Friday, 29 October 2010


to do nothing other than lye,
smoke pot and
succumb to Chopin.
soft, beautiful and wondrous

a meeting was
organized but i was not
organized for the meeting.
said my bit
and left it at that.
street lights fly past
staring at me, into me.

i gaze at the city.
it glitters and moves
but not too much,
not too much to be seen by
the lot.
i gaze and it gazes back

unsure, what time?
could it bring, two seen
and gone. adventures in capitals
drugs taken and possessions gained
and lost if,
you want to see it that way.

there is nothing more
than realising you
know nothing.

and, that you realise

the manifesto was a pulse,
just like
in the dances
of smoke,
across my face

Wednesday, 27 October 2010


assisted dying of the year
bread bin bus hurtling
along at £7.20 / hour
'the best country to die
in' a radio screams at
cauliflour heads
attached to hearing
enclosed loop system
another pothole
(minds wallowing in a pot
filled hole - all the heads
wishing this)
staring at the burning bank notes
and the radio
and the cauliflour heads
and the hearing aids,
trying to find it interesting
and hoping this cuntry
will still be great to die
in when my time
comes around.

Wednesday, 20 October 2010


well then,
i... don't really know what to say.
i, guess so...?

Thursday, 14 October 2010


Some people take jobs to write poems, others just need the money

Aaaaah come see me now,
im with the morning now,
come try buy cigarillo's and papiers
from ME!
Jobless he
of yesteryear who
came to see(k)
jobs at the
job centre (cess pit).
(that was the past, I commence
to present
you with the
Now marvel at the beast
who thumbs buttons
on a till
at 5am,
half insane with
eyes burning a
bright green
of royal

Monday, 11 October 2010


and my book shelf smiles at me
rows upon rows
upon rows of shiny teeth texts.
all the classics, an accomplished reader (impression)
topped with cd's (vinyl below).
man, that's a lot of stuff (what's it mean?)
and out there on the empty crisp packet streets
a little mouse enters
a hole
in the ground
and nibbles some cheese.

autumn cunt (n(ational geographic))

autumn trees burning out there,
burning as the birds
pull the skirts
over their heads
and bed down for a winter
witness the seasons, motherfucker!
see them sculpt the earth
and the minds of her children - casino drunk and
sweating shopping lists
(falling asleep in buckets of piss)
then consider the dust
and its indifference
to it all.
taps on the table
(trees of leaves still on fire)
painting said taps
as a finger
in the face (of said autumn)
- and not quite knowing how, but
spitting poems (still) around the charred
remains of the poet tree.
neil young and his noise,
the soundtrack to it all.

n (a newspaper poem)

Read This First
new sins of Britons (home, car, personal etc) will kill classes
could curse their best results and
miss the world's greatest ocean liners.
I'd like to tax Leadership knife crime & product reclaim
Together we are under this Left-wing spell from 2004 – 2010
Tragedy mars ACTION since slump began
A Fairytale Deal of cancer and payment protection [hurry only 4 days left]
will our language strip the deadly SPECTACULAR?
A phoney in the Guide to Equity Release is Dedicated to
packaging, franchising AND stopping the stabbings.
ALL THE boardroom ear wax is now paying off
so Go for green or just REDUCE BLOATING dream deals
This battle to CURE insurance on Loans,
racing events,
ballot papers,
pearl stud earrings,
reconditioned stairlift,
chicken chilli burger,
Classic Camera,
is fantastic!
this approach is the unions coldest in 30 years, avoids jail term


following and following
can’t even see the words in front of my face
walking past memories, streets, windows and empty crisp packets. what a horrible day not so much rain as wet air, no escape really but
what did the people care? came out to see regardless.
this happening - just for the publics interest.
meeting cobbles next to slick roads drinking up our steps
pushing prams, squeaky wheels join the escaping
metal sounds
big boxes lumber past, the noise of the buses
chewing up your ear holes

this away and that
spatial awareness, but how to document and
why should i?
somewhere far away, there are horses running wild. roosters crowing
here are people who are just waking up to a new same old day.
birthdays the days before, anniversaries the coming week, party because
a break is required. images growing out of the gutters and leaping upon
me. sloshing around the can.
what kind of recipe is this and
what was that? so many questions. a dog,
i see him and he me
if smiles could be exchanged they were.
a child caught my glace, i threw i back
coupled with another

that was it to show
this the now, back then
arriving the first time, shape
form and place could forever be erased and now
a small bouncing ball leads itself.
time and a place slowly sipped by the winds.
singing and asking and following this
town welcomes you to it bosom (some choose what they want to see)
pick a pink and green one
and follow that line along the direction but for
the love of god watch out for the traffic! i
know what they’re thinking
the missing member…

if it doesn’t make you happy
what more can there be? two huge
flying saucers revealed and watching with an underlying joy,
lighting bolts and lava screaming through your veins and words moving too fast for your mouth to catch
My son what is this you have done?
what is this untapped resource? your
claret finally turns the corner, looks you up and down and apologises for being late.
but back to the matter at hand, all the spirits and rubber bisects are hung like fresh carcases waiting,
just waiting for the next tumble of that little thing
where has she gone?
over there to pick it

again and again

Thursday, 7 October 2010


what a day!
what a day to be alive.
what a time to look at the sun and smile
what a time sit back and chill,
if just for a while.
what a day to run down the street like
a free man.
what a day to be 23,
zeppelin on the table,
pussy on the stereo,
old new film in the new old camera,
snappin' away.
what a day to step up to the plate.
what a day to think how far we've come
and far we've still to go.
what a day to pull your boots on and walk with pride,
what a day to politely decline
but give them a quid anyway.
what a day to smile at the passing strangers,
to think of the friends who can't be here and
the ones who will.
what a day to be happy, simply that
your heart is beating in your chest.
what a day to be lifted above it all
to fill your lungs with the heady scent of
the fresh morning air.
what a time to stare down your fears,
declaring, 'i don't care'.
what a day to sit at your desk and create something beautiful.
what a time to clime a tree and scream at the top of your lungs
because you know you are an animal with the gift of consciousness.
what a day to put down the weapons and love all the people.
what a day to give up the fight, just for a second.
what a day to be yourself for yourself, to smoke a cigar and
enjoy that dram that takes you away.
what a day to say, its all about me,
what a day to raise a glass and realize
what really matters.
what a day to say its good to see you.
to say its a shame you can be here,
to miss them too much.
what a fine day to love

Monday, 4 October 2010

c (saw)

He caught a sight of death in his periphery early on
and wasn't able to shake it from his view.
So he wasted his days like the blind waste bullets,
throwing them wildly into the night sky
one at a time
never to be lived out by even the longest reaching of souls.
He waited each day for the darkness
to step forward,
introduce itself,
and apologise for being late.