Wednesday, 29 September 2010

n

the king is gone (but not forgotten -
neil young sings of jonny rotten)
and cereal hoops grace my throat,
they grace the autumn,
and the dew on the sil.
i brush my teeth, look forward
to tomorrow and coco pops;
the spinning stops, the needle lifts,
dust gathered on tip. cereal and dust
and neil young in the
morning. (jonny rotten,
king forgotten etc.)


Monday, 20 September 2010

n - tweet

two tits in a tree,
and they're looking
at me.

L

i like the pope
THE POPE SMOKES DOPE
with a choir boy, one on ether side
HE LOVES TO HAVE A GOOD GROPE
he likes to tie a rope
AROUND HIS LITTLE POPE
and tugs and pulls
UNTIL HE CAN NO LONGER COPE
and spurts some holy soap

all over the divine carpet...

Saturday, 18 September 2010

a five minute thought on the pope (it occured to me that 'the overwhelming popejar' is a great name and maybe we should find a use for it). c

Has the pope ever touched a midget?
By mistake perhaps,
a misdirected handshake perhaps.
A constant companion under that robe of his,
there to keep a watch on those holiest of genitals,
to catch any sacred semen in a sacred jar
and slap them back into flaccidity during prayer.
One can only specualte.

Thursday, 16 September 2010

n

Peanuts roasting in a bowl
(for the first time im really scared)
black eyed toilet bowl raining in my mind
(a painting idea, you see)
and bandini is there too, buk and celine, all
of the guys, making it easier (trying too)
“but hunger doesn't pay no more”
and neither do the banks (job centre etc.)
well whats a girl to do,
laptop fires and HD eyes
little red slips from the royal mail
(you were too royaly fucked to collect your mail)
KEEP CALM, CARRY ON (what's that even mean?)
like that, conversations with brackets
and poets, scuffling in the mud under the poet tree
(yes, the oft quoted poet tree)
spitting leaves etc etc etc etc
and mentioning the pope for the
third time today.

n (bracket poem)

r(oss) main, hanging there
crimson hue rolled up and
smoked; chewing won't suff
ice (ice baby)
(yeah that's nice, baby)
and still you hang,
choked on a rope (picture hook, look, chinook (etc))
and i marvel at this, your little folk
carrying umbrellas, goats and walkmen,
walk, men, escape the tide whilst lending
yourself as subject matter for a
masterpiece of modern art, cast
your eyes out unto my well lit
room, spanish guitar, peanut collection nesting
in a bowl (i eat one now)
and eyes, yes your eyes, burnt umber holes
burnt into wood - grainy brown stars
dancing for me (he, she and they etc.)
YOUR GETTING US NOWHERE
(peanuts in the bowl etc.)
just keep walking, linseed oil feet
and turpentine will (will) get you there.
and please, if i annoy you, just say
so.

n

like that, the anti semite biotics
cleansed my soul (scrot)
and felled the poet tre....wait,
[motif used] cried that fat bloated pope,
pope on a rope to scrub my bare back (arack)
obama, oh mamma, shammanic ritual
long forgetten psyilocybin mushroom juice
dribbling from the lips
dribbling from the ass
and the windows as early morning
condensation (nice sensation).
really, one day this will have to
start
stop
making sense.

Monday, 13 September 2010

n

at this i am wide awake,
acceptive of the ceiling light
the smoke alarm
wall sockets
window sill
tea
cup
;
and you see it too,
right there by the life
that you thought was in
your pocket: but it's out there,
riding bareback , howling
at the moon, eating the plants
that gave you consciousness in the
first place, second place, third place, last
night this happened also
delirium
coca-cola
pay per view
gold fish in the bowl
cd on the radio
words on the tips
of your ancient lips
and nonsense
non sense
(non sense).

n

and he said "hey man,
you don't need space to
create, you need balls!"
and that settled there,
right there in my head.
and so i took out my crayons
and got back on the horse.
i glance out the window;
there's too many hellfires
burning, and not enough trees.
at this i smile, and once again
dylan jogs along beside me
at 33rpm, never slowing
despite the needle
gathering dust.

n

fuck the people and
the pope;
they're all locked in the
arms of a
crazy idea
(free equity release dvd).

Friday, 10 September 2010

L

how many lives have i gone through?
watching the kids playing outside. it was a long time ago when
i was one of them. unaware.

coins in the machine. whats it gonna show? - you and me. now
look at everything
all that is around you.
people
objects
emotions
the tangible. the
unborn and the chrysalis.

look out your window
both of them.
here and now
is what we are. does this sound Right or have i
Left you in the dark?

the horse has bolted, runs away like wild animals over
the hill and out of sight.
you'll be there,
we all will.

that shall be the time to look back and laugh. then, and
only then will you know.
falling from the precipice with a
smile
on your face is the highest place we
can reach.

L

look past the images
take your time, swim
in the ocean, breath
in the air, taste the fruit.
feel the fear
of
those involved, look
at your self, take
your time on this one
brother. it
ain't nothing to be
afraid of
brother. merrily
merrily merrily
...

Thursday, 2 September 2010

n

2 free supplements in the paper today;
each proclaiming 'the end of
the world'. tetris on the tv
come run dmc me
a classic CD,
remindant of lyle
's golden syrup,
washed down with pancakes
jeremy kyle
and mobile broadband
; chess for a fiver
incense on a stick
friends on the phone
art on the net
post in the box
and stars in the mind.

n

planet earth comes to me
as i rest on my couch,
applying for tesco
applying for greggs
mammals laying eggs
marsupials in the head
touch em now your dead
growing in the shed
penis in the pants, ants, oh
plants and hand stands
the order of the day,
funded, of course,
by the tax-payer (paedophile layer)

so, now
this is life, laid bleak and bare
on the couch
in the tub
on the bowl
over there --> poetry from the oft
repeated 'poet tree' - falling with the season,
eating all the fruit and
spitting pips through the box
and into the face of the deserving post
man, oh man, that guy's a cunt:

eating my mail
waking me up
sucking my pips through the holes
in his face
penis on a plate
its penis on a plate
wenis a la mate
remis is too late

quick quick quick
its time to chop down
the poet tree, spitting poems around the poets,
see?