Poetry | System 46

system 46 poetry

Crazy cow

Crazy cow, though thwarted by an essence of perfection

lives alone, unwanted by self-gracious matters,

undermined by love and pretended feeble grief.

Crazy cow, be mine, be mine. Astonished by such needless fortune,

grown in dusty mires, my own, be mine alone.

And when sweet sunlight filters through the dust upon my window-pane,

I see you large as bovine life, depleted under milk-green shadows,

thinking of what could have been.

And from afar, in perfect health, grow to me, crazy cow you are,

that one by one we too may be uncomplicated by the earth's desires

and varnished in a never-ending round of hazy sacrificial woes.

Crazy cow, be mine.

You gave me so much life.

Begin with wintry mornings

A slight of hand, a shine of frost

akin to mine, this fragment lost.

Into the depths, irr-e-le-vance be

all that it should; just come to me.

Bright turning shards as hot as night;

will enter this, in spirits bright.

Bare like cheddar

Foregoing my disgraceful need for sugar

I contemplate your urgent wish for cheese,

baked slowly over hot cats, steaming nicely.

Turbulent, these urges come, not held withstanding hitherto.

A name, my name, a name though unlike any other.

For, one two three and bare like cheddar

mights this little man unto each other.

Out, begone, be one with not withstanding sugar for the masses, driven like the snow.

That mine shall be once more one night for you.

Staples are my friend

In effect, no one is my friend, as friendship causes pain

and pain isn't very nice, my friend.

But staples – they're different.

Staples are my friend.

Except when they cause pain; when they cause pain, they're not my friend,

as friendship causes pain.

And staples cause pain, but not always.

When they don't, then they're my friend.

Staples are my friend.

When you're tired of tyres

When you're tired of tyres and tired of travelling,

tired of trucks and tired of smuggling,

tired of trembling teapot smurfing,

and tired of small white globs of feet,

this, my friend, is only nothing;

this, my friend is never nobbling;

this is all we thought would happen

when confronted by a termite

and constructed with a glove.

Darkness will come

Unto a land of pure evil and light,

darkness shall creep twixt the sombre unfair,

touching a people untold by grey heavens,

sweeping a feeling of misery bound.

Into this complex emotion of yours

shattered by daylight and broken by sense.

Deep broken furrows, aligned in their depth,

portent of industry sheltered by sadness,

taking upon them their satisfied violence,

groping and feeling in black, sticky realms

their fortune, a thing of confusion and doubt

to calculate whether we laugh or we cry.

Out, briefest spark, to a different extremity,

fading in front of our eyes, calmly withering,

taken no more like the graves we were promised

and given no more like the deathly beyond.

Unto a land of pure evil and light,

shattered by daylight and broken by sense.

Kevin the gerbil

There was a small gerbil called Kevin

whose wild lifestyle led him to heaven.

In life he was daft

and in death he just laughed

'cos his worth, out of ten, was just seven.

A sleeve-less act

A self-made act of ignorance benign,

my sleeves.

Enter the competition for stuff.

Eat a cat or draw a centipede,

none shall pass this way anyway.

Bed, to bed, lie me to bed. Forget those noises of a lot of feet.

Eat a cat, eat another.

Now is the summer of our dispersed tents;

bring to me another, make it full of wolves.

Run, run, run. There are wolves in those tents.

Things always move sideways, from right to left.

Or we, in chancing that we are, move left to right instead.

Elbow.

Time, like an ever ghost foot tree

Time for time, like never before.

Never before and never again.

Ghost foot tree – my ghost foot tree,

my own, true, hardy, ghost foot tree.

Never before and never again,

it's time for time.

Friday's my day for most things unseen,

Friday's my day for most things unseen, ending

comforting things seaweed portals in blue,

massive chiropodists meet in soft growths and

turn round, benigned by great factory heads.

Meet me at dark-time, lest trouble be brewing,

or feeling my leg inner tube growing strangely.

Come to me quietly, eat sock ear sweet massaging

bulge caper magnitude, swarming at ghost.

Only in old films do things happen quietly.

Only in odd times are frequent misogynies.

Great leaps banana sweet mental head juniper,

meaning my hovel lactating in glue.

Nonchalent vaping a stereo munch time. But

fragrant vasectomies, gurning like chew toys.

Separate nightly come fortune mistaken 'till

victims asunder, my heart be not yours.

Ending as all things end, quietly, swiftly,

begotten, not friendly, mistaken, not queue type.

Eaten most heartedly, spewed up in buckets, and

jostling plenty, my time is not now.

Maybe beer

Maybe beer did this to me, merely, baby.

Sheer, say me, tearfully.

I will let you down

Once it happened, once it came to me, this tired old grateful feeling,

grievous for a time, which never really happened, lest in fantasy it be

in tremored and synthetic spates, a hardship life of damaged beauty.

So once it happened, memories are wonderful and desperately unkind.

But for beauty, but for sadness, where belies the truth?

Spring to me no more, as colours fading dull my eyes and birdsong cheeping hurts my mind.

When this turned withdrawal motif, sticky like a cat, shall be to me like yesterday in your eyes.

Out of mind, excelling in the best of days once feature in my head,

or simply without standards, can my thoughtless speak be your eyes just one last time?

I will only let you down, my friend.

The babadook

i spied the babadook tonight

As he stood knocking at the door

I turned and cried with all my might

And fell, unconscious on the floor.

The babadook, he entered in

And settled down beside my head

And shook my nightmares up within

My secret, silent, sacred bed.

My sister is an elephant from kurdikstan

Whose elbows seem to make her look like a man

Till the chalice was spilt

And the shattered name built

And her face drew on sideboards a very fine plan

The crowds proclaiming him

In the bustle, in the dusty streets they came to cheer,

en mass they thronged in adulation, pushing to be near,

for on the path towards the town, a cavalcade drew close

O to be not filled with Mormonic incredulation

Light up, light up, as if you have a point.

Disturbing thoiugh my efforts seem to see and seem to be but seen,

alopeacia made my day.

And they were singing each others' hairs in heart-felt brooms abounding.

What a noise from that woman's tent; all by herself we were to believe,

not man but maybe not vibrator.

We need a twanging sound for this piece. A twanging sound.

And won't somebody put on the lights?

As if you have a point.

For there, maybe there, under the hide, hiden under the sheets, may be, for all to see, once most secret but now to write it down in history.

How great thou art

Sticks and stones me into my photos might not answer to me

eaten like a true ticket oh no oh no respecter of nothing someone slammed the door

someone else around all the cars they got my foot

they going to lick lick me to be licked by cows sheet 3 is this and not sure I see before me twice and running as a liquid is my eye

because I never because over there on the crest of the Hill where the daffodils life and is sparkly things that go pop out there and only there shall be my sentence

and be my Bride

art be found we never like a fork or spoon

but Ark it is no there no longer there

ark but no I sit in it is 4 minutes is 10

Surround Me and what do I see nothing that that thing on the Hill

come to me my pretties swim to me swim to me like a shadow in the night

it's manic all those little it some layers all those out of town stairs where the other end of this mind maybe maybe not even mine

short head foot massage with mayonnaise be swimming them and eat each other's toenails

things are better that way

samsung Samsung samsung sam Wilson whitehead the fight top floats above the Gorse bushes and it's related to Michael Owen

locksmith or deliver it to them or my things on fire no no can it be

so they vanished before my eyes and now I am left alone no more the fight headtops no more the white top a decision

Easter ice springtime

first spring is on the way spring bouncing along summer winter that's a nice one

ofsted rating in Folkestone And then we're back to back where it all began or R&B and did it well maybe or maybe not

the path goes ever on and on and here we go again I never wanted to be good about everything I just wanted to enjoy life

and for now I have to say it is difficult not to enjoy life

but then I don't have many responsibilities

and I spend a lot of time with art art art

how Great Thou Art

it's a dirty train when ever heard that before it's all a bit grim really

on the last long straight on the last long straight

and now I can get them again I now have to get back at them again

little puzzle dog friendly looking out the tree time to get inside

and they'll stay in Hyde

Can a fruit be a sock

Can a fruit be a sock,

can a fruit be a sock,

can a fruit be a sock?

Can a suit be a frock,

can a suit be a frock,

can a suit be a frock?

Give me a hell of a time and I'll give you Gerald.

Spoken in anagrams, rhythms and rhymes.

Tooth extraction, ruffled bits, aside from the back of the mouth,

Never, no more, please me a second time.

Mine be the warts, the openings and the space,

Lest Gerald be mad with me.

Will you give me a new goat called Erik

As I wander through depths of despair?

I've a general thing made in Glasgow,

And a pound of calamity Jane.

Overnight, when my cucumber’s heaving,

Or my stick isn’t made out of glue,

I can see you, my new goat called Erik,

And calamity Jane’s thunder new.

Driving home for Tuesday

It was dark as I drove the point home.

Dark, cold, wet and nasty.

Feelings, chilled to the bone,

as pointed futile remnants

clear the way to dusty death.

Short stories

In only three more of your wonderful words

describe to me every small incident met,

every soft yearning delightful in flavour,

int'resting features; my head's made of glue.

Scouting for girls

I'm standing at the street corner,

watching all the skirts wave by.

Look at the skirts – they're waving at me.

Find myself in a cucumber's sandwich,

lying with the rest of them and lying with the rest of them.

Now I am here, what is there there?

Nothing but skirts flowing in the wind,

though some do have girls in them,

as I scout for girls.

Make this my gift to humanity.

This my lasting piece.

All there is should never be, and all there isn't, should.

Dreamscapes

Heaving, breeding, succulent foundling,

shedding, dropping, elegant groundling,

breathing, sweating, absolute forming.

Dreaming of things

All day, every day, my dreams are sometimes going awry.

They take me places I don't always want to go,

and sometimes they make me cry.

And sometimes they make me want to be where no one wants to be.

And I have always had so much practice in being alone.

It's second nature to me.

Alone is where I don't always want to go,

but alone is where my dreams sometimes take me,

as they delight in going awry.

Freedom and feelings. Massive in their wallowing subtlety,

but immature in their uncertainty.

Such is lifelike.

Alone is where I don't always want to go,

but playful cactus people often meld me to their own.

Untold, untrue and calmly undecided,

not to now shall not be their edifice awry.

Eat spectacularly badly, health to me shall never be a compromise,

lest compromise be stunned; a danger to itself; a little goat.

All day, every day.

Sometimes at night too.

Back in time

Back in time where the nobules live.

Let's go back in time where the nobules live

Claims for the under dead

Come to me completely given, strive for me most unforseen,

able-bodied men shall flounder, kinder though their tears shall fall.

Claims for now the under dead, lain buried, lost, forgotten, still

and festering, a low benign and fonder loss

shall never be.

Make mine a tea break sausage

Little people come and go, and eat too fast and just say no,

forgiven dream, forgetable meem.

Such is life, when the sausage comes first in fits and tits and starts and soup.

Hit the soundtrack, make it count, for now is not the best of days

to be alone in a vegetarian haze.

My heated desires

My heated desires are festering nonsense

custom-made drivel in tight leopard print

The wind will carry my song away

Sweetness and light

Sweetness and light,

angels delight

complicates my earthly needs.

Darkness and light,

powers take flight,

hunger my succulence needs.

Troubles in pain

the sharp away,

onwards my troubles take fear.

Settled in dust,

earthly unjust,

second my worries come near.

Suspended in time

We are little beings, suspended in time.

Things have come before us;

things will come after us.

Nothing we do will make a difference to the world.

But still, we're here

making use of all these things left over from before

and leaving some things for all the people who will come next.

Plants and rocks and trees and things,

things astounding, things unusual.

Things have always been here; things will always be here.

And we are just passing through.

People have always walked the paths

and people have always peered out the curtains.

Some of the trees look older than the hills;

some of the hills look as old as the trees.

When the wind picks up, the skin cools down.

I like to think the world is sweet

From my head to my hearing, my knees to my feet,

I used to think the world is sweet,

my sweetheart, sweating in the night,

the warm warm night, dusty, but sustaining

moisture, on my finger tips.

Alone, and all alone, amid the noise, amid the thunder,

shrieking to my selfish soul, my selfish being, understand?

In night time and in day, where grows each man to cucumber,

nastily fought a hundred times a hundred times a hundred more.

Sixteen now, and young as ever, old to some, benign to me.

Darkness, close upon this night, restrain me in your beauty,

withhold me from such madness found among my heart-felt edifice.

Again, from my head down to my toes,

where nothing managed ever grows and sprouts beneath my wings.

My wings. They come and go, as one who rises, one who falls,

one whose fancies start and stall,

begone my precious, never-ending, this shall be the best of times for me to

count my own.

Moisture, on my finger tips. To let me know the world's ok.

Eat my foot

Eat my foot when it came off last week;

shout and scream and laugh and shriek;

maybe my earlobes are green with the stress,

or maybe my hemlines are right for my dress.

Happily, prettily, aching, I yearn for you,

tubes of cement and collisions of glue.

The pane

The pane of my life, as I look out of the pane to the far beyond where things are sometimes.

It seems so clearly not my world;

not my place and not my people.

It all seemed fine all those years ago when I had little experience.

Life being a prune

Yesterday I awoke to find I was a prune.

Something happened through the night, I'm really not sure what.

Thinking 'bout it, it was going to happen really soon;

you can't believe the teasing and the mimicking I got.

This had never happened to me any time before;

I started feeling lumpy then began to feel quite round.

The metamorphis happened and it really was quite sore

and now I cant stop my prune juices oozing on the ground.

Everything is harder now – it seems I'm unprepared

for the way my life pans out and how it's going to be.

When I think about it, I really get quite scared

in case a group of old people just eat me up for tea.

Boobs galore

When the opposite gender seeks revenge on itself

why should I, being gracious in my needs,

feel a sanctity by, in a welfare decry,

match another quite healthily there?

It was shocking – green is my colour

It was shocking and very very green,

the day I sensed your presence in my mind.

Super shocking, till all at once, the wind blew hard my elegance,

knocked me sideways, down the path, over the trees and hinterland;

it came to me like a girl in the night,

albeit difficult with hind legs,

till once more found me, hitherto, a maimed bedraggled Fortescu,

all shuddering in its litter.

It was tiring – o so very tiring, like things often are and marbles.

Whisked up by stupid things, my life became an edge – only an edge.

And yet, green is my colour, my elegant green.

One day feeling happy and merry

one day feeling happy and merry

we got on a steamer named jerry

just out from the bank

the steamer just sank

and we should have taken the ferry

Here's a bucket

To me, to me, swing peacefully,

as one alone in a bucket;

speak to me, my lovely, speak to me in riddles

and never even think about contemplating rhyming or poem structures

Able bodied semen

semen comes and never goes, it builds in empires ghastly fortune,

sweeping like a sticky soup it drips and trickles, slips and tickles

never ending on it fights to live another day.

Wildly they come

Wildly they come, naked they fall;

drips of human sacrifice, the juiciest of all.

When I watch them all stand in line with their beauty and best before them

I can see them one by one feel ecstasy spread like fire.

Naked they fall, death to their world;

spread like the wind, fingertips curled.

Slipping together in spurts of pain, like the heathens they came to honour,

sticky, wet and beautiful, so smoothly the mystery.

Wildly they come, naked they fall...

Everything gets complicated

Everything gets complicated,

everything gets tough.

Nothing I can ever do will ever seem enough.

Complex, struggle, difficulty,

smoothness out the window.

Nothing I can ever do will ever seem to go.

Everything to do with brexit

To do to do to do do do

Everything to do with other things

Like fish and staff and former staff

Be mine, my pillars of the earth, I always wanted someone like you to tell me what

To do to do to do do do

Over to Rona where the birds fly in, around her hair in the settled din

Sun shining on Westminster again as things are once delayed again and once delayed and once delayed

Repeated lines, that’s right Naga, repeated lines the backstop drinks an open border in those circumstances

Over to Rona and back again; birds fly south then fall out of the sky.

Use it use it time for something, if only we knew exactly what

To do to do to do do do.

Your time is up

Heat my desires, up, up and away.

Tender this stuff one more time, to be mine, to struggle sideways.

Departing with the breeze part 2.

Pardon me

Pardon me for trying to breed,

it was not me, it was the arch-angel Gabriel.

Subtlety never was my thing

I think, therefore I am a banana.

Suits me fine.

Enough said.

So much time

So much tme spent waiting, waiting,

thinking hard and breathing hard;

in septic times, deep agravating,

brushing down our leftovers,

collecting in a shoe.

Anyone can wear a glove

In the room

A tranquil light descends

Together we can face the future

Even the window weeps

Shouting a glandular tooth

Albeit, mine shall be the first to come to this and come to nowt

Lie there

Like a dog on heat

Like a curtain folded in eminance

Grasping for the only thing that ever mattered

As the tea lady trudles through with the tea lady trolley

Grasping for this is not your time to die

And gasping

Lest in be your time to die, though misunderstood by bachelors in their droves

And lines and lines of market fodder

Multiplying as they fill the space

To end, as end we must when time is nothing to believe in

Startling time is now and here is ghost-like shadow underlying lounge is ready

Two or three coats should keep you warm

And two or three times should be enough

At least we love you like we always have, defense is certain and the phoney beckons here is mine and there was hers

So up till now, it meant so much

And up till then, it meant so much

Smells like breath

Tepid, warm, greasy, frightening.

Smells like breath.

And there she lies, motionless on the floor;

we have to stand and wait and check her chest moves in and out,

her tummy puffs, subsides.

Meanwhile on the land, past the gates and stones,

we walk, we wander, we energise, we exercise,

we breath a pure sweet air, and store it up,

to breath a goodness

when the air is stale,

tepid, warm, greasy and frightening.

Smells like breath.

Visiting me in the night

It came, like a tremor in the walls, like a wall in the tremors,

it came; it ruptured society, roused new-born fears,

it killed the economy, killed our self-pride; no, hang on; wait.

This is not the tremor I was dreaming and this was not the fervour I was feeling.

Little people, hidden by their mascara; put more clothes on, take more makeup off;

even when they screamed at me in the middle of the night,

it made no

difference

me.

Ready when you are

Look out the window, smile a secret smile,

there are OSTRICHES in the pouring rain.

The success was all ours

Too many times, festering in our own hopelessness,

are we so undermined by things that might or might not go wrong;

such a heart, such a breath, such a waste of effort.

Too many times more aren't we not the problems we weren't found,

getting harder each day and evil by the second.

So sit us back, enjoy the moment – the moments come so few and often,

this is your time to feel success, to fester not in your own hopelessness,

but be to me enjoy the time of night, the time of day.

That bird just wants inside and always wants inside.

So, forget me now, forget me now.

Live at the home where we live

Live at the home where we are alive

One, four, nine

Time for bed, time for bed, time for sleep and time for bed.

I'll count to six, or maybe not, we'll have to wait and see.

Adjustamatic, dreams are coming, sleepy kits are off to snore.

Pointers

Pointers like the thing they point at, winds of change they change they change

Poodles, nerdles, bits of plastic, bloodhounds, english, essays work.

Night time brings an unexpected dearth of sleep, tho ‘tis the thing

Like pointers, poodles, nerdles, bloodhounds, plastic, deep pollution mine

Footgolf, feeds me like a child

Evening comes, sleep forbidden, energy is lacking so.

Footgolf soon, as one who feeds me like a child.

Like a child.

Simple really, but for one thing;

one small insignificant one thing;

though the future may forget the effort expelled, effort spent,

at least, for now, what is shall be.

For now, what is is what shall be, or shall at least be now.

Today's poem

Never knowing, never knowing, today's poem is a thing.

Bringing sweetness, flinging seatness, today's poem I'm thinking.

Is a thing where stuff might happen, is a thing where stuff is lovely;

no one knows the point of me...

I don't know the point of me.

Easy nice

Nice and easy, like a dream, a gorgeous happy dream of mine;

still spectred out in visual ways, or never slipping under me,

and never whisking simple sardines – theirs shall be a life like mine.

No, here is nice and easy, easy, fragrant beauty, steeped in cola,

crumbled teardrops, me – a jouster, favoured by the Queen of Sheba,

favoured, for my head is nice and long sweet locks flow from its toes.

Apartment beauty, one mihgt call it, stuffed in cardboard for the future,

stripped of any sense of being; kindly take this cake for her,

though easy now and easy then, for this should be a goat to lessen.

Firebrand goodness, there's a thing or – should it be that someone else

might call around just one more time, since all we have is empathy;

sweet easy, sweet and nice like chocolate – taming, shouting, this is mine.

It's all sardines to me you see – it's all sardines to you as well,

lest this be not a further statement under-riding faithless, lost

and underwriting yet another gorgeous happy dream of mine.

frank coming out, like a broker and the tay bridge

Should not but a bridge too far be, but never mind my elegant ear

Shuttered stuff and there’s a giant squirrel

So, just agree with me and let’s be bygones be bygones

Exercise, hunger, not eating, music – am c-b-a-g- em e-e-e this is just a squirrel thing

Funny the way things turn out really

Funny the way all things work out

whether smooth and golden, tired or grey,

simple, easy, hard things too;

it's funny the way most things turn out.

A prime example, now I think of it:

once when crowds were pushing in to me,

people's breaths and people's breasts

were taking over the space allocated as mine.

The day was hot, the smell was earthy,

I couldn't breathe, for fear of breathing them;

all of a sudden, it started to rain,

and everybody took off and raced inside.

And this was funny, cos I love the rain;

not only could I breathe and feel the drops

so cool upon my skin, my mind was lightened

and the dark clouds gathering became my friends.

And it was funny the way all things work out

whether smooth and golden, tired or grey,

simple, easy, hard things too;

it's funny the way most things turn out.

The sky fell in

All at once, and as I looked

the very foundlings of my earth

once shooked and scattered here and there

lest grime be mine in such deep hair

The best thing in mind

I've got the best thing in mind

it's just what I want to be;

the greatest thing I could find;

it meant a lot to me.

Crazy cow, why should it be so hard

Crazy cow, now so much time has passed,

now so much life has happened,

now so much stuff has gone wrong,

crazy cow, why should it be so hard?

Why should it be so hard?

That to me, out of ev'rything I once held o so dear,

might come a time when, settled in my own subordination

and covered by my own belief,

my one and only, crazy pony,

sifting out in hardships mellowed by

that time once known to many, once to me but not to you,

should feature hardship, famed disquiet,

now to me shall be this thought

of crazy cows, a lifetime spent in poetry

because and only because

it somehow meant so much to me.

It somehow meant so much to me.

Bit by bit

Bit by bit and scene by scene

we watch the shadows fall,

till one by one in sympathy

the mystic gems are one and all.

Closer now and closer now

while time itself commands my life,

no longer hiden, unbeknown,

in deep displeasure, in my strife.

Accusing none but yesterday

in selfish, shallow, frantic grasps;

how could this dungeon be my world?

my broken memory still asks.

Until un-fearing at the end,

my future shall not deem it so.

I raise my questions to my God,

and wishing he should ever let me know.

all of that has been tried

all my sizzles are now fried

Poems come

Poems come and poems go;

they write too fast and read too slow.

Response is vital

So she said to me, as she plucked feathers from her thighs.

Response, my dear, is vital, for without it we are nil.

Without it we are nothing but a slight of error shined in gold.

Tonight, be mine, for nothing is more succulent than you.

Trying skirts on with my daughter

She, being a girl, hasn't got a penis.

I, being her dad, has.

When I'm trying on skirts with my daughter

and wearing plastic glasses from my son

and watching strippers strip themselves nude upon my second screen,

it does get very hard to keep a straight, flat front from changing.

It does get very hard indeed.

Disturbing

Disturbing though it seems,

Subtle etiquette prevents me;

still I stand alone

Groaning under the strain of a piece of lettuce

Groaning under the strain of a piece of lettuce, I begin re-evaluating my goals in life

and trying to make myself understand that, whatever they were, given the current situation,

most of my dreams and desires haven't worked out for the best so far,

assuming,

one of them wasn't,

how much I would always love to be not just under a piece of lettuce, one of these days,

but find myself straining.

Straining and groaning.

Let us contemplate that one for a moment or two.

I will tell the wondrous story

Becuase, if I don't, then who will?

Who will?

I will tell the wondrous story of the sock that dried my tea,

even when it's name was Gerald; even when it looked like me.

I will tell the wondrous story of the toe which ate my head,

in a second, when provoked, it came for me, unduly spread

Rome and Jules

It was only penned by a person,

but a person who lived long ago,

so that makes everything well.

By a person, by a person, eating cornflakes for their tea;

in the distance comes a traveller, and that person looks like me.

It was only penned by a person using a quill,

but a quill which looked a lot like a pen,

so that makes everything well.

Again.

A pen.

Pendulum.

Catching rabbits in the rain

Up here, from my upper room window ledge,

I see the grass, the trees, the hedge,

I wistfully glance a sideways glance

while feeling lost in hopeless romance,

to spy a rabbit as it runs in the rain,

to there and back and here again;

without a care, without a snout,

it fills my mind with a vibrant doubt

and runs away with carefree airs

to smoulder, hidden, beneath the stairs,

before it spies my wistful look

and shakes the house behind the brook

and stands and points and laughs at me,

disguised behind the willow tree;

perhaps my mind is all laid bare,

until my shout is heard without,

without the house, without a point,

that bunny looks a tasty joint;

we'll all eat well tonight I feel

when catching rabbits for our meal,

when catching rabbits in the rain,

no more to hunger, nor to pain

not from my upper room window ledge

where I see the grass, the trees, the hedge

and glance but wistfully as I see

my loves and hopes taking hold of me.

Secret places

In my secret places

I do things no one knows about.

And that's why they're secret.

The end.

Why do I have to be so daft?

There are loads of things to do

and loads of things to feel

and loads of things to say

and loads of ways to kneel,

so why do I have to be so daft?

Down on the depth

Deep places, where ghosts and things live.

Down in amongst them, where I like to live.

Doe at heart

And though I sit on conistons bank

and watch the helpless ripples wave,

I can't forget the people I thank;

the people I would have liked to save.

Wibble

Wibble wobble,

like a turnip,

flopping things about the pan.

Wibble wobble,

like my mindset,

doing everything I can.

There be people walking

Out for a theological gaze around God's creation,

people thinking, deeply needing,

stately wanders as they wonder,

fast asleep, and yet still moving;

here I sit within the stillness, pressing down upon my brain,

my fight has never been with God, the Father, Spirit, Son, or toadstool,

never once to question why the laughter in the water yonder

might be due to anything but my own selfish needs.

Steeple chasing in their goodness, 'cross the hills and 'cross the lakes

to meet me in my homely state of futile pity, creeping as the nightfall gathers,

implementing nothing more than quiet sadness in this deep dark world of men.

Imagine

The roar in the sky shall herald the start, beginning with the boiling clouds,

and ending with the end of times and ending with the end of stuff;

the kind of stuff not even we can imagine.

Wouldn't want to anyway.

Tourists come and tourists go

with cameras, insults, indigo;

for though the bark is set in wood

and though my glasses maybe should,

it still amounts to nothing more

than foreigners upon our shore.

Alone

Everyone's laughing, enjoying themselves, ignorant watching their lives wander by.

And slowly, but surely, as older we get

and filled with experiences running and leaping

as lambs to the slaughter, each one of us thoughtlessly

callously drifting on single way, one way, one ticket, no return paths,

head for the light,

where everyone goes and everyone ends up,

a queue to the drop where our life tumbles hopelessly

we head, like sheep to the increasing heap

of the distorted bodies, piled one on another;

nothing but a tribute most fitting, depicting the sum of a life spent and thoughtlessly wasted,

alone, still alone, all alone.

Always alone.

A blade of grass

like the depths of despair that it is;

a cave of misery, black on a blackened mountainside,

where one might hide the miseries of truth

and forget the very reason you came in the first place.

Empty sky

Yawn-inspired, believe me now,

my fragrant wishes, like a cow,

a suitable yet deftly held chance

misdemeanour and misspelled

be taken unaware say I,

too gifted for my empty sky.

The air is thick

The air is thick, when once was pure,

'tis thick with life beside the shore,

'tis thick with bugs and winged disease

so I must go now, on my knees

to beg forgiveness, that my pain

should soon subside and stay away

stay, never to return again.

You noisy oves

Shush for a while you noisy oves, my peace is fading, daylight ending,

water makes a skin so soft,

when noises, beckon from afar

are greater here than they should ever really need

to be.

Banana song

Look - a banana boat drizzled in petrol.

When you mind your own business,

and don't mind your imagination,

that's when the petrol-drizzled banana boat

folds itself into a slice of cat,

develops cactus feet called Simon,

sweeps itself away with dust

and overtakes small countries' governments

with nothing but a lump of chewing gum

and a family of swimming shoe laces

from the Maldives.

Shouting stuff

Shout to me only with my eyes and I shall shout to you.

Candid, pathetic and covered in lies shall my garden be repainted blue.

It seems I was one and the only one;

it seems my best friend's an otter,

so shout to me only in disguise and I'll make a cabbage pot stew.

Victories

Whimsical, fantastical, believable, discerning,

frightened little children

in a battleground of tears.

Wait a moment, this is not the way I meant to counter this;

sappled former ghost deceivers

vibrating the air.

No, but never mind me, for at least there is still one thing more,

but that which is forsaken

shouldn't even care to speak,

for the moment I have learned the very point of all this futile hardship

shall no longer raise a glass

to victories we won.

Still mine

Move over, my darling, move over and orgasm

softly and quietly, quickly and subtly,

reaching the peaks of an instance in pleasure,

as long as my side of the bed is still mine.

And I want to keep my side dry.

A shaft of light

A shaft of light, a blink of eye and yesterday's endearing end

shall see me, shall see me through, 'till yesterday's an afterthought

and no more than an afterthought. For this is not the time to disbelieve

this o so giant, massive end of times, when all things end.

Which wasn't bad we thought, as the little minis choke their way

from the playground to the cinema, the graveyard to the choir.

Stuffed full of people, screaming people.

No one had this right to life.

Out of the womb

Out of the womb and into the cemetary,

seventy years past a moment too soon. Be it

angels or crying or satisfied ageing, my

speed of attention is really quite calm,

like a swift formless robot's political arm.

Tea time

Soon will be tea time, the tea-ist of tea times,

and soon will come bed time, the bed-ist of times.

Allow me to fornicate wildly, my sister,

For soon will be sex time, the sexiest of girls.

Driven deeply

Driven deeply, like the snow, my aching parapets of youth

once more allow me in the know to primly properly describe to

those who, unlike us, know nothing at all, the bestest and dearest

and deepest of woes, a substance so terrible, ungratifying

but nonetheless vital for everything life is

and everything we have to do to avoid it,

my friends in the pit, screaming for mother comforts

know nothing of this way of things.

And maybe it's better this way, when it comes to it;

maybe it's better not knowing at all.

Life and ducks

In the morning, by the water, contemplating life and ducks,

I was struck by just how normal waves and water, trees and hills.

Just an amblin which depicted all my thoughts and speech this far,

but an idea forms within me, this is too much for my brain.

Saturday now and my thinking is the same as every day,

but the feeling I have growing isn't one of lasting joy.

So I sit and write my thoughts down on a page that lasts an hour

'till I come to realise that we are nothing on the earth.

Just how big the everything is is too big for my small mind

So I sit here in the morning contemplating life and ducks.

And now the wind arising

And now the wind arising from the depths of far beyond,

arising and dispelling all the stuff that is within?

That mine should be the fortune to be settled where I am

and mine the trans-regression to a life of moral crime,

Let this one be, to me, a statement just of where we are,

and be a metaphor for where we long to be,

and still digress, in sympathy, lest there be something more

for us to find, in time, in excellence or just

by luck.

Indices of life

Just being antisocial, just being vibrantly alone

isn't what I thought it was going to be.

Nothing is as I thought it was going to be,

and that's the biggest problem with the indices of life.

Feathery goo

Summertime, and surviving is awful;

fish are jumping on their bouncy banana legs.

Swans drifting sideways, to another dark future.

So shut it, little darling, don't you ever explode in a plop of feathery goo.

Beware the mine

Such delicate ripples behind a swan, vibrating every soft calm piece

of gentle, undisturbed in beauty, cool refreshing water down,

as it, unworried by its effect upon nature's balanced calm,

sails onwards to a different liquid, very soon to once again return.

Beware the mine.

Ooo.

Consuming thoughts and misery

"I bet mum was pleased to see you",

not that I would know.

I was just dispersing clouds

and writing 'bout the water's flow,

while hidden in my lakeside bed

antagonizing and extracting things;

consuming thoughts and miseries

suppressing every illness as before my eyes it springs.

The best in people

Always finding the worst in life, I tend to acknowledge the best in people,

even when the best in people is hard to find.

It's there if you know where to look for it, it's there where you least expect it to be

it's there if you only believe it will be there,

it's there.

Always finding the worst in life, I try and try to find the best in people.

It's a wet suit

It's a wet suit, it's a suit that's wet,

wet suit it's a, let's play with this bizarre and complex way of thinking.

All of my philosophies have in some way or another

all been leading us to this.

To.

This.

Open hills

Open hills and open waters; open gates and open quarters, open for our prying eyes.

Now we're here and now we're placed within this land of children goodness,

here our tent is bigger than the rest of them all put together.

So the little children squeak and some claim hatred while the rest of us just love

for we were all once small and

Dishers

Flying round the water's edge,

landing on the soft still surface,

God is like a dishwasher.

The bathroom

Splashing, splashing, groaning, wetting,
this is how I go when I go to the bathroom.
If there is no bathroom in easy easy reach,
this is how I go when I go somewhere anywhere.

The peat bogs and the soil

Whistle to me for my sense is not my own,
particles of matter yearning, from the wilderness towards my home.
Look, a black black thistle on a Cheviot of oil;
misunderstand me, if you will, but mine the peat bogs in the soil.

Because

Taken, slowly taken, like the shandwick growth they are,
like a noisy battered make-believe,
like an oyster in a tzar.

Wither, slowly wither, like a ground-up mush of cake,
like a mound-up system forty six,
how my envelopes still ache.

Here and here and now,
satsumas of the mind;
tears of goodness, bristling the mind;
cows are fanciful and little do we know
the castle's empty, quite refined
for shadows in the know

There again, my lights of life depend,
ashamed, my feet will try to make amends,
Fears of pretence making all the best to me,
like an angel in the tree.
Like an angel in the tree.

Taken, slowly taken, like the sandwiches of time,
dripping softly on my shaded ear,
underneath my rock to climb.

Elephant shoes.

Because.

Bare like cheddar

Foregoing my disgraceful need for sugar

I contemplate your urgent wish for cheese,

baked slowly over hot cats, steaming nicely.

Turbulent, these urges come, not held withstanding hitherto.

A name, my name, a name though unlike any other.

For, one two three and bare like cheddar

mights this little man unto each other.

Out, begone, be one with not withstanding sugar for the masses, driven like the snow.

That mine shall be once more one night for you.

Staples are my friend

In effect, no one is my friend, as friendship causes pain

and pain isn't very nice, my friend.

But staples – they're different.

Staples are my friend.

Except when they cause pain; when they cause pain, they're not my friend,

as friendship causes pain.

And staples cause pain, but not always.

When they don't, then they're my friend.

Staples are my friend.

East of the land

East of the land, where I find myself,

next to the dribbling brook.

Out by a solitary queen of hearts,

under a clifftop I look.

Under a clifftop I find myself,

standing alone in the dark.

Freezing and shaking and thinking of you,

drawing a large question mark.

Night time has come and surrounded me;

outright decision to stay.

Cold though my thoughts and perplexing my mind,

in a columbine field full of hay.

Anger has led to complacency

as I speak to myself all alone.

When ignorance shouts to me loudest of all,

though my consciousness thuds like a stone.

And pleasure has left me and will not return

to this land of contentment and pain.

East of this land where I find myself wanting,

never to leave here again.

Hear me, queen of hearts, hear me calling to you,

'cross this columbine field full of flowers.

My senses have left me, my journey is over,

now minutes have turned into hours.

Next to the dribbling brook lie my feelings,

and merely just skin, blood and bone.

Now my freezing delight in my senses has driven me on

where I no longer shall be alone.

How to be just a little bit nude

Slip into something more comfortable tonight,

take off your shawls and your pretty green tights.

Open the window and pretend to be me and

slide.

I think it's warm here, delightful and nice,

filled with compassion, this room shall suffice.

Here are hor d'oeuvres on a shining steel palate, my

bride.

Even the firelight, with dreamy flames flickering

tells us the story of how it shall be for us.

Burning red embers, or green flashes homely a-

bide.

Take off your clothes; I shall breathe on your beauty,

as shamed by such dance, be it ever so sweet,

and here, in this chamber, with love's complications a-

side.

And now, as night's ending, outside in the garden

a willow tree listens, alone in the darkness,

and whispers sweet nothings, and sweet nothing elses con-

fide.

Slip into something more comfortable tonight,

take off your shawls and your pretty green tights.

Open the window, if only and merely to feel justi-

fied.

Banana fish length module inhibitor

my eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the spoon,

whether wet or dry or sideways, fierce a situation rune,

antagonistic fantasies are welling up quite soon,

and one age is ending now.

Driven like the snow

It came within a complex time that nothing forced should ever be;

a time of tremors, earth-bound angles, roaring depths come unto me;

a time so calculated, smooth, that, here upon this world of plenty,

even once forsaken shadows should be left a time to breathe.

Out where moon dust is so twee and emptiness transfers to nothing;

out where lonesome individuals come, lest they be known as something

where my heart was ever meant to prosper, feel or desecrate,

in isolated songs and whispers; we were never meant to be.

Come, I call you, beckon you, across the wastes of fortunes go,

hither, join me, experts fail in this, so driven like the snow,

and be, like me, a solitary aspect on an arid empty sting,

ever more to question living, now eternity itself is drawing in.

Fortune favours the goat named Fred

Fred-e-rick and the cookie named James

wanted no more to feel so bad,

so swung round wildly in their quest through life

to favour a goat they found called Fred.

Intertwined varsity favours their loss.

Only seventeen

Hear me, I shall stroke your hips,

lay you down and kiss your lips,

brush your hairs upon your skin,

delve my fingers deep within,

feel your juice upon my tongue,

sweet caress, so fit and young.

Watch me, I shall take you places,

grimy, dark, no airs or graces,

ecstasy in shattered feeling,

lying back now, pleasured feeling,

this is where you come to borrow,

all my sadness, all my sorrow.

Leave me, I am satisfied.

When my time comes

When my time comes, when my final breath in life is drawing near,

I'll remember all my loves, my hopes, my fortunes, all my fear.

Mystery for what shall come, tamed in life, my death undone,

a majesty around the curve of beauty, feeling, simple loving,

gathered in by wonder, awe, appointment, care

and finally, the one true hope, the only goal my heart has longed for all my life,

that boundless, ever, drawn to you, my feeble fury left behind upon all I have ever know

Now is mine to discount be,

alive, inert or settled feigned,

astounded and accomplished, me,

a sweeter bed time I have never deigned

lest beauty be the only thing of any sense to anyone.

It's the same again and again

It's the same again and again,

the who the why the where the when,

and nothing is the same as me

and nothing ventured ever be

like shadows on an empty tree.

Make my tributes be

Make my tributes be, when I am dead and gone

unhurried, calmly well considered, positive to show

a life spectacularly quite well spent,

enjoying all the good things, but dismissing not the terrors

Pre-e-e-pair ye the way of the Lord

Pre-e-e-pair ye the way of the Lord;

visit my fair beauty in Mull of Ord,

sacrifice nothing but time, lest it be

nowt to the mountain of justice of tea.

Maybe tomorrow

Hello hello type of structure by the lane

the site of scripture

the weary travellers are once again a fervent fascinating need for bellows

like you get on accordions

here am I through all this stuff a lot of things to think about

guys and grounds and dogs and stuff whatever it's all for the one thing that turns me on

shouldn't really turn me on

speckled good year middle when the ground is near spasms of fortuitous in chasms of forgetfulness

mine should be the growth spurt in my chippy with thing that really hurts

captivating audiences my team get the map

or fretting wear the things they happen

art is everywhere and nowhere

art my mistress and my cow

here the gates and here the states that all that stated is quite fine

all the glitters is not gold and old is gold does not Glitter

speculated text I'm writing speckled Karen stuff that fly mind the nine this to question mind that ask the question why Tree Fu Tom lithographs

come with me my best friend laughs

this shall be offensive

This shall be a piece of yours

this shall be a gate of yours

this shall be a spate of yours this the present tense of mine

the train that passes on the line that never moves

and there's someone there wedding orange

what will we do upon the frozen lock with things will struggle to

survive inform a regular trouble use of plenty in this waste of you

maybe tomorrow

Panties everywhere

Pretty little panties everywhere,

everywhere I look;

some have people in them

and some are lying on the floor.

Fresh white knickers, golden lace,

striped green knickers, this day smiles

strange large panties, small cute panties,

pairs and pairs of underwear, stacked in gorgeous piles.

Missile meets missile

Aground, a-sky, anew mundane fragrant McNiggle,

turns its back upon even James the Sardine,

lest it be brought before the Sanhedrin of yore

with the people in their skirts ghostly chomping bark,

bark by the day, twixt neverland not here.

Begin, I call, begin, I say, for now is not you time to

run over small sheep in your socks.

Aground, another ground, perhaps to be me not you,

in turn grotesque fortune play, beep your bristles,

take me to task.

If your love for me did die, didst disgusting my,

eep, there be a grounder, nowt but'st yearning.

Tickle me pinkle me dribble in factors,

save but the open Canute be most found.

Never without a playful element of growth.

Missile meets missile, e'er be thus thundering moss,

even to be mine, jokingly astound, anew mundane,

fragrant McNiggle.

And never again be sheep abounding within a state of

terror, planetary or otherwise.

Shoe my foot off, kindly ma'am.

Naked

Swift, cover me, may my beauty

be known as from above, a further oddity underneath my clothes.

Swift, lay me bare before your eyes,

listen to me, my surprise of longing, ever longing

for my skin to press to yours.

Each unto her own, my eyes

in loving, licking, persons felt bewildered in the deep deep blue.

Faster now, I want your breath, surpressed in shallow dignity abounding

touching me and searching me,

for I feel lace upon my brow and I feel trust deep within me.

Deep within me, probing for my spirit, shall it never come?

This is endless unrestrain-ed love, till meet the moment, feel my name

and whisper longing tender strands, forgetful,

masquerade in naked, shivering, ecstasy forever, love for me forever,

trusting all I am, the pleasure, we shall be together;

we shall be as one.

As one, our naked beauty swift

to lay me bare before your eyes.

Listen to me, my surprise of longing, ever longing

for my skin to press as close to yours.

Here am I

Here am I,decidedly grey, despicably shining.

Meet me in the courtyard past three o clock,

by the fancy fountain, over all that age-old mining,

gracious with a vestibule, ahead of Minnie's flock.

And so they might come running, frothing, whining

racing through her field's apartment block.

Albeit, discarding fluffy fragments of each note resigning.

Mine to be just simply and only in a sock,

favoured, loved and caught together, blockaded and fining,

out our feeble hairs still simmer, cooked as if within a wok.

Mock, refine and knock. Shine, blockade all mine.

Outside

Outside, on the ice, on the loch, on the tide,

seems a-floating, wishes muted, calm descending, trivial things.

Outside, where the earthquake roars, inner groans, exquisite doors,

there shall be my mind, left-over yesterday, my fear, my dear.

I've got an elephant

I've got an elephant called McBride,

sixteen metres tall and eleven metres wide;

I've got another elephant called Jim;

he's rather small so we don't talk about him.

I stood on a flower

I stood on a plant and it made me feel

like God would feel if he stood on a planet.

Crazy cattle

There's something about me

I just don't understand;

why everything good

I can't keep in my hand;

but through it away

like the cattle of old,

much crazier now,

or so I am told.

I just wanna see your massive tits

I just wanna see your massive tits.

I just wanna see your body move.

I just wanna see your giant head.

I just wanna see your body move.

I just wanna stroke your furry cat.

I just wanna see your body move.

Little child of mine

Once upon a thing, o little child of mine, came an entity so serene, so profound,

that even the once so mighty have fallen upon their ears.

I harken back to times once great when things were sweet and you were eight,

a long time hence, my earlobes dripping, tepid groans, extreme life tipping.

Calling to me through the ages, listen, hear, extract your sages,

run them over, thankfulness, expressed in ghost-like tubes of feet.

Once upon a thing, o little child of mine, came an entity so serene, so profound.

Me.

Whatever happened to them

The state we were all in, difficulties set to one side,

none of what might then be about to happen made any sort of sense at all.

Terrific, thought I,

wishing the walls would come down around my bedclothes.

In the night, in the night, stable, tearful, god of might,

shackle not your fortune feist and tackle not your cow.

Time for time, as the seconds ticked away.

Time for one more time, longevity longer than expected.

Songs of thankfulness and Presley.

Making mine a night cap, for it never really left me.

Shout and shout again, for I can barely hear you.

And who should have known when my time was up, when no more breathed in sackful cup,

a tear for me, why don't you shed?

Wistfully, I can come to no good.

This is the time to come together

this is the time to be as one

to come together now

to be as one

This is the time to talk together

this is the time to talk as one

to talk together

to talk as one

One voice above the noise

one voice above the noise

Extra time

It's all extra time

Extra for me and extra for you

And extra for him, the boy in the shoe

Summer time, like the film,

Psychologically ept, headingly or wimbledon

And sweet like a phone call from bangladesh

Dry your eyes mate

unlocked possibilities are great

Selfish sweet potatoes

Playing purple banjoes

The expert

Mine is small and yours is big

Mine is tall and yours a pig

Graphics protection

prophets selection

times are now and times were then

so now the best of things might happen once again

See the change

Seemlessly changing, a sea of doubt.

Flicker my elephant, shimmer my gout;

here is the thing shining greatest of all,

that never again be a statue so tall.

Heaving and straining, we reach up the coast,

difficult though it be inside this ghost,

capturing, laughing and fumbling slowly now,

time for the craziest, calmest we can allow,

night time shall come, for once more it turns

into night, like it did last week.

Northward spun

Weaving and withering, webs of disgust and protection, face me my hour.

Especially to me be known each form of contempt; each nuance made alone.

Now it comes to me, but once it came to me and vanished like the window.

Blurred be my vision

The wind goes ever on and on, like shuttle feet and speaker John,

to feel a grievous nasty dog and fondle Auntie Fine.

The wind goes ever on and on, expecting nowt but chips tonight,

and clever tendons feeding ears in special tastes disowned.

My nights shall be much darker now, as Janet formed her string quartet

and played to old folk in the know, yet deafened by their dreadful woes.

My days shall be much clearer now, as life-force fades and withers so,

as blurred my vision, doubtful spark, it fed my fears away.

Eating apple finger nostrils

Now I come to dine with me and choose my own foot,

it's time to willow the wilderness away again.

Spokes are good when angry ducks relive stark astrograms.

As I lay me down to write

As I lay me down to write, I find my files are outta sight.

And now I feel my way to victory, those cushion mealtimes remind me of you.

The saga of Jerry and Abel

Abel to Jerry, 'my goal is to eat you.'

Jerry to Abel, 'my goal is to run.'

Simon told Jerry that Abel was vanishing.

Tony told Abel that Jerry's his son.

Abel said, 'no, wait, if Tony is truthful,

and Simon is somebody else's true dad,

then why wouldn't Jerry be standing before me,

unwittingly believing he was quite mad?'

And Jerry just shouted, 'no, this my inheritance,

be like to me but as someone's main spouse,

a deep disregard for a family of monsters

with me and my brothers as calm as a mouse.'

Jerry to Abel, 'just stay here and leave me

to hide in the woodwork and stay for a while.'

Abel to Jerry, 'my goal is to eat you

but if I can't find you, I'm quite versatile.'

Cleo

It might have gone unnoticed,

but there is a film distinctly,

bernard shaw.

Ceasar and Cleopatra,

for all it's worth.

Lost streets

Here are the mid night streets,

Laced in forgetfulness and tears.

In the east end

The way you have it with the organ is quite nice;

stapled in a frightened time, not heady like my feet.

Just the piece of software

Marcus, me to you remember

something I have had.

Sweet be me to never ever fall.

Emblem of injustice.

Making like a tree held beauty.

Mine.

Laceration

Lacerated by theatre critics,

underlined in

several ways.

I am financial market, I am

Trading places, secret places, moons and wires and fortune graces.

Here is where I like to be, as I'm a financial market, that's me.

Pointless though it seems to be, futile in its entity,

hopeless, helpless, pink and yellow

draining in their gastric juices,

paining in their massive goats.

Abled when it comes to me and fragrant, sickly, green and tea.

Is my mind set deep upon an envelope of darkened wishes,

cleaning cats and massive dishes.

Eating feet and teardrop fishes.

Trading places, secret places, moons and wires and fortune graces.

One more Oban

One more, two more, seven more Obanoids

gleefully resisting their fate,

spacially concerning, ultimate discerning,

garnered as one on a plate.

Are you shower

It drips and drips, in selfless quips,

it floats and goats, in selfish notes,

in swing and fall, in active tall

it fills my head with injured cat.

Hmm, let me Mull it over

Hmm, let me Mull it over, lovely island, far from Dover;

this is where the madness drove her absolutely mad;

here, where my mullet clover dissipated strangely sober,

this is why my feelings drove her absolutely mad.

Sanctity, or loosely city, fanciful, a juicy setee, awkwardly I tend to rhyme

when mine is not to be;

so, Hmm, I say, no, once more Hmm, out westwards to Cal-Gary bay,

and further south, where no one goes, stretched out, like sand, around my toes.

Time for the sex symbol to rule

now, and it's never where I shall come from;

time for my sex symbol to come

here, and it's never here where I shall turn to.

This is the age

The age of road rage, when no one is safe from its grasps,

is upon us and within us and just will not pass;

its feeling fingers twice as nasty,

spoiled in anger, frosted eyes,

a blot upon a once good land where all is sullied by its depth.

And how I hate what I have become, alone I cry and call for God

to help me in my week of need, that solely, all alone I fall

beneath his goodness, at his feet,

that I may be considered wise and wonderful,

as he would have me;

not as lost as I now feel, all lost alone, I hate what I have become.

Strath never go there again

Albeit, presumptious, but beckoning slightly;

the Strathnaver Guest House – let's naver go there again.

I don’t cry, I'm british

Spend your time with creatures in the wild and later and soioner things turn out for the best.

But only when you spend your time with creatures in the wild. There comes a time when sense must win through the mist.

Home, where the wind can't get me

It's been a long time coming, this home life settled love security,

and a long time calculating, a long time expected.

My walk is a sexy walk

It came a roundabout here and there that mine was hers and hers was mine,

till, all of a sudden, all-consuming greed took sway and nothingness became my day.

It came, and nothing that wasn't here didn't come at all.

Fine, say I , from within my deep dark desire cavern.

My walk is a sexy walk, and that's all there is to it.

It's a hot tub

It's a hot tub.

Tub hot a it's.

There's a place I like to call my home

There's a place I like to call my home;

It's a place I like to be in all alone;

Where's my help? Where’s my stone?

Even in heartache, I find Al Capone.

Space time socks

The cosmos is my leg, the universe my foot,

the solar system, all my toes, the space around us, only time,

the sense of longing growing deeper every single day.

O, to wait and wait

O, to wait and wait and wait and wait;

death is looming, life is fading, breath is quickening, eyelids closing.

Here, it's warm and here it's comfortable,

here is where I know and here is what I know.

Things are what I do and stuff goes on around me;

there will be a point at which all happenings will stop.

There will be a point at which the darkness clouds my mind.

And not just my eyes, and not just my ears and not just my senses,

but the point will come when surrounding me are walls

with no way through -

a close world, like those days, those ill ill days, the wooden room where no one goes,

the Giles cartoons, the Punch manuals,

the chest of drawers all full of secrets -

in those days a close world pressed and pushed against me,

everything; not just my eyes and not my ears but everything within my brain

kept still and dark, till one day soon the illness would have left me.

But this is different; here's the point where happenings will all close down

and now the point at which the darkness fills and clouds my mind.

So I have waited, waited, waited;

death is looming, life is fading, breath is quickening, eyelids closing.

Time, I think, to die.

Time for Sunday afternoons

It's time for, it's time for, it's time to be annured

self-thinking, self-complaining, self-destructing self-assured.

Like nothing I have ever seen or ever will again,

my time is now, it's Sunday time, extracted like a pen.

Even I can find myself

Listening to the breeze, the shock of the leaves, the twinkle of the bark, the shrill of a bird;

listening to the breeze, even I can find myself; even I can feel myself at one with me.

For now, it seems, the only person left for me to ever trust to be as me, is me and me alone.

For all have left me, fall away.

How to attack a ghost with a cucumber

Right, first you find a ghost.

Then, once you've found a ghost,

carefully put down your toast,

thus you maybe make the most

of how one should attack a ghost.

Open the cupboard, take out the tray,

smarten the uniform, where the clothes lay,

ready yourself, eat two bales of hay,

pick up the cucumber, ready to say,

'Right, ghost, I found you, get ready to play.

Lift high the cucumber above your head,

swiftly confuse your opponent with dread;

move to the left then the right side instead,

once you have hit the ghost twice, then to bed,

where, eating the cucumber, you will feel fed.

And now may you dream of a challenge complete;

attacking a ghost, after tea time, is sweet;

relaxed from your head all the way to your feet,

while dreaming of fields full of barley and wheat,

your life may at first feel a bit obsolete,

but at least now you've got rid of one more small ghost

by using a cucumber; now you can boast;

if only there was a way of letting everyone else know.

Fully focused

Fully focused, focused are we

Trimming pubes in my density

That mine should be a short-lived experience

These days, amid technology, amid desires, platitudes and screaming,

I find myself complete in the shelter of a small dark place where the world can't get me.

I've tried and tried and ultimately failed. I've tried to be like the world wants me to be.

But failed and failed and regularly fail. This is not my time; this is not my place.

This is not my problem to resolve. These are not my problems to resolve.

And yet they come and yet they force themselves upon me, as if by right,

as if by being they make me their un-being.

Everlasting apathy

Sports and accounts, like the sims we are,

ea stuff and origins

Walking hand in ear with the one I love

Walking hand in ear with the one I love, staples and diets and out of the window.

Into the fire, into the incinerator. That'll do it. All these things mean nothing in the run of it all.

And it runs fast. Into the fire.

And there it stays.

You will come. O NO. In the power of giving grounds, worst tea I have eaten.

Driven over a goat

Once, I was driven – driven like a goat.

Now, I am driven – driven over a goat.

A goat, a small cute fluffy goat.

Or perhaps a space goat, like my system forty six.

Manic – we've just got to get it down

Downstairs, where the complete things live.

Not upstairs where it's all still trying to happen.

Complete is nice, and not complete is not nice.

Once we were allowed to be and now we're not.

Upstairs where it's good to be, not downstairs where things are complete.

And why? And why should we be so bothered?

Downstairs, it's so nice – things are always good downstairs,

but upstairs is where it happens – where things not yet are are soon to be,

in tiring complicated feats of daring, dinner and the like.

When it's time to be downstairs, that's when things are finished.

Now, it's time to be upstairs, where there is still so much left to do.

A layer or two of dust

Run your finger along the shelf

slide your tongue into my ear

right the person on the left

leave the walkman in my arms

tease each one who dares to think

shut no more their way of life

think no more on teams of green

drib the drab for not all mine

second here once more again

the time to end is here once more

run your finger along the shelf

and slide your tongue into my ear.

Elections erections confections

Decisions, derisions, insicions

A dozen flaming roses

I sent stuff to you and went and chose a nice red colour

cos that's the way we like things round here

Whining at the door

There, in the corner, in the gloom, in the distance;

there, all alone, all at sea, all because

he feels the depths of society clinging to his knees.

And on his knees is no place to stay.

But stay he must, while the world spins round

and round and round, albeit unkindly. Now and not

then, time shall move and things deplore

an ever-sense of shoulders, me to you unkind shall sit

between my feet, untold the gloom where,

all at once and all at sea, this strangely kept but secrecy;

be mine, be mine, be mine again.

The nettle and the tick

The nettle and the tick are waiting on the ground,

and waiting just to injure me, their thing without a sound.

It might be best to stay inside; their pains are all their own;

instead I tend to wander where the scary things are grown.

Trials of whippersnappers

Trials of whippersnappers, endless trials,

When you’re young, you feel all alone, there’s something strange about you,

And I remember once, when I was only a youngster, I won a turkey shoot

And you should have seen James’ face

Never gives up until it’s right there in your hand

Absolutely inexcusable

Time comes to us all, so keep things from me, where the black panther prowls

Naked ones

I'm so glad you came.

That's what she said.

I'm so glad you stayed.

That's what she said.

I'm so glad you'll never leave.

I'm so glad as well.

I'm so glad you came.

That's what she said.

Simple things are always better

Simple, nice, the way I like it;

hard and easy, nothing's new,

nothing like the state of mince

to plan my future in a stew.

Here we are

Grown to be me

There's a simple way of saying this

Here we might be

Selfish to the start

When an early eager film out-stretches

Night time now

So bed we shall be

tears on my pillow, tears on my doorstep

Laughs in the backroom and smiles in the air

It was never meant to be this way, I think, therefore iambic pentameters

Fooled, by the way; disregarded in happiness grounded in tears.

Are you up for breakfast

today or any day?

The people didn't seem so alive.

Shouting, screaming, what's the point?

Putting my noise out of joint, here's my healing to annoint...

Little but a breakfast guru,

somehow, i'm always sarcastic

and I doubt the things that force me to be what I am.

Misery – misery – it's breakfast time.

Are you up for breakfast?

It's only a chat

Podnip is actually alive and podnip always lives.

When the chat is an active one and the person a stranger one,

podnip always lives.

Slipping unnoticed

Slipping unnoticed, as if it's in secrecy,

covered by darkness, maintaining a lie,

deep in the dreary old depths of the earth

where a shadow quite like me forever will hide.

Slipping most sensuously, where it's designed to be,

sweet, heaving, sanity making me laugh,

not where a pinhole obscured by profanity

deems itself curable by simple maths.

Slipping away from me, like drips through fingers,

shortened it falls, as so many before,

time on my wrist beckons endless sincerity;

it should have come to me as in a dream.

Slipping and sliding its way down my trachea,

never to bask in such sunlight again,

deep in the dreary old depths of the earth

where a shadow quite like me forever will hide.

Visit me

Oh oh oh, visit me for a while,

oh oh oh, pee queue are ess tea you

oh oh oh, vee double you ex why?

Zed zed zed zed zed zed zed zed zed zed zed.

And, and, and and And

Forget me not and I'll not forget me not neither,

and always keep your three-lettered words to yourself.

And mine shall be just ever so slightly arm-less.

It all happened when I was sleeping

Once upon a time, when I was asleep

everything happened, in my dreams;

everything happened that there ever was

and was ever is and shall be was not.

Fast asleep was I, without a care in the universe,

then everything happened, everything everywhere

happened to me while I was still sleeping,

everything anyone could ever comprehend.

And quite a lot of other things too.

Quite a lot.

In my sleep, in my dreams, in my snoozing, in my head;

that everything there ever is should somehow happen to me seems

A little bit mad really.

And yet it happened,

but I was still none the wiser.

So how do I know?

How do I know?

Make mine a sardine

I want very little in life,

just honesty, love and a plate of sardines,

wrenched from their homes in the violence of the sea,

here, on my plate, it all seems to be

I am just greedy for more.

Greedy for more.

This is the way it should be

This is the way it should be;

garters in custard and herrings for tea;

wanton discretements, or fantasy villages;

this is the way it should be.

Tell me I'm stupid – I really don't care;

undress my eyeballs till they are quite bare;

floundering sideways, my shifting uneasiness;

this is the way it should be.

Liquidized elements, more than I wanted

and standardized coutriments – here I am King;

opening shafts, lit by elegant crystal feet;

this is the way it should be.

Make mine a sausage, for all that it's deemed to be;

gather my thoughts in a bowl – this is my stiffened fee;

what should I be, when what I should be shouldn't be?

This it the way I should be.

Poems and music and crimes of humanity,

writings and songs for the sake of my destiny;

out, candle, out – this is my time to be myself;

or else the way I should be.

Nattering softly in darkened obscenities;

I will alone where my mind can absorb the trees;

never again to belong to society;

this is the way I am so deemed to be.

This is the way it was always to be.

Lick the underside of a cat

Somewhere in the middle, twixt the rain and thunderstorms,

somewhere in the middle – that's where it should have been.

Subtle, subconscious, barely audible sounds -

lick it, lick it, lick it, do.

Lick the underside of a cat.

Seventeen times seventeen

is roughly two hundred and eighty nine;

roughly anyway – or maybe it's exact.

When you're walking round loch leven

And you're time has gone to pot;

when you're fantasizing of the good

and things are really hot;

when you're thinking all you've ever thought

is crazy and long-haul

then you've never found yourself encountering

family life at all.

Time for the Zargon Lords to take over

Little do the raindrops know,

as they fall upon my face,

as the drip like droplets do,

as they land upon the ground;

the ground now wet with heather dew;

that this is now the time to be

forgotten by the world of man,

ignored by animals and kind;

presented with vague heathland stew

in depths of nothing, depths of nothing, now is not the time to doubt

that this is now the time for the

Zargon Lords to take us over.

Take us over, take us do.

The world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.

Birds explode in the air

There she goes, withering away,

like a non-consuming grass of steaming wisps.

And unknowing, and un-prepared for

my state of mind shall be her undoing.

Her undoing, her undoing.

That hers, my fantasies be overwhelmed,

like a shadow in a brightly-lit arena of dance,

like a shadow, whose structure is founded and known,

an alignement of nothing more than me.

Be us forever where we are, still the shapes are in the jar,

when those shapes will be forgotten like the wind.

And for something unbeknownst, there be nothing more than toast,

in my toadstool of belittlement so far.

Birds explode in the air, my toad, in the air,

I wanted more than nothing more to feel.

Like the stream of my despair,

runnign freely in the air,

I shall feel like water trickling towards;

I shall fell like water trickling towards.

There she goes, exploding in the air

like a non-consuming grasp of what will come.

Like a childhood deemed mis-spent,

like an ageing argument,

mine the perfect and protagonist

ashore.

Mine the perfect bride exploding in the air.

Social media expert

Seventeen sylabulls
is all I've got.
Never again, so I thought.

Never more to change

Never more to change my mind;
I'm set, and that's just the way it is.
That's just the way things are, you see;
I'll never change again - that's me.

Take my body

Take that time when thoroughly unbeknownst to me, a hundred million more than I was.
Expecting,
descended upon me, believing to themselves that what they did was right when we
all knew there was something seriously wrong.

Take that time then take my soul, my fingers, body, heart and lies.
So once again for one last stance
I was able to be me and only me,
'cos me is what I always wanted, always wanted to be.
Me.

Satisfied by life

It shall never be,
one shall never see,
doped up to the eyeballs
in translucent pretty purple tights,
my mind is dripping, like a statement,
regulating in abatement,
this shall never be
and one shall never see the life
dictated by a moron's mind
or set upon by packs of multicoloured children,
screaming for themselves, though
what they are is nothing more than
potions of deep, undenying, listless lifeless lies.
Come to me, little children -
under my wing I make you all
so very much much more.
It shall never be.
One shall never see.
With me, my friends, with drugs and candles,
hold on tight,
for this ride never ends.

From death

From death we have come and to death we must head,
with this single short moment, a breather from destiny
where, with the best of will, we might discover light,
drained from our eyes or seeped from our brains
it may come, to the best or the worst or the best of us.

But, in all likelihood we shall be ignorant,
innocent sparing ourselves from such hardship,
so when the end comes as the end always comes
it'll come as surprise, either lovely or hateful
but always and always it comes with a sorrow
of what we have failed to do, should we have realised
this break from each death was to be only finite,
for nothing is ever more certain than death.

From death we have come and to death we are heading.
No matter what people do, we can't avoid it.
There is no point in pretending to try.

The struggles of camping

I used to build tents in the past,
and think I'll build tents again one of these days.
But for now, here in the present, whenever I build one
I can get so tense.
So very tense.

Gaining dust

And there, on the distant shore, raises smoke, I know not whence.
Particulates of denser air will fill the land, the sea, the sky,
'still no more shall we tempt discussions of such vastly noticed growth
benign and beautiful be they, shafts streaked the memories and sheep,
a-noise amaking, settled dust that ran and ran and fought and lost,
'till now they are no more than pieces, gaining dust upon the shelves
so people can pay just to see the foolishness it meant to me.

The canoe

Off with your head, comes the utterance.
Stop your wobbling sternly replied.
A family in a green canoe
drifts, otherwise silently there
within my view.
And all at once it seems to me
that all that we experience, fresh to us, freshly made anew,
is duplicated far and wide
within each family.

To say farewell

Is this now my time to say farewell?
My eyelids closing, memory all blurring,
clouds caressing, close world closing,
noises softening, breathing ending.
Is this now my time to say farewell?

To all I've ever known and all I've ever done;
my hopes and fantasies all ending,
nothing more imaginative than
what I had for tea.

That all of what I've ever been
should come to this, it doesn't seem right,
but this is now and that was then.
Is this now my time to say farewell.

Who will miss me when I'm gone
and who will cry for me
and why should people cry for me?

This is now my time to say farewell.

Before my eyes

Night time fades before my eyes, as weights aside my inkling be;
that now and only now as time is once before me, one more time,
I'll count myself as lucky I shall see another daybreak,
breaking through the long, dark eve-time of my goat.

But now the cat's all jealous and the earwig doesn't know me,
and my friends have all found better things to do
and better things to be than be with me,
as if I care for human company, or care for their concern.
It never mattered much to me in the past.

Such a very long time.
Earwig beauty, earwig frenzy,
scuttle to me Jeremy and watch the daylight break
before my eyes.

Jean-Paul Sartre

Jean-Paul Sartre ate my only goat with breaded cheesecake.
All he had to do was to propound his existentialism.
We have to create our every purpose always for ourselves;
in proposing No God, he still went to meet him anyways.

Agonising waits

Agonising waits are the only pleasant option here.
Agonising weights pretend they're happy,
but when we know better, come to me my custard lump,
drizzled in a sideboard of pathetic whinging memories,
when memories are the latest thing to harden and to dampen
evry but the worst despising wanton fan-like insecurities,
captured in a moment as a man is to his child.

Take what I believe is surely all there is to life,
and play with it and play with it
'till play becomes a torture,
then discard it once again, for it was never meant for you to scream it to its end.

It's very sticky end.

Stick.

Missing out on life's rewards

Missing out on life's rewards, as they hurtle me to the grave of my own making,
injury and injustice meaning nothing now to anything,
especially the ones to whom it really should have meant the most.

But all the bad things happen miles away. Miles and miles away.
Too often caught in simple meaningless charades,
like games you pmay on ferries from inferno to the frozen wastes
just to pass the time away before the needless test eternity
shall claim you for its own again.
Shall claim you got it's own.

A pebble on the shore

A pebble on the shore,
A tree whose branches bend,
although I'm not too sure,
On me they must depend.

One's fellow man

Or, yes I believe in, what will come.
And, yes I depend on, what's my own.

I think, when gazing on the water,
hearing all the birds and wildlife
pattering and squalling the beginnings of another day;
I think, when sitting in discomfort,
as I catch the falling can,
aching as my muscles realign to this, a new position ;
I think.

The times we spend alone, the quiet times in solitude;
the times we want in peace - undisturbed by anything,
are times, and now I realise it, are times to hold most precious;
within a world of violent noise, such art is held so precious
that to be anything other than an organised excursion
is to lie, or at the best of times, believe oneself to be correct
when all about you is quite wrong.

And so, above this tranquil spot
an aeroplane roars in the sky
and all those people cannot know
the others' lives beneath them lie,
for such as life continues
so continues everyone's
complete and utter lack of understanding
for one's fellow man.

Grass is good

Grass is good to gouge you out.
And that's why dogs and cows and other things
spend all their time, spend all their days,
just eating the stuff, digesting the stuff
and finally, just finally excepting the stuff, from whence it came.

Lie of the land

It's only the lie of the land,
but the lie of the land has often lied to me.

Forsaken, these times, and lost to the world,
and lost to the children of the future we like to call theirs, but know it's only ours.
When shall it be theirs? When we are all gone.
We close our eyes and cross our hands over our chests and say,
as a wise old man to his adoring wide-eyed children,
"This, all this, my children,shall one day, one moment, in a few seconds, be yours,
and all the mistakes we made are yours and only yours to clean and gather up,
in time for you to make your own mistakes for your children to spend their lives rectifying".

And he shall continue, "I'm not dead yet so hang about".

Mate with me

Mate with me, my one true mate
and friendly feel me deep inside you,
I am part of nothing more than industry,
as like a chain belt we produce the workers next to be;
come be with me and cum with me
so we can add to that strong industry
of babies and their long-expected worth
for all humanity.

Bestest of intentions

How can you hate the small small children?
How can you hate anything that happens
when most of the stuff that ever happens,
happens in the best of ways and at the best of times
and with the bestest of intentions?

Mystery

Mystery upon mysteries, how cardinal the sin;
that, made entirely out of glue, my chocolate box of gin:
ingredients to make one blush, inspired by love and hate,
but nonchalantly young the love, for love itself will wait.

Children making noises

Children making noises; fascinating noise-creators,
splashing in the water, out beyond the shore line glinting,
Messing with the laws of nature,
Fascinating ways of life.

A better place for me

Nothing I have ever heard and nothing I have ever seen
could prepare me for the depth of innocence I feel has left,
for times upon times prove the point that yesterday we knew much better;
that today is little more than sacred but for the criminal and overriding sense
that all we should have founded should be now the reason why my soul
is once and only once for all a better place to be.
A better place to be.
A better place for you
and a better place for me.

Searching

We're all searching for something; searching, searching, always searching,
and many of us don't even know what we are searching for.

Sue the ostrich

See the bottom, see the water,
see my ostrich friend called Sue;
mine the comfort, mine the rainfall

The beat

Now there's a beat, and its loud one.
Spanning across the water like it belongs and
like it owns it.
This is a difficult one, for I'm the one who makes these licks,
Sticks these riffs and creates these noises.

Not these noises themselves but many many like them.
So what to I know and what do I do when all about me makes them too?

Quizzed without answer

Is there a point at which the understanding of what makes nature human
ever reaches our subconscious or ever makes us think?
I quizzed without answer.

The day all the finance went wrong

This is the day.

It all seemed so sweet and fine beforehand.

Then came this day, the day all the finance went wrong.

And if it did, which I suspect it did,

I feel such a fool,

as this is the thing I always guarded against,

and this is the thing I always told others about,

that one of these days, if you're not careful;

and you have to be so careful every one of these days;

the people will come to get you

and take what is yours for themselves and leave.

Without a thought for you or the ones you love.

This is the day.

This is that day.

It will go down in history.

A decaying dead rabbit

festering in the doggies mouth

dripping scintillating, dropping festicating

here you are little boy.

here you are little boy