Sunday, 31 May 2009


He took stock of his situation.
Another bank letter raped his mailbox
5 weeks of deserved sweat provided the surface he was standing on.
The sun was shining, daring him to defy social convention for another day.
The jobcentre database proved fruitless,
just another rotten apple placed in an attractive polythene bag
and whored next to the jumbo bags of barbecue charcoal.

Sunday, 24 May 2009


Fat old smile beyond our comprehension

A cone full of chocolate hash

A motherland with the utmost bounty

She blows back our hair

Recitals of verses from our young minds

A trio of dreamers, us three

‘hey hey, cripple creek ferry’

Imported delights with a hefty tag

A second visit yet a different world

Echoes of a past, akin to a morning bell

A blue wonder of workmanship

This one takes work

Happiness comes wrapped up in batter

The best part of the day?

Contact where it is not seen

By a mind from what is like a dream

So many smiles, from faces marking my youth

Orchestral moments dealing in existence

The nature of that beast we call time

I don’t have the answer but

Happiness comes wrapped up in banter


Desolate and green tinged
the walls stare like the patients
condemned and not even realising.
To my left, the hollow shell of a has-been
endlessly repeating hours, minutes
like some voluntary alarm clock.
I'd like to smash my fist in his face
but we all need time
and so he ticks by.
I ponder his life
and in my mind i take it,
rearrange certain elements of it
and before me i produce
someone exactly like the members of the other 7 beds
and the people outside

Friday, 22 May 2009


Morning M'Lord!

The barns had been ransacked again,
political entrails mingled with rotten hay bales and public doubt;
The latter easily being the hardest beating to bare.
Eloquent words to keep us warm
watchful eyes, pig sty apathy and a duck island.
Why are you still in charge?

Tuesday, 19 May 2009


stubby little fingers
smiles devoid of teeth
laughing barrel bellies
hide whats beneath

glasses filled with fizzy pop
a hand under your blouse
eyes filled with melting stars
creeping up the house

giving the punters what they want
spectacles stained with blood
the familiar stench of piss &
feet slipping in the mud

Monday, 18 May 2009


"Fuck you", i simply stated.
He heard, computed and then issued a response to my well deserved insult,
culminating in a magnificent "SUCK DONKEY COCK!".

In the background, Dylan span at 33rpm
and in the secondary background
several, not improbably thousands of eyes were crying.

I considered and then realised
that i was at once completely in love with the world
and also opposed to its very existence.

But yet these matters paled in comparison
to the fact that Bubbles, king-sized grass snake,
was hungry and, of course, needed to be fed.
The frozen ones were never accepted,
Bubbles was only ever tempted by the living 'squeaks'.

However, no one seemed to see the joke.

I reclined, took stock of my situation, and then the situation of five others chosen at random using Lancelot and set of balls number fifteen,
and deduced that whilst i could be doing better,
i was still doing alright,
at least i still had my sanity

and probably always will.


Feeling disillusioned and slightly overcome
with a chronic nonchalance,
i made my way to the platform.

A small rodent,
several ambiguous receptacles,
and a homeless gentleman
littered my immediate surrounding.

The screeching of the train gave silence a moment of rest
as it entered the station well announced.
Carriages yawned wide,
allowing the rift and raft to swap positions,
before being left behind.


"Christ", she exclaimed.
a genetically modified consumer
fixed his pupils on her,
each examining the source of this velvet-laced blasphomy.

All four eyes
sitting freshly peeled
and dripping with curiosity.
As time caught up with reality
panic took hold
and the running began.

Tuesday, 12 May 2009


a coastal town? exemplary, yet costly: i frown!
a gentleman's chance, happened upon.
or did it happen upon me?
i can never tell.
niagara falls,
chocolate melts,
fish and chips,
and a pewter mug.
a fine selection,
the fife connection,
is not one that i want to wear upon my breast.
i muse now, and conclude,
that whilst i may day trip to the toilet,
i leave as soon as my being there is no longer necessary.

Monday, 11 May 2009


‘nothing worth having is easy to get’

What a strange thing to find written on the lavatory wall of the gentleman’s club he thought. Though, to give this establishment said title was a gross case of disillusionment.

All was quickly forgotten as he remembered why he had picked out this particular ‘flower-barer’. Dark skin, yes. Soft features, yes. But it was her famous jaw muscles which sealed the deal.

They were exquisite to say the least - she was quite a worker. As she brought him close to the desired state, he couldn’t help but have his mind move to dark places. He’d always find his head filled with brutality upon release. Of past instances where he let go - with horrific results.

Passion and violence go hand in hand, he’d always believed. He’d tell the judge this if they’d ever catch him.
This one on the other hand, Angelica as she was known to him, was too young to deserve such treatment.

Her time will come, he thought to himself with a chuckle.
He returned to the freshly exhaled smoke of the ‘club’.

Thursday, 7 May 2009


A cat tumbled across my path, an apparent accident.
It corrected itself, moved on.
Panic crept over me.
Was everything pre-determined or was nothing?
I couldn't decide which was more terrifying.

A bus stop appeared pointlessly.
I could not be sure that it had always been there.
A cyclist emigrated round the frozen street corner,
what kind of crazy bastard was he!

i searched for my moustache in a bid for comfort,
only to realise i did not have one.

Tuesday, 5 May 2009


He glanced down at his compartmentalised life;

three portmanteaus,

a dressing-case,

two hat boxes,

and a large luncheon basket.

What a pitiful sight, he thought
as he took a long drag from his cigarette, menthol.

His mind reclined in observation of it's own vastness.
Cornflakes encrusted his leather-bound diary,
those were the good days.
The days when he bothered to acknowledge the rising of the sun.
The rest of the pages sat dormant,
haunted by their wasted potential.

A train went by unnoticed.
It may as well have stopped to take everything he had:
a physical burden and reminder that everything wasn't alright.

The cigarette bounced once, twice
and came to rest beside some long-ago disposed piece of chewing gum.

His pocket watch agreed,
it was time to exit the scene.
The taste of hooker spit reminded him of a better place.

Settling amongst the dust,
he returned to the darkest place he knew.

Sunday, 3 May 2009


car crash telly
ain’t our business

out do the stops and never say
‘excuse me’

a friendly hello and it’s
off we go

a game of so much fun
to be had by anyone

a few more laps
round our heads

cards on the table
eyes in yours

speech of the mind
riding on a pulse

in the air, can you catch it?
this result marks us all

Friday, 1 May 2009


First prize is for who can guess how this will end. It’s pointless yet the motions demand it. We’re all counter parts to the charade, paying for expectations to resist the destroyer

An army of kowtows with nostrils like shotguns. Blood on the glass making the most crooked of smiles. It’s the eyes that get you, windows to where the soul will be, too much time to clock in when the horses are running out

Talk is expensive and not contusive to putting down any more faces that once had power and now own lives. A couple of cold ones makes the evening go quicker, giving us grins like the backs of spoons

Dive into the sweatbox like a deer under your wheels. Old and young, stoned and straight, bright and black - a witches brew of stagnate pools, each on of us a small parcel of life

Staring out through eyes like bullet wounds with a look that cuts deeper than a guillotine. Cheap cigarettes held by dry lips in a dress like a super market meat chart

You let me know the most desirable cuts even if I didn’t want to. The same questions arise yet sly ignorance makes life much easier

It hits me straight as a laser beam. Do you trust this pageant we find ourselves in? Back to back we face each other. There must be bigger things than this, of which we cannot comprehend

Far too easy. You come to me now, like air to my lungs. I tell you barefaced lies to get you on my side. Memories pull at the back of our skulls but song keeps us warm

The feelings aren’t there but there is a touch from a phantom limb, lined up shoulders, tongues lulling from a far

this is one god damn over-whelming fuck jar

Logic is thrown to the wind, another reason for them to squeeze. The eye is watching - it is everywhere. A golden age is upon us, just like the government - a currency of deceit.

Smoke screens to teach a language of unlearning, using the ‘new’ to hammer the nails and twist the blades. I don’t need this. It is not what was agreed, nevertheless I can tell you

God doesn’t run this place

And the devil doesn’t run it ether