Part 29 (Charlies women)

The last of the Played at a different speed collection. I hope you all have a fabulous year end 2015.

Christmas white
with christ tonight,
alive tonight
– a bright white
night.
Wish christmas white.
Alive
bright bride,
well showered by lies
with a kiss
on the side
(with a silencing bribe),
for a white christmas bride.
Bride of christ
once alive
now denied,
all united!
Fallen through
dancing lows,
reeling twice
– took the blows
with a reflex in vows.
All giving
one knows.
As a crowning white glory,
well bridled
and white,
crawled the white drive
– felt alive –
crawling dryly
to christmas.
And there
landed a bright light
(with her eyes
hiding lies)
where it grows.

Part 28 (fire-eaters)

Wild,
lurid (sordid) courting –
mission stated,
started,
departed;
off for slopes
and curves and fire!
This sweet tale
of sickly loving –
lusting,
musky
(husky)
loving?
Sold by corners,
sold by fingers,
tasty-funky-feeling
fingers.
Smells
that linger,
sold by stingers,
caught in minds,
lost;
throats hoarse from
musk and lust
and sad,
sheep losers…
Waiting
– breath baited –
breathe!
Waiting.
All the time
these fires breathing
turning teaching,
hid from preaching –
hide the yearning!
Burning
for the corners,
learners,
tasted fleeting
– loving lightly –
last lick;
finale.
And off in the wild
away from the fire –
left,
breathing,
waiting,
for the next
(sheep) sad losers.

Final part of Played at a different speed, tomorrow: Part 29

Part 27 (John Door (man))

Wideboy
stood against the whole door
knowing you’re the top John
– calling all the shots John –
whose down
on the list John?
Wise crack
(alley scraping)
laughs John –
kicking in their heads
boys plied with drinks
and drugs (?)
easy target
called out first
they’re scum lads!
So get ‘em first
or kill ’em lads,
they’ll get you John;
the lads will John,
they’re drunk boys
so get in first or lose John.
On the doors boys
you’re the target:
You’ll all get it
we’ve all had it,
seen it,
been it,
known it,
you – the new ones –
you can’t know it,
soon to learn it,
feel it,
be it…
You John – door boy.
This will be your time
boys, stop the scum
from coming boys.
Get paid and
get laid
but don’t be afraid,
John in charge
we are in charge!
So don’t blow it
John do your job
go – bye!

Penultimately: Part 28 for tomorrow

Part 26 (Likol Mouses)

A play on words, rather than an admission of guilt. Part 26 of Played at a different speed:

Whip it up sliced
like some nice
mice
caught within the hands vice
– power gripping
(evil trip).
The mouse runs;
tries running
– caught tight –
this could be
the last fight!
Struggle free to run
mice,
struggling cannot go,
mice.
End coming here
and coming near to you
Mice!
You’re small
and hand’s so big –
to fight free
gripping,
squirming,
never leaving here alive
mice.
You know it.
Never try
to get our food mouse
(it’s our food mouse)!
Never eat again
dying mice!
This crippling grip,
smell’s evil here.
Mice –
you’ll not go far –
mouse!
You’re dying
dead.

Tomorrow: Part 27

Part 25 (Nighting)

Fluid
student
drooling
asking bastards
wasting;
falling –
for the oldest,
pallid,
flaccid makers,
calling.
Breaking shakers –
faking
with their maiden dreams –
kept waiting…
Lurid dreams of
maidens making
– shaking,
waiters!
Bastard’s faking.
Laying
up late
hearing mates
acting fakely:
Playing brain games
in dark times!
Hearing shouts
and wait –
for losing entries:
Screams and songs
which fill the night.
Which cause your hate.
Which fill your night
and make it long
and slow,
and drag.
So next the question’s asked:
Who played the hate last night?
Build this wall of music;
loudly,
lively,
blocking outwise noising!
Boisterous ranting
/ Wankers wanking
/ Banging,
slapping,
screaming
for the start of fights –
so quick to spring
and sprung so loudly!
Lying low
and silent,
deftly waiting,
calming;
slowly sleeping…
Till the wankers’ gone.

Next up: Part 26

Part 24 (Octovista)

Missing a sister
the laughter
remembering
a weekend of lazing
the sights filled the days in.
A visit,
her visit
my home and abode –
this Monday
farewell-day
work’s on me again day;
she’s on her way home day.
The train’s on its way
back on tracks all the way,
as my sister goes back
on this fairly sad bye-day.
We had fun
and we drunk,
for 3 days in this month –
now to normal (and formal).
The end came so fast
so farewell again sister
until Christmas ta-ta!

Tomorrow: Part 25

Part 23 (Teletart)

So he sits up
in the nights
to write?
He’s lying;
watches tele late
and early
sees nobody,
says
no
words…
Days roll on,
and on,
forever
– says he writes?
The liar never!
Always
with his square eyes
seeing others
living their lives:
He never sees
those real
people.
Stays indoors
and hides
from people –
it’s his lot!
But not his fault.
The writer’s
got no
real people,
but a frenzy
– pictured frenzy –
bending mind
and hold,
on real life…
So
there’s overflow
of telling
fancy tales
which should be told.

And next: Part 24.

Part 22 (Redone Pygmallion)

So the beat goes on.

Met when they were truly movement
– laughter,
rising,
vital movement.
Happy feeling
merry furrow
never falling
here tomorrow.
Grown together,
flown together
and should ever be
together:
Never truant,
ever fluent,
blinding couple:
double brightening.
Then…
An age passed
so entrancing,
quick as lightening
fast
and frightening!
Ages;
stages –
ageing.
Passing
on a slowing
rhythm –
forming out
a glowing ending,
silent
standing
once outstanding.
Now a status
statue standing,
mindless,
flightless,
in an empty heart
(so lightless).
And
in time
momentless
– solid;
as rock!

Mañana: Part 23

Part 21 (Tracking Tale)

Following on from yesterday, this series of poems: Played at a different speed, the subjects covered by the 10 are humdrum, as they attempt to spell out a beat of the activity. This is Part 21 (It’s about listening on a train).

Sun out with the wind
(an awesome summer wind)
with a warming sun
too clean,
crisp
entrancement
warms this mind.
Waiting,
sitting,
standing
till a whirring
speeding…
slowing: Churning papers,
scaring mutts,
rolling cigarette-butts
until
they’ve filled up all the ruts
by all the waiters
and the sitters,
standing,
boarding,
closing,
moving!
There’s the clicking and commotion
of mechanic tongues in motion.
Moving.
Then
it’s our seat
– our booked seat –
and surcharge paid to sit seat.
Slowed down then stopped.
Beat.
Machine’s not saving booked seats.
And off again, yet,
still not sitting seat!
Take ours,
use ours…
Now sat
we’ve stopped again seat.
Still –
stand –
leave –
and empty, empty, empty,
now vacant seat;
their saved seat;
they’re gone.

Tomorrow: Part 22

Part 20 (Easy Written)

Here comes a short series of poems with a faster tempo than my usual writing. I was inspired back in the 90’s by a great tune called Born Slippy, from the group Underworld.

Since starting, I have developed these pieces from first trying to imitate the lyrical rollarcoastery of the tune, although I have no music in my head when writing / reading them, I have attempted to amplify a beat through the words.

The series of 10 works is called Played at a different speed and initially they were just numbered Part 20, 21 and so on, however I then started titling each and over the next 10 posts you can enjoy the full ensemble. [although this obviously sounds pretentious, it is done in fun – as most of my work – even the bleak shit – so you take it as seriously as you want… they’re your eyes.]

Little bounty captive
waiting
low fired sword
sharp from debating
and alternative hating –
Blue and Red alternating.
As the criers
and those flyers,
crying –
flying,
catch the midday sun
and hold the falling sun,
this burning sun.
Morning sun.
This is our sun!
And it’s in print
for all the readers and writers –
all the bleeders,
all the watchers
seeing.
Calm sun –
calm,
calm sun…
Cry light
head bleeders,
while they’re fleeing.
Sun bomb sun –
calm, calm sun –
as they’re running.

Tomorrow: Part 21