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