Around about))

We file in one by one

The turnstile spins

Its cold despite all the hands from warm pockets that have touched it
and lady luck stands
winking at the entrance
with an eye only for me

Her skirt half pulled up to her thigh
and a bosom that makes me forget she has a face

A beer and a cigarette first
check out the track..

I inhale and tip from eager heel to anxious toe
as i asses the terrain and check for defects

Track Two looks bets on two

The Dogs fall out one by one
three are white
three are black
and  one...

' State benefit'

looks unfit and  somewhat bets on state benefit

So now three are white and three are black
One is lame
and one wont run well on the second track

But a hot tip i did just hear
from this man into my ear

He says that a black dog will out run one that’s white
as black can be seen where lost is white
and if before the race the dog doth poo this is not the dog for you
And as this logic seems simple and somehow true i can now decide
on the winning dog to choose

So three wont win because their white
The black dog in track 3 wont win because he has just had a shite

So now we are down to merely two and from this two the winner i must choose
because the remaining duo are an encouraging site the two that are left  are black as night

But oh my God the remaining two
are put in tracks one and two

And track two is the one that has the bump
And the the one in track one is the
Dog with a cumberome bound and jump

I look over to Lady Luck
At the Betting Window
She has a truckers dick in her ear.....?

Wednesday, 14 March 2012

In the book of imaginary beings i found you

I open the page
with a moist finger and a used train ticket ready for a book mark

I dont really read much
but the walls are no fun
And from what the Daily Mail tells me i'll get cancer from watching too much day time TV

The Words shake
and Visions Flow as i read

And words affect and direct my internal consciousness
As strange and distorted images flaunt the eye that creates imagined landscapes within
Like a twilight watchmen does escape his servitude and escapes himself within his dream

And for a while everything is transfixed
and full of fantasy and ethereal illusion

Then from the depths of my inner visions
a sight i see

a sight i see no more real than imaginary

An image lost to words but etched into my dream
Like the dream child that can see a clarity which is almost visionary
A soul child allusion to something more visceral than contrary

For am i awake or is this but a dream?
Is this book a portal into my subconscious tapestry
all i know is that when i sleep im awaken by a white maiden with no more than
A warm heart and comfortable bosom for me

and when i awake from reading i realise i dont need to escape myself in books
because i write my own

And i write them for myself.
my love
my white maiden
and me

the Ethernet of plectrum drunkards

Over Bow

Hook line and Sinker i  did cast a

Simon Cowell

For a wet fish
shall catch a wet fish
For this i'm sure

And so shall cast this Rod
From the Beach to the Ocean's Floor

And Simon Cowell did shriek as he flew into the skies
and into the salt spit blue..

Disrupting a school of crill as he made his entrance
into this Aquatic Deep
This Primoridal fishy Stew

This Vainglorious Fish
was not long subdued
And bought together
and a Sea Otter too

He told them that they could sing just fine
And made sure they had smoked enough of the finest sea weed skunk and mermaid wine

For the
Lining of the Emporer Penguin's Pockets tonight
was long overdue
And a Crustacean Carnival in to this Reef
had just pulled through

So on the reef tonight
The Octopus-Eel-and Sea Otter
would perform

and sing to a whole dynasty of devoted
Lobster prawns

And after the gig The Fishy Cowell was so elated
he Left a Sea-Snail-Trail on a  Mermaid's prize winning tits
And left a whole school of monkfish reluctantly inseminated

The Mermaid fore mentioned was bought to Cowell's attention
by her skin that
shined like a iridescent pearl collection

but her skin was actually petroleum tainted and lost its chaste
Like Calypso's riding an Oil slick Sea horse
And losing her hymen during the race

Oh what meaning can i gleam from this nonsensical lyrical verse
and so as often as not
seem like mental illness or a bloodied mermaid mary curse

does my tabernacle grow sea bass stew?
Does my periwinkle look sea side blue?

Perhaps i will find my detchable penis
And send it in a bottle for you

Tuesday, 13 March 2012

The Running Of the Wolves

Take your ears off the ground
My People, My tribe.

Because you will not hear them coming

For the moon is gone
And the stars are dead

And the Wolves tonight are Running

and for every babe that braes i pray withhold your tears
and give your pain in the way for these words and these fallen celestial spears

For once and forever the pack have turned
And all that was gleamed from chaos tonight will be observed

So Take your faces of the dirt
My People, My tribe

Because the Wolves are Running

And the possibility of Blood and salivation foams and flows within their jowls
And even the Full Moon does not want an audience
to even the loneliest wolf that tonight will howl

So Gather now and forgive the Romulus and Remus
But not this fog- that into this provincial town does seep

and those creatures that prey in packs do no think for themselves
but are in blind servitude for the Milk like deception
suckled from the Wolf Mother's tite

So fear not my people, my tribe
Because there are lions here
and the wolves will discover this soon enough

When the dawn rises with the sun
And gone are the tears from our eyes
and the mud from our ears

Wednesday, 7 March 2012

The Invisible Child Army of Joseph Koney (A poem for Jacob &Uganda)

Joseph Koney

Is at the Top of Our List

where the children of Uganda were
 brainwashed, mind molested and forced to enlist

And with a billion Facebook Faces
And a unite of
skinny righteous clenched fists.

For Jacob
For Uganda
For one and For all
We shall share his name


Spread his infamy
like wild fire
for the hope
This exposure will
Damning Fame

Because not only do we have a voice
But a facebook page,
and the ability
to raise an army too

So when the time calls
for it
I hope i can depend on you

When needs be
I may come on Facebook and raise an army too...


Sleep Monster from the Deep

Eyes Close

Rapid Movements
An Rod
Created in the Land of Nod

In to the Pillow
A Head

As Deep Sleep Visions
Magically appear
Like the White Hag
that chokes a nights sleep
Or the Spells cast by fallen
Twilight Witches

Into the night
And the Land
Of Lucidity
I appear as i am
But somehow

As dreams like rainbow wax in my head, melt and appear from no where
 and are highly colored and finely painted

smoked and surreal
In this nocturnal illusory smog
And i creep in the shadow of the Sleep Monster From the Deep
As he Crawls out of my Subconscious-Bog

and The Light becomes Dark
And the Colors
Shade fade
And Into His
Cave this BlueBird
Must Brave,

Wake again in the land
Of realities plain
And become rested and sane again
And able to function
for just a little while at least
And ready for another day
And another nights sleep

Tuesday, 6 March 2012

Street Stanza

there's a matress

beer cans


and mainly syringes in the stair well.

and a spliff butt left 3/4 smoked and religiously  kept  on ever step

this is Soloman Estate and im 14
A Mohawk and eyeliner

We walk in the shadows
and the shouting

With headphones on
defined by our clothes
and summed up by

But this is merely
a taboosh
that has become a noose
choking our civility
which will not become loose

because ive got this hood?

i put foot to pavement and ride of on this skateboard
this plank of wood


the louting

together but seperate
Segregated like a prison by tribe

By Jib by Jive
by creed by crime

The people living in the cracks of our council built pavements
stargaze the most
and have nothing
and nothing to lose
so fight for everything they dont have
and have to shout to be heard
which is why they boast

So raise a can to the council estate pioneers and their beer soaked parker coats
and toast the glory, the failures
And their bus stop boasting gloats..

Saturday, 3 March 2012

A Poem for Caroline


With those Irish Eyes
Please forgive these wondering hands that
dance and caress the contours of your thighs

I see you
And feel the warmth of your lips
Like the sunshine on my skin

I hear your voice and
Feel connected like a torrent shared within

For you dear Caroline are one

And a night with our bodies entangled

Was one of
Instantaneous-Perpetual-Bliss    x

Sunday, 26 February 2012

Internal Ruptures

The Latch
And Internal Jet Fuels

As Satanic Wisps
And these Flood Gates
Are Open

An Interal Rupture
A Torrent Of Schism

Changing fancies
Changing Wims
An Ambivalence oiled
 Ego defensive Mechanism

Making sure i never lose
Always Win
The one that
Swung An Opening

And a water now formless
And moving always forward

 An Aqua Fresh Cowboy
Ridinging the Foam From Crazy Horses
On Partially Permeable Aquaeous Sea-Horses

In Matador Slacks
With Endorsments From Nesfaratu's
Soul Reaped Auction

An unforgiving
Modulated Mode of Time And Situation

As water takes many forms so
Does my perspiration

An Icicle in Winter Shards an Ear
And The Warmth of August
whilst my skins breaks and tears

A skin forever cracking
 Like A shock ridden body
Hardend and ridged With Fear

And i havent seen the latter
Seem to matter
on Morbid Maidens
Stangnent Minds
become messy and a tatter

Whist they sit with they're hypocrisy
Braiding Hair Corns
Fecal Matter

Living Life doing
What they Wilt
 Trying to forget the one that
Weeped Mercury From the Crown
Of A Mad Hatter
Who's Sanity  he Spilt

The one that was lost
The Love
That Sleeped

A Sexed Up Grim Reaper
Reaping Gaia's Purt Tite

An Alice in her own Wonderland
Who Gave up on Love
An Internal Hinterland
Of Fecal Rhetorical Sludge

Thursday, 23 February 2012

Tangerine Walkway (The London commute)

The light ahead looks like its
Been filtered through a Cider Receptacle
Wine Bottle

Much like this
Withered Wretch


Wind Swept
Late for the train

And on this broken pavement he
does so lightly tred
The Moon-reflects
The Tangerine
Walk way
The Street Light
And twilight
do so

In this
polluted atomosphere
His Suit
A pallid
Orangey Grey
And he is reminded
OF his
Outside of
mere survival
Spent there

He gets to London
And the Light
has changed

He's Surrounded
By suited commuters
In their Black suits
Waddeling together
Indifferent Penguins

He looks down at his
To find
No such change

an air of panic
And anxious
Infuse his

as he looks
around to see
Who has noticed

But no one has noticed

No one is even looking at eachother

I look at these

I mean really look

and outside
the blackness
of their
what it means
to wear

i see nothing

Thursday, 16 February 2012

A Murder Of Crows

The Crows Huddle
When the Sand blows
and the Glass Cyclone
The Murdered
And the Murder

And as Shrills
And Diamonds Crow
In the

But Which Murdered Crow
Does The Murder Conceal Inside

Not One Crow
Dare take flight
From the Murder

And Ride
The Glass Cyclone
All Day and
All Night

And When the Crimson
Up the Blood
The Murder

The Murder
Does Vanish
As Does the Murdered

And they
Fly away as
Crows Do

And it Was as if
Had occurred
on The Murder Site
Without the Murdered
Without its Day
And without Its Night

Monday, 13 February 2012

Burning Bridges

Every man is
An island

Every Bridge Is eventually

Everyman Seeks
In Archipelagos Even ones
With Head-Hunters on

Every Women
Is a Channel

Every Women
Has her tide

Every Island
Gets Flooded

Time to Time

Every Man
is An Island

Every Woman
IS a Channell

And The Beach
Is just where
The Dirt Meets the Water

Black Swan

And i tell her to swim on
Over our lake

The Black Swan
Passes by Daffodiles
and Fishing Nets
Over Lilly pads
And Worn Smooth Pebbles

She leaves only a wake for
Me as i watch the sun set in the Ripples
Of the path she left

As the ripples Slowly
Dissapate the Become
Still Again

Black Swan
Is gone

Our Lake
Looks Bleak
Now and a Winter's Love
Causes Barrier a of impenetrable Ice to form

the pond
From the outside

The Pond remains Murky
Dank and Stagnant
By the time Spring has arrived
No fish or Flora survive
And all Animals Leave this wretched place
A place of unrequited Desire
and unfufilled expectacion

By the Summer
The pond has dried up
and is Gone

the Black Swan
as the Summer Sun
And lays its Head to rest
On What was The ponds

The Mud Slowly reclaims
The Black Swan
As she sleeps

and all that is left
is White feathers
And the fact
That it could have been different

Sunday, 12 February 2012

Beware of the Monkeys (A Poem for Hannah Woz)

A Poem i write for your travels dear miss
With advice and things to note
Which you may otherwise miss

For starters remember a big hooded jumper
and that a bus journey's ride is best spent in a slumber

Or that Tonic water mixed in your Gin Spiced  drink
Would be a preventative solution
 if into your skin a malarial mosquito's sting does sink

And remember your Visa, Passport and make sure to make photocopies of these
And beware the Monkeys
And elephants
And log out of facebook to prevent
Internet Cafe Frapers

Also too
 the dreaded "Delhi Belly" which on arrival you can sort
With a Mary Jane Lassi
Or a Yogurt that is
Locally bought

But if this is not remebered and you do get the Shits
Remember Dioralyte soultion
Will replace the Electrolytes that
now float
and linger
In the
Toilet's Dish

Ginger Tea is also good in this case
And perhaps a Mosquito net you could pack too
Within your travel case

But much more than all of this
just have fun

You'll realise that life's Journey is far sweeter under a Blood Red Indian Sun

Ohh yeah jus one last thing i have for you
You should also take alot of pictures
and keep a diary and scrap book too

Realise that you can do whatever,
and be whoever you want to be out there
 but more importantly you must also realise too
That your wicked miss
So just travel as you  :) x

Monday, 6 February 2012

Check out this website and realise some people do still care about the idea of diversity, culture and community. :) x

Sunday, 5 February 2012

The Gate Remains Open...

Out of The window
The gate is open

She wonders why
And the
Snow leaves
no evidence of tracks
Or disturbance
For her to follow

She thinks it was perhaps
Jack Frost
Sliding along icicle arcs
spun from his
Frozen Loin Cloth

Or perhaps
It was that albino fox
That does
And leaves the flowers
Urine soaked
And all bent

It could even be
The Gardener Ghost
That died from frost bite
Whenj he was tending
The roses' in the Mote

But the White Veiled Lady
IN the Window
Does not leave her house
And her nightie is water drenched
which she wears at night
To attone her sins for
mortality's immoral plight

The lady inquestion is actually
dead and waits for eternity
 for her lover to return
And close that gate

But she has been there for 200 years
and this snow we see was created
by the coldness of her wanting and tears

Saturday, 4 February 2012

Strap on Envy

Every time she gets it out
i mysteriously need to spend
a penny

For i am a man with a foreboding inadequcy
Which goes
by the name

Strap on Envy

Her strap on it is called the


And she prefers my tears
To the satisfaction
That cums with a vibrator

My lovely miss i do
There wonder
Inside her head what dark thoughts there asunder

Perhaps she is a sadistic sex fiend
Who is far less satisfied with love making than
this buggery

She used to have one named

This was when her
Flower was furry
and she did not shave

But fortunatley she got rid
Of this hideous Member

Despite it was a christmas present
which she got early on the 23rd of December

I once asked her if i could buy a similar

Her name was Clarice
She was much more

And once
hasd sex with
A Leprechaun
To find out where he had hid his
Pot of Gold

For Clarice
was a polythene loveer
of sorts

But was bought second hand and
Was used to such carnal sport

So into the bed
Clarice my lady and i  did go
And covered the sheets and ceilings with our
Sexual Matter
in these moments we did find our spiritual benefactor

Sun Starched Kiss

Rays fall down

until the reflection's of space
are revealed


Sun kissed

Sun Starched


A prism

and splits it into parts

A rainbow carousels
the crimson

from apollo's

And this

That Leave
of golden and brown flex on
my skin

And the warmth
Of her touch
is Like that of a woman
That has seeped
into your heart through the upper dermis of your skin

But like the
Tan on your skin
And that lady in you heart
They both
 one day will leave

And all that you can remeber in this cold winter
that now endures

Is That summer will come

And those

Sun kissed

Sun Starched Sunbeams

Thursday, 2 February 2012

The Guilty Chode (Revolting Rhyme Series)

The Man did waddle in
Like a duck through the
Bar he strode

And took an unsuspecting lady back
 with more than coffee in mind to his
Most Modest Abode

For unknown to her
In the tailored garters
Of this
Princely Toad

Hidden and Vulgar
Was an unsightly

For his nobe was far more

Fat than Long

And bulged from his pelvis
Looking all the more swollen
Than Wrong

But the Lady did take pity on this
And mounted this unfortunate bloke
Like a duty proud Whale

It was because of her guilt
She did jump on
Upon this questionable erection she rode
It didnt take long

And without her guilt she did a hastily Leave
And the
Choded Man
With satisfaction
Did so a
Soundly Sleep

Wednesday, 1 February 2012

My Polythene Lover (Revolting Rhyme Series)

She wears Clothes
As if her souls secrets were
ethereal and inscribed on the fabric

And beyond this outer layer
Lies an attention seeking scared

For as much vigor as has her
That she spent too long
On these balmy nights
working on just the wrapping
And forgetting her personality

For how her soul must scream
To cleanse its self from
 fashion and conformity's bitter black hole

What a poor soul's worth
 that values-it's self on
vulgarity's jagged mannequin's doll

While the ugly faced poet
Describes an inner beauty not
Inscribed on his clothes or revealed by his face

My polythene lover is now deflated
And popped in my Bottom Draw

And will live again to breathe with life
 that i give to her with my breath
 as she does inflate

Every time i need her
I Need her little

Sunday, 22 January 2012

Crocodile City

The River Runs
In Crocodile city
Like the
Blood Soaked Earth
That Lays Crimson
On these African Lands

The Clotted River Languidly
Transports the Palm Wicca baskets
Downstream As the Village Women's Tears
Too dilute the Foaming Guilt
Of their Offering

Laid in Wiat
Awaits the Corocdiles
 Their Blood Lust
Still Wretched and Unfulfilled
As the silence falls over the Bank
And all that can be heared is the

Golden Shimerring Reptilian Eyes
Leave a snaking wake in its Path

As Calligula Crocdile
Mounts his Mud-Mound-throne

And the cries fall silent

Full and Disgusting
With Indulgence

Lights his cigar
And Sips Delicatley from his

He Drank his full
And the People Still Arent Free

Because This is Africa
And everything is a Commodity
And there'a reason the land looks like it was
Kicked up by the
Devils Heel

So Close your Western Eyes

Because all that is here are Nightmares
As we
Become like them
Ghost in the Darkness

Thursday, 19 January 2012

Seasons in The Abyss

And like Diamonds they Fell from the heavens
Giant Fluorescent Orbs

With the Enlightened
And there 
New Blood
For all Of Earths Children to Store

For Sacrificial Rites
Make the Innocent Babes
Blood Curdle With fear 
And the Virgin Is taken
From this World

And the prIEST hAS A vISION

Blood Lust
Money lust
Oil Lust

They R the 1% 
We r The 99%

And how they Drain our Lives