Truth of Mind?

Confusions of noise
blot any answers from surfacing,
in their stead – a maze of ideas
and questions, idly pass time –
twisting tales;
glancing at even the dimmest stars of truth.

Eventually only these flagrant lies stand firm
and there is no cessation in noise!
Some comfort is found
in the familiarity of these timeless ‘whoppers’.
This barely comforts rhetoric;
but comfort it is –
and all sinew
grapples it securely to heart
– still waiting the truth.

Till time has passed
this day and this night…
Only more exaggerated during the night
and more conscious at day.

Bloody Buses

The air was heavy
fat and foul
with sweat a kind of fear
and then the smallest
then the young ones
spat your sweat
You hold your breath

Our sun grows hotter
ground alive
A mass of bodies scattered
This was the end
we knew it true
the first rain landing spattered.

Redness Goldness
ran in runs
soaking tree flooding parks
drowning drains
flowing on
No you can’t stop
There is no one to
Hold these bloody beasts
from what they’re
built to do

Blinsolp

Delusions of grandeur
I’m the colour blind prince
In black and white printouts
I’ve no cells to re-bleed

Watching you go
Into skies, brightly lit
There’s no tears to remind us
of what you could free

As screeching flocks fly-by
Grating and raw
Would hush if I just
If I just
If I just

Parallel

In another room
An age away
Another us
Rips the night apart
We curl a tune
And drag
A line of thought
Limping like a broken dream
To drown, face down
In our puddles of beer and tea
Washed ashore in perpetuity
on our islands of cakes
In those valleys of skunks

Through a portent,
Unfathomable universes,
Diverse from ours, away,
Another us
Reaps the rewards of climbing the stars
Of sacrifices moody and unwholesome
Compromising breath of the soul itself,
Each in reward for renown
For compensation so vast and improbable that
merely reaching the heart of others,
Has immeasurably enhanced
The quality as well as status
Each of us – in this other world – enjoy.

Some blurred echo of those thoughts
Expressed above
Retain a tenuous grip in the
Blank planes of
My particular memories.
Forging bearable apology
For having squandered
Such time
And exhausted such energy.

Beakonomics

So… Swallows are migrating
Along with Redwing, Terns – it’s shocking
Have baby-kissers not voted!?
To curtail this selfish flocking?

Out in our channel: The Basking Shark
(Perhaps a hundred more)
Are sodding off to warmer climes
Having trawled our sacred shore

Here come those bastard Butterflies
Of course! As others cleared their way
Billions pilfering our pollen
Where are our heroes, brave, today?

Some say the U.S. has it worse
Mobbed by bands of bloody Bison
And don’t mention rotten Humpbacks
Crowding their coasts another season

How damned divisive all these beasts
Descending in their swarms
To our little land of plenty
Seeking food or warmer homes

Where are our visionary leaders?
Where are our lines of demarcation?
How are we supposed to flourish?
Under such fecund infestation?

Because… when just One of us needs refuge
Or seek succour in new lands
How speedily the world locks down
How swift we cage the humans

Beakonomics

The Keeper of the In…

Remember when you were lightening,
in the dark so wholly frightening.
You were the free one, so fantastic,
Wise as Thales, deep with magic

You escaped the demon slaying:
You escaped the holy, praying:
And you escaped a mind,
lost fraying.

I followed footsteps in the twilight:
I called to others to save your limelight.
Yet in the morn’ you’d lost the sunlight!
I summoned voices to save your last night…

I knew you could, you would, return –
Your name would once again
The throats of others burn.

We could’ve lived on forever
Although I pleaded, you claimed never,
Days would come when I’d know fever
Bear this heat (with you, survivor).

Our web of lies will not be forgotten
Another fable of the truly rotten
This high-hyped-pyre, this treaty written
Large of sound, yet lite on wisdom

Echoes of your grand lightening
Once in the dark, so wholly frightening.
You seemed the free one:
Pulsing magic.
Was just my minds burst –
thoughts fantastic.

  • this is an edited version of poem originally posted in summer of 2015.

Smoked Out Slow

Bored with work ‘cause there’s too much to do
Wasting my time instead listening to music
Writing words to fill my head
Filling my soul with the takers of pain
Drinking some smoking then writing again

And imbibing
Deep breathing
To scribble again

Slow music better than no music
Quiet music better than loud
Hot tunes hold my mind in line
This night goes so slow – so unkind
The shakes once again start me shaking
It’s the fault of quick thinking whilst sitting

The tongues through my head
Keep me waking

Drastic action has me waiting
So long that eyes close under eyelids
Strange thoughts prop my psyche
Weird music and thinking
Sad slow – stoppage drinking
pushes time
to just over the brink!

 

Flit

Words (c) Adam Bujons. Image (c) Vincent Van Gogh

Words (c) Adam Bujons. Image (c) Vincent Van Gogh

Another 1

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Text: Adam Bujons, image (c) http://www.shutterstock.com/th/video/clip-7402507-stock-footage-white-feathers-spurt-alpha-fast-flying-animation-with-transparent-back-as-transition.html

June

We’re finally at the end of the crazy-June! Leaving us still with 2 months of silly season (English summer) to go… Where that will take us who can possibly know?!

June Oh June

With your bitch, full, blue moon.
You run on in pieces
in drips so drab
and break up the fun
that we waited to have.
You tyrannous slut
of a month
– Cat June!

Bringing the promise of sun and fun
to dash them and crush us –
you run on and run.
So you’ll guess I’m not pleased with you;
guess we’re not growing
to love your foul days of rain,
while you hide the suns glowing!

Oh June.
Oh my.
What have you become
now so late and wet
were you once called the sun?
I cry for you, baby
and the tears sting my cheeks!
I cry everyday
through your long blasted weeks.

Beck sun

This is an updated post from 2012…

Land Gone Wrong

Finish it, land the final blow!
End this petty session
in life that always carries on!
Nothing left
and not a note to follow.
Take last shouts and Bellow…
There’s no one left to see the end;
This end!

I saw!
I, me!
I was there (among the crowds ~
the ones too quiet /
the few too loud).
The first day, week, month
then the year!
It was all set fine
so fine so near.
A bright beginning – freshest starts,
grabbed all the attentions
of fresh starry hearts…
Dragging them,
pulling them,
coaxing them on!
Those hearts that were keen ~
these hearts that belong
to the new ones
the fresh ones.
These beasts from the start!

And pretty were tunes
and beauteous songs ~
A land was delivered;
a hope without wrongs.
All of us hearts – crammed,
stuck to the brim!
But we loved it
and breathed it
and lived for the grin.
This new time was naked and nimble
we knew it;
our privileged parties just living along…
Invited
well treated
well governed and loved!
In their ignorant rapture ~
we drank and were drunk…

Then slow
it turned sour:
Though new,
not denied,
not quite new enough!
And though nobody lied,
there was no full truths taken ~
no fresh breaths of air…
So: slowly
we grasped it,
us budding bright hearts.
The ones who had followed:
the ones most beguiled.
A raucous mass
trailing
an order now failed.

So here’s where you enter
the end of old news.
The fall of more loved ones
all hearts cracked
en mass…
A tender old tale,
the past all encased
but now we are lost now,
and losing our way.
This new land was pretty ~
yet fated to change!
We killed it
and broke it.
Lost lowly, and dying
a few of us cheered
but most were left crying!
It’s finished
it faltered.
We move on to the
New!!

Sleep Attainable

It’s midnight already again!
The lure of dreamy sleep
drives these closing eyes
yet evades my grasp…

As images of tiredness
freak light on my eyeballs:
Break pools of shadow
and render my sight, at best – sketchy!

The buzz of daytime
and noise of thoughts
serve well to shake ideas of slumber
from my over-tired mind…

Gamble

Pytas had a teacher; Gamble.
I can teach you all
she said.
Pytas willing took her lessons,
drank Gamble’s words:
They filled his mind.
Gamble was a living teacher –
straight and broad
but barely kind.

Followed Gamble where she beckoned –
stepped in steps,
where Gamble trod.
Day and night a thirsty student
heard Gamble preach
and thought and wrote.
Always learning – ever ready –
Gamble witnessed Pytas grow.

Gamble lectured all on life
and living which was new
she knew,
to her protégé whose spongy head
would hold his breath
and wait, listening,
for the next from Gambles
knowledged breadth.

You have shown me!
Pytas cried.
Day 1000 since they started
No more a student dead in steps.
No more to hear
from this to write.
Gamble lost her faithful study
Pytas, losing time,
took flight.

What They’ll Do If You Don’t

Spadunk
La funk
Sits well on a monk
That you’re best to let run
with the bunk
In his trunk

Sit tight: don’t you worry
truly – no need to hurry
the world and its flurry
can wait.

Be poised and on cue:
Neither overtly undue
nor unseemly subdued
to the date

Poor eyes
fill with why’s?
and are quick to despise
even those that rely
on the wise
with their lies

So easily let down
the unreasonably drowned
who are spotted around
this home town

The swiftly forgotten
who dumbly sit – rotting
we’re due to stop dropping
alone

Be seen
to be clean
open house given free
set your mind to be seen
and to glean
what they mean.

Ode to a bed

What’s this about the bed of Ware?
The bed of where?
The bed of Ware
I hear it’s big:
Indeed what’s more,
I heard it once slept 44!
Incredible! That’s quite a feat
This bed is more than just a treat
It’s twice as long
and twice as deep
I’ll surely love this coming sleep.*

The Great Bed of Ware

The Great Bed of Ware

*Ironnically those who attempted to sleep in this famous bed would find themselves beaten and bruised in the morning*

Early Spring Breeze

Ooo tinned breeze of early spring
How your guts do shake us
Flattering trees so bare (so rare)
Brushing back branches
Tumbling hair

Ooo tinned breeze of early spring
Waking and trembling our slumber
What do you prove
With abandon removed
As tomorrow sees roads blocked by timber

Ooo tinned breeze of early spring
Sent swift on us from Northern air
Where is spring’s warm touch?
The calm we love so much?
When will – your point made – you play fair?

Ooo tinned breeze of early spring
We know you mean no harm
But how you crash,
Smash, Lawn furniture
Still raises our alarm.

magnolia-198138_1920

Crazy Cat

You crazy puss
Where in our world did
You peruse yo’ Cat-Blues?
How does this noise you make
Grow to crescendo?
What pictures appear on those eyes
that so freak you?

Crazy cat
You mad feline
Give us a clue
that might quieten your mind…
Whistling winds that carry and blur
Darken the hell
of your crazy cat purr
So yell if you need to
you banshee of night
Though we don’t understand
we won’t still your disquiet!

*

This is not a nose-dive over the much coveted pussy-cat-cliff; that space on the web for all you freaking catpic sharers, all of you! (seriously, sometimes I try to use this internet and all it throws up are pussy, porn and preaching!). This is an ode to a greatly admired cat, who through some surreal way, was able to scare the living chips out of any who ever heard her. 

She died a long time ago and the recording below – testament to her howl – was made in 2002.

You feline fanatics online, might also enjoy Ode to Smokey #nomorepussy

Down the long way

Slow delight,
accompanies the blissful trite –
expressionless bile –
as is presented.

Along the way
the slag of a light known as day
(though it’s furthest away
from his mind)
is spent
lazily, calling for soulless penitence
from a murkier past:
Not uncommon.

The municipal pit
where all thoughts and feelings enter
is full, brimming
with nameless creations!
No claimers and nobody looks for,
or asks for, their namers –
remaining silent
till they’re called from the nights.

#217

Memory dances teasingly out of reach.
Again my mind provides the butt
Of a joke – so elusive
That even humour loses its rasping
Chuckle, when confronted by this plight.
This cowering wreck.
Tortured –
Through a diet of sarcasm
Disrespect and the masochistic audacity
To try this absurd play out again and again and
more.
Until knackered –
Visibly shaken –
Memory leaves completely!
Flicking off
Every
Single
Light
On its swift way out!

 

[from 2011]

Mothers of Mope

The marvellous mendicant mothers of Mope
worry about weaning their kids off dope.
Haplessly harried they hardly hold hope
of finding an answer that isn’t looped rope!

Round here the rising sun breaks slow the cloud
which builds through the night
– from the fags dark allows,
yet, none of Mopes mistresses notice,
through rows,
that newly a day is born
– sweet, fresh and proud.

Surely some sapient soul serves to sate
the confusion of questions one’s sure to negate,
in diurnal dialogue done direct and to date…
or so you’d suppose, in most all other states.

Here though, in Mope, the mothers are clear:
we’ll have no free thinking ta! None of that here!
Perish the thought of fresh views or ideas
and hold your big books from coming too near!

The plan goes so simple (it has to it’s true) –
the brideless of Mope know all that they do;
that learning from lessons is theirs to eschew!
Our proliferate pups truly think this their due.

So work on you earners, as hard as you can
Build coin for your country to feed the taxman.
His pennies and coffers are spent
– the grand plan:
Dished out to the mothers
who need what they can!

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