Tag Archives: poetry

outside/inside/start/end

the end is the start
the start is the end
this is a straight line
but watch how it bends

i look
i see
an explosion of red and black
just outside my window
i do not know if i am looking
outside
or inside

the end is the start
the start is the end
this is a straight line
but watch how it bends

Birds

The birds are not singing for you
The birds are not singing for World Peace, an end to oppression or a return to the Godhead
The birds are not singing for workers rights, libertarian values, social mobility or true sexual equality
The birds are not singing for a slap-up lunch, a boozy weekend away or a 2 for 1 deal at the supper club
The birds are not singing for hacked elections, the virus in your hard-drive or the End of all of these Days

The birds are not singing for you 
The birds are singing because they need to.

Badmus no.1

badmus1

Cans for Hands

He’s got bottles for fingers
And cans for hands
A dumbphone extension
Leading straight to the glands

I know what he’s after
Cos I used to be the same
A blinding of the drama
And some pissing down the drain

Now he’s got no time for dinner
Or anything sane
But the clock is still ticking
And still he might change

But he might not.

Motorway Spirits

Here I lay
Struck cold by a van
On the motorway.
Still and quiet
Like a dead bird or rabbit
Though getting hit by cars
Is not in my habit.

I turn and wave
As each new one
Passes me by
Bits of bone
Bits of flesh
Blowing from tarmac
To sky

Got proper stuck from A to Z
So chucked the roadmap instead
Drive on or walk on
There’s nothing left to see
Abandoned dogs listen
I promise them:
We shall run again

Threats

Picturing a bird
Brought down by a sniper
And wondering what
The fallout will be

I thought travelling light
Would make the most sense
As I need the strength
To remain free

The threats to our lifestyle
Are both real and authentic
And test what
We want to see

The Page Left Blank

Accusatory, judgemental and often just wrong
The lines that fit the rhythm
But upset the song
A reminder then…to sometimes leave
The
Page
Left
Blank

Daymare no. 99

There’s an opening… near my bed
It’s an air vent…to my head
There are flies buzzing around it
And ants crawling along it
I think something should be said

Well, I went to a doc
They gave me honey drops
Smear it round your head crack
Put it in your bed sack
All in all, the advice seemed tip-top

But now I’m dealing with wasps as well
And that’s really less than swell
A sting would mean personal death
And terminate my faltering breath
These are anxious times, can’t you tell?

So, I wiped away the nectar
And constructed a deflector
Those insects don’t stand a chance
Denying their existence I did a joyful dance
This is a singular psychological sector

I still like honey though
On bread
And in drinks.
Just not
On heads
honey drop

Blue Bag

Blue Bag

Sometimes, when I take a pause for thought, I will notice the outside world.

For example, there is a tree located in one of the backyards of the buildings two or three doors down from me. Through my window door I can see that tree. And in that tree there is a blue plastic bag.

Blue Bag has been there ever since I moved back in – over a year ago now.

Blue Bag seems to be firmly stuck; it has survived thunderstorms, hailstorms and rainstorms comfortably and easily. It has braved occasional attacks from pigeons and gulls with smile firmly fixed.

Blue Bag does not ask to be accepted.
Blue Bag does not ask questions.
Blue Bag just sways in the breeze, hanging on to the branches, surveying the scenery.

I wonder where Blue Bag will be another year from now.

Still in the tree, or down on the ground?

All change

All change

Went to sleep in 1995
Woke up in an ‘exciting urban development’
All change, all change

Bringing back the pieces
Time travel in your own lifetime
All change, all change

Focusing outwards
A script for now
All change, all change

Fleeting glimpse
Memory fail
All change, all change.