Tuesday, 19 December 2017


been a wee while
since I put thoughts down
or typed out glyphs
to show you all
what is going on
in my mind.

i never speak these words,
though part of me would like to.
to put them through the air, to
test how translating into
would serve the sentiment and the
or lack of,
held betwixt
these symbols.

guy that got me into this
never liked the idea of
public speaking. it
thoroughly horrified him, which
is of no surprise
as he is

I have been
trying to fit him into a mold
he plain won't go into
years. I love him
like a man loves his
brother but boy,
he makes
at times.

I have just stopped
expecting anything
stopped completely.
now, I am happy for anything from
this delicate man. which
should be a philosophy for

expect the least and
you shall
be showered
with the
most. maybe I should be a
it pay

i expect

Wednesday, 30 August 2017


writers block 
she's telling tales
in her own way
this morning 
sucking my cock
that sweet smile 
bitter coffee 
the mountains above 
frightful cyclists below
a glance between the seats 
the tongues of other life forms
strong scent emanating
Scotland on his airm
another stop 
the Black Bitch 
apple cores
unsettled scores
trips to Vegas
winning big 
through these streets 
down the steps 
like many before 
silentdisco dancing  
coffee man missing
the mark 
stilted conversation 
praised food stuffs 
100 pounds in 100 seconds 
just keep                                                                 holding on 
tickets for tomorrow 
no refunds
animal charities
thank you 
it was how much? 
time to think
while we wait
John Carpenter and
a good show
squeeze her hand
part the crowd
explosions above the castle  
shameful masses
take a seat 
yet darkened now  
the sun still beats 
the heart still beats
the beat of the drum 
finger in the bum!

Wednesday, 19 April 2017


big blue sun
beating it's meat
down on our heads,
battering the tops
and slowly killing the
as it jumps back up
in their faces

short time sculpture,
growing grass between
toes -
admiring the obscenity
all the while taking advantage
of those too
rich to notice
and too bloody
important to

Monday, 13 February 2017


imagine if there was no more time
you could live a life of freedom
like a silver pool to dive in and out of,
a mountain top screaming,
lovers forever in passion
and all the events an audience
and you'd not move a muscle,
no un-opulent moments,
never a hideous chasm torn up
only delicate bridges and
flowing sounds of a heaven. maybe
could save you
yet, despite this      
its amazing how a life
can amount to something
like nothing 

Sunday, 19 June 2016


shit bru
just the sound of it
and I’m back
best time
flying down
through the bush
lighting up darts
calling out the names
of it was sweet
drinking at the airpot
then flying home in
squeaky wheels

Friday, 17 June 2016


there's a misanthrope
living in my head
it speaks out of turn and takes everything
say with a grain or two
salt and never misses a chance to
chew up only
the most odious
of detritus

spouts dictums
with a laodicean tone
argumentum ad verecundiam
it screams as I
to make love to
my lady

yet the presence is
at times
something of a piquant -
at least I can
the paranoia
reverberating through
the nights
all amongst the
silent trees

foretelling and
resonant raspberries
on the
swollen belly
of the pregnant
woman who
refuses to give
her unborn
the expected

snap snap snap all along the path 
with cheese on toast

Thursday, 12 May 2016


yip yip - yup yup !!

now read it the rite way
back down back up  
to acknowledge
what we choose
but without is only
of endlessness within
there's still the chat chat chatter ing
happy jaws that do no snapping
down on the water 

- - - -     or up in the sky or
today is nothing compared the evening between
upon by our own hands \ / can you tell the difference?
tonight we are the carrion torn apart and feasted
know that
a fuck up but they'll never  
up is actually
scavenging this close
knob head 
read it the right way

Tuesday, 10 May 2016


sitting on the grass
to cancel out the pain
dock leaf on nettle sting
she showed me
a tiny book made
by her own hands but
she seemed to forget i
no longer loved her
all bathed in light
and never did 

Thursday, 10 March 2016


So plant. So plant.
It's a plant plant situation
and it's getting more plant.
Your soil, your soil
it gives birth to your roots.
Your roots, your roots
they give birth to your stem.
So stem, your stem
it's a stem stem situation,
and it's giving birth to the leaves.
Oh leaves, oh yeah, it's a leaves leaves
situation, and it's getting more leaves.
They look, at me, and they think
I'm the light. The light, oh light
and they try to photosynthesise me.
Oh yeah, photo, synthesisation.
My light, sweet light, nourishes the leaves.
Oh leaves, oh yeah, they give birth back to
the stem.
Sweet stem, yeah stem,
it gives light back to the roots.
Sweet roots, plant roots, gives it
all back to the soil.
And me, sweet me, I make poems
to the tune of Elton John
and Blue.
So blue, yeah blue,
blueblue blue blue de do.

Tuesday, 2 February 2016


"This is where I always go..." he spoke to his fever, and habitually motioned to throw off that old dust sheet...

"There be cataracts here go back months..."

He stoppeed short.

A small mouse darted across the floor...

The old chair by the window with the L in the spine had been uncovered, straightened, paused upon and thought about.

"My fever is too damn high", he said out loud. " Nobody comes here no more!"

And at that he passed out, rolled onto the floor and dreamed of opening an old time poetry saloon. A place where folks could be free, say poems about what they wanted to say them about, even about the bad times, the old times and the end of times. He'd open it one day, and the ink would be limitless. If only his fever would pass...


its been a while
some kind of
where have we all gone ?
tick fuck tick fuck tick fuck
time, that old bastard, creeps up and jollys you
can't be a surprise
he's there
every day
with his ancient hard on
you just
shuffle about and kick rocks
into a dead smile 
over hearing
'look son, this is where the artists used to go'
now, they don't.
spread far and wide
(not really) but
taking each day
as it cums in your shoes and you squelch it around
trying not to cause a fuss or feel embarrassed
about the complete absurdity
spunky shoes

Wednesday, 12 August 2015


raise up and push
the snap sound
up and back down
create the sheet music
so i can play
the symphony

button your buttons
tie the tie
grin their grin
offer your hand
hug it out

remember the script
watch the movie
playing out around the suns
preheat then
sit down and

Friday, 26 June 2015


Unfurl like a banner
across the street and
into the stoop
of the man in poop
- that filthy homeless
bag of bones, home alone
oh oh the zone,
get out the zone!
go left!
left wing on the high sing
go go jing jing
get out of your mind
and get into the pit,
it's happening down there,
below the constructs and
the jobs
and the bank accounts
and the tax returns
and the cut price
pizza tuesdays
and the high school
teachers on their way to
the fields of sandwichs,
below the howling of frogs
stranded on footpaths
where the canals are filled in;
below the treachery and deceit
of the reality
promised to you by
television, movies
and the third voice in your mind;
get below the idea
that you have a you
that that you has a right
and the will
and the means
to make it all the way;
get below the idea
that there is a way,
that there's always been a way,
that there always will be a way -
there is no way,
there's only one fixed spot
and it's not even here.
Get below it all,
just get the fuck below
and stay there,
if you know what's good for you

Thursday, 25 June 2015


I followed the blind man home,
it turned out he lived in a glass house
and nobody had told him.
Outside sat dozens of people
who just watched.
I joined them as we saw the blind man
do blind things
in the dark.

Wednesday, 24 June 2015


A slow return,
hazed out of nothingness
and bled back into shot.
Big Jim filled the screen
once more.
The children around him
were dusty skulls
on dusty piles of dusty bones
...how long had he been gone?

A faint flicker,
two round eyes,
the shutters rolling up.
Big Jim I am...
he began to begin again,
consciousness reassembled
fingers twitching
at the moons of his
he swooned with the beat back
Big Jim on the backtrack
"Salt of me and salt of my,
Big Jim I am and
Big Jim I'll die"
But did he...?
Glancing down he beheld an ego,
rumpled on the floor
all purple powder and
designer mirage.
He kicked at the bones
of a bastard child,
and rose out of
his big easy chair.
He walked outside
and wasn't there.
The sky split
and a giant lawnmower
passed overhead
through the seam
of the seemingly infinite.

Sunday, 7 June 2015


a limb which grew fat 
a golden light 
an Indian man staring out the tram 
milk bottles for an eye piece 
moves like a girl, that gentleman 
your necklace is a key
ironed shirt
this morning 
tartan scarf 
beautiful hugs on the floor 
straight cut - suck her lips 
criss cross
check s'il vous plaƮt
i have change but not to hand
my love 
actioning off energy 
until god  
panting in your ear 
money gone gone monies 
disasters in writing and in foot steps 
surgically removed without a drop of anesthesia
waiting in line 
she refused to come around 
pose for photos 
smile like the sunshine
never thought 
never could have guessed 
finger tattoos 
take a piss bunny rabbit
watch me blow her a kiss 
let her suck you dry 
stepping from the boat, soon 
walking up or walking down
still it'll been gibberish till the end 
she stands there like a queen 
a royal 
a royal look upon her face 
knee operated taps 
dressed like a salesman for the good lord and his teachings 
the only lord - no god but my god 
asian baby at the wheel of the carriage that carries guests to the house where you follow them into every room
shiny old beemer 
classy + white 
ZOO turn left
foxtrot charlie 
piccolo please 
calorific bodily sensations 
a work of art in running shoes chasing the dream 
sunday after all
tomorrow gone 
tomorrow's gone 
tomorrow is gone 

tomorrow is 

Friday, 22 May 2015


C c c c
He he he he
He who sets foot and
tyre on Europe's
sweet face.
What sights behold
your sweet keen eye, C?
And tell me fair C,
how tastes the wine?
How efficient the postal system?
Always take the back road
layin down the thick choad
takin lots of pics yo
eatin up dem pastries tho
Peace be to thee and thine other
as you grace those great cathedrals
of time gone by.
What glories!
Qui la Basil leaf!
Leaf de jours !
Sacre cours!
A poem, dans le jar de fooq.
Dont get a puncture.

Friday, 1 May 2015


It's glorious!
What a shelf, not a crooked
bastard in sight!
Look at the screw heads!
What craftsmanship!
Never a finer work
of art!
It'll never fall!
The Roman empire all
over again!
Reside on my wall
and keep my paintings
safe you sexy
slice of wood
and cheap veneer
- and if you dare collapse,
I'll fall with you,
on my sword,
on a Monday morning
with big C
watching on
as I silently

Saturday, 25 April 2015


I hesitated...
this zoo was at once indoors
and out -
harsh strip lighting hovered overhead
and a thin glass wall
surrounded me.
A thrush came bobbing
into view, its feathers
long thin barbs
and its eyes like
great black holes.
He carried grass in his mouth,
and his flying saucer eyes
followed me as he passed
in a strange bounce,
as though walking on
the moon.
Next in procession came a cat
but this cat was a lion,
with hair equally long
and barbed
and eyes equally large
and black.
He approached a sheep and
proceeded to roar into
its face and at once the
sheep was me.
I turned and ran, hitting
the exit chamber with
a thousand eyes watching,
waiting to see if the beasts
would feast tonight.
I stood fumbling for the key,
and the beast rushed forth...
I won't lie - I shat my pants
before or after
waking up.

Friday, 24 April 2015


"Dig until you find gold" he whispered
as he handed me a teaspoon
and a crooked smile.
So i began,
and above our heads volcanoes erupted
and lightning struck with venom.
The sky filled black
and the world destroyed itself.
It chewed on itself,
and spat what was left back out
before stamping and screaming on the shrivelled remains.
All the while i dug through the ashes
as the smiling man watched with great interest.


Turning his attention upwards
he sucked all the beautiful people out of the sky,
and lining them up
one by one,
thighs to eyes
and lips to nips
he proceeded to lick them all two at a time.

Monday, 30 March 2015


Big Jim I am...

The fishes swam...
It was dark out here,
the air wasn't quite water
and the water not quite air...

He looked around, or rather
he was around
his conscious suddenly not

"...glig BIM I am" he swam...

he was stretched, universally applied
and condensed to the head of a

A bird chirped
a frog croaked
the fish swam
big Jim began

all over again.

Tuesday, 3 February 2015


"Johnson, you're hired!"
The bullet hit
right in the gut.
A lifetime of
security, pay checks
and beige.
I think I'll buy
a tie
a toasted cheese maker
on DVD.
I'll drink nice
wine and
eat olives with
cheese on
I'll grow grey,
and slowly
"Thank you sir!
I won't let you down!"

Saturday, 24 January 2015


I took a sweet toke
as my mind reclined
and intuitively knew;
"it's been too long."

I lifted the arm
dropped the needle
on the track
and sat back.

A camera winked at me
poems tickled my ears
and paint trickled out
from under my fingertips.

The faint smell of recognition
grew stronger;
I know this place,
this is home.


Big Jim slid down
into the comfy chair;
"Big Jim I am", he began
before astral projecting
to another dimension.
His cold, lifeless body
lay limp and prone
in the big easy chair
as the
children tugged at
his hair
as they
pulled at his toes
as they
stole all the coins
from his deep greasy pockets.
Meanwhile Big Jim
slid down
into the comfy chair;
" Big Jim I am", he began
before astral projecting
to another dimension
- just another chump,
stuck in an infinite
boot loop.
"Big Jim is a cunt",
the children all cried.
They weren't half wrong
they weren't half right
- it was confirmed by
the universe as
Big Jim the cunt
went howling through
the cosmic night.

Friday, 23 January 2015


"What's that smell?" they asked
"Not sure" he answered
Christmas smelt of shite this year
It was coming from the corner
He told the children that Rudolph must've done it
That Santa was caught short without a poo bag
He blamed the children
"Too many carrots" he said
"You piled them high"
"What did you expect?" he asked
The children were unprepared for such a question


Old Mags sneezed
she sneezed a "fuck you"
a giant "fuck you"
straight into my Cajun chicken roll.

Monday, 19 January 2015


my soul in a microwave
spinning round and round.
Hey neily, neily boy old pal
- whatcha doin spinning round
and round
to the horrible sound
of your soul cooking
at 750 watts?
I'm just fooling around, see,
playing with my essence
sprawlled bubbling
on a glass plate.

Saturday, 17 January 2015


Singing sensation! Cease this non cessation!
Dip it in chocolate
nip it and hop it
hop hop
run run
run bitch run
walkin down a
long and lonesome
chewing up the words
as they fall from the world
and pass down to hell.
Look now
the seagulls are flying
backwards signifying
a distinct lack of
Meanwhile nip
eating plastic with her face
eating face with her plastic
and ignoring the sea
(hence seagulls flying backwards,
chewing words etc.)

Thursday, 1 January 2015


Fuck ting a ling
Fuck ting a ling
everybody everybody
fuck ting a ling.
a new one has
a new one begun
fuck fuck fuck
good luck
in your filthy

Wednesday, 31 December 2014


Hey L,
sweet L in a dream
sipping ice tea
likin' it spicy
rolling in the sun
with a face blurred
and wearing the
expression that
i saw back through
a doorway
a year or
10 ago.
If you're still free
start running away,
and if you're not
then please send
some more poems.

Tuesday, 30 December 2014


Sweet pies alive!
It's quarter to five!
and the year has
rung dry.
sweet short
baked and smoked, toke toke toked.
L, C, LLC, TTC, he he he.
fast forward to the future
slow rewind to 2008;
the poems are growing,

Friday, 26 December 2014


These careless parts do not worry
Never fret or moan, mope or cry
Nor do they even live or die 

They sit through the sun and rain,
high tide and low 
Nor do they even sing, dance or laugh - they simply be.

simply waiting patiently to become the next part, 


Thursday, 25 December 2014


Even in Arcadia, there I am a dead man who looks as I do

Images of gory rituals swirling in the majesty of buttercups 

Conducting mimics in the sunshine's betrayal 

Peaks and troughs never stopping never thinking 

Beneath water again and over but in full view 

Praemonitus, praemunitus, of course
 of course. 

Monday, 23 December 2013


chasing phantoms 
empty phantasies

coffee burning his
cigarettes smoking his
lights flashing in his 

the reality has become 

Wednesday, 16 October 2013


henry where are you now?
I fucked her inside you
more than once dear henry
the other one nearly ended you and I made
you run run run so far
but you've done that so many times already henry
I can tell that just by looking at your features
when are you going to quit henry I know its
not up to you but ultimately
that's all you have henry and we didn't even see it
the road is your home and you
are its king, Henry.

Thursday, 13 June 2013


waiting for your axe to grow
gods on peddle boats chasing eggshells round the cattle market.
old women stop to tell the time and beg for food.
neat lines of school children on each side of the highway.
plaster their faces around town, not a looker among them.

waiting for your axe to grow
scooters with training wheels spreading fire retardant necklaces.
gallons of chai chai chai chai chai.
handlebar mustaches.
brown skin and socks full of sugar.
foxes of fury consigned to old buses constructed from German ideas.

waiting for your axe to grow
the toilet is down the hall but is no more than a deep dark hole
- your shit passes from one black hole to another -
but we do have bum showers.
seems we can forget time for times sake.
hard to impress the bagel man these days.
hes got no solutions for the environmental questions you dropped by the snake pit.

waiting for your axe to grow
garnish your own life with flowers before helping others with theirs.
watching spunk bubbles skip across the lake.
in hell the beer is cold but it tastes of vertigo.
we'll wave at each other as we pass and swap pistols and watches.
can't say I have ever been woken up that way but it was wonderful.
pages 145 to 195 are gone.

waiting for your axe to grow
the past is here, the leaves still fall and lillys still float.
the children suck lolly pops as father fucks horses before each race.
you'll get bitten hard if you go down to the shores.
take the boat, its faster than smoking up rain storms.

waiting for your axe to grow
in hotel lobbies buttoned up in pear orchards.
millions of eyeballs rippling across the mountains.
there are so many colours.
I'll tell you how to say my life vest is drowning.
only on the journey out as by the time you come back they'll have your money.

waiting for your axe to grow
backbase and what the backbase wants.
at this altitude my balls start to tingle when they touch your face.
such a beautiful place.
innocent curiosity and a distinct lack of thought.
the chimp in the dress has pissed on the carriage floor.

waiting for your axe to grow
watch your feet gents.
no one body knows how to get there.
I shall see you up north where the ladies shave their ovens.
wasps in the post office but the clerks don't give a toss.
your mother used to sit here.

waiting for your axe to grow
just a tiny nibble.
boxes of hoofs lit with hate.
sunshine bouncing off her breasts.
give a laugh and help push sincerity from the map.
none of your type aloud to make trees grow past your sitting bones.

waiting for your axe to grow
white shirts in back pockets mixing pencil shavings and no smoking signs.
meet me round the back.
draconian measures fly like spent nappies.
across tea plantations the spirits are lifted.
a right teapot and nutty driving with the lights off.
some strokes take your teeth and polish them up for grannies wake.

waiting for your axe to grow
ice coffee and the artists.
my wife is crying.
throw your hands up towards electricity wires.
sticky fingers caught in fishing nests while the newest guest injects in front of the television.
plan your new move and how to say goodbye.

waiting for your axe to grow
the ending and faces in time.
carpets that cover up those bad deeds and the French.
nick nacks follow ass cracks from one station shaken up and burned through.
balaclavas on tiny sculls.
odd uniforms and extra long naps.

waiting for your axe to grow
urine therapy.
the smallest strawberry you have ever seen.
aspergers's cocktail.
collect green cards and brush your teeth with twigs.
pulling out the sugar cane.
push the button with the arrows and
drag your feet.

waiting for your axe to grow
couch beds and artist head.
I whisper in a mouses ear before she takes me the prostitutes quarter.
no real friends, its 
paper Ghandi they desire.
friends are white,
she is afraid of him.
I disagree. 

waiting for your axe to grow
falling was much to easy.
I was built for mountains, though
not these daft things. 
strangely shaped balding heads.
their asses roll quite perfectly.
sleeping on matted shag as the desert slams through the window.  
a child with too many teeth tries to touch my feet,
and I realise I miss her. 
altitude is a loveless bitch.

waiting for your axe to grow
one hand across your heart, the other on the penis.
the stool from your eyes 
may stain hair, skin or fabric. 
beautiful calls to prayers. 
the bastards have made it too sweet. 
Himalayan hair cuts.
I left my lime green underpants in London. 

waiting for your axe to grow
spark one up on an aeroplane .
what have I come to find here?
the only Scotsman for a hundred miles. 
mistakes mistakes mistakes mistakes.
standing in a third world country
as the tanks roll in town.
I was told there would be shit tickets.
come to stare at a building. 
you'll not recognise me these days
 waiting for your axe to grow
what was it all for?
you can't defecate by the kerb
in this place.
ain't any of that shit here ma' boy!
digestion contemplation these
things last a life time because we're all
waiting for your axe to grow