2017: January Pre-Mourning

The night before the work starts
Our streets echo with lone travellers
This night of cold clear dread
As the new year shakes free
Of it’s champagne and fireworks
A mighty muted still
Fills up the dark

And in the raging dreams
Of all these people in their beds
Uncertain and alone in today’s cold sleep
Questions of fragility
Feed our hunger for dread
Spoiling this last bedtime
With what tomorrow brings

Outside in some dark corner
Of a Southern London home
I ponder how few deaths make many mourn
The slaps of conflict beat
Fresh tears from more bored eyes
Yet each hour too much life
Is bled and crushed in horror

For one more year has come on us
And forseers contort with doom
Such angry rhetoric, such mounting gloom
Yet this new year is not foretold
And harbours chances new
There’s not time to conjure lies
Just time to start the world.

The end of the world news, Ankakay via Flickr

The end of the world news, Ankakay via Flickr

143

Lying, cheating
thieving swines’.
Stole my life –
then broke my mind!

Caught my soul
and watched it shatter
Loaned my love for life,
to batter!

First they broke me!
Then they raped me:
Doubled back
and swiped my money!

My friend butchers –
beggars all!
Stole my brightness
killed my soul.

Those dawns you dance for
where loves eye might see,
leaves nothing to cry for,
still loving you greatly

Hey Monkey Men

With your stupidity and bad omens!
It’s all a space race:
With the faceless them
still setting the pace.
Yet, don’t lose track of your place,
or what they say is the ace trace!

Really,
all us fools and bums:
To further your plans;
sit forward;
give Grace
and embrace the lace bass –
which keeps you in time –
and in tune with the brace,
of faceless (tasteless),
Monkey Men;
who insist on laying waste
to your dreams of choice,
of place,
of time, to spread your mind and race
your own race.

They’re onto you and your funny ways
Profiling you
Dociling you
Infantilising and merchandising you.
It’s clearly in your best
To get invested in their
Popularity test

News is – their not resting
Till you sign over your vest,
Release your funds,
reveal those secret places
Cash in your treasure chest
that’s in your chest
And lives apart.
Must we populate their cloud
With our heart?

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!!

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.

Corporate Thunder

My name is Corporate Thunder
And I come for your vote
Or I’ll twist-free out your eyeballs
Do not touch your remote

My name is Corporate Thunder
And I see you’re remote
So I’ve come to blind your eyeballs
As I corrupt your vote

I see the Corporate Thunder come
Hide fast – save your vote
Don’t look straight at their eyeballs
Their corruption’s no joke

Please countrymen and patrons
I say lend me your ear
Only the poor or different
Have reason to fear

The wholesome mob among you
You who see that I’m true
Are set for thunders plenty
Doing what you love to do

Who’s the hoo?

Who are your groups?
Blue groups
Blue groups

From where do they come?
Black lands
Dark skies

Who are your groups?
New groups
New groups

What do they know?
Black laughs
Dark lies

What do you wish for
bringing groups like yours here?
Bringing dreams full of shadows
hung with half-grand ideas?

What do you wish for?
What do you want?
How long have you waited?
How deep is your love?

Who are your groups
who have havoc to wreak?
Who laugh through the blood dripping smoke that you breathe?

These, your people,
Your troupes
Your troops

Who are your groups?
Who’s designs
lie on you?

 

Shooting stars

but it’s not their fault!
Animated droids
steeling the screen
with silver-tongued tales
rattle at minds…
To furnish the soul?

A hundred times and more a day
A thousand radio waves
are beamed
To a million open eyes
Each simply charmed by charming ways!

David says all information
is great for building a common nation.
So he’s pleased to see this fairy notion,
is backed by newsreel allegations:
That ministers’ – leading the restoration –
weigh heavy in fear
of mass publication!

So gleefully mass ignorance
is fed and bloated by conglomerates
Sealed with affection
by celebrity
and cooked – till black
then hid away!

On the streets,
on these sleepy streets
Chat is rife with the tales they tell
our TV’s, monitors, papers are full
of well written tales –
They tell them so well.

Rhetoric

How is it slightly shocking
when the jokers cease their mocking?
When our silent door’s been knocked in?
When this time spent out is slept in?
How our lovers call their debts in?

Why does the thought make criers
of those bigots
maggots
liars?
All the cheaters and deceivers?
All the thieves-crooks-plebs-receivers?

Where can the buck be halted?
Why is the last,
defaulted?
Where are our truths remoulded?
Why are our mem’ries jolted
and when will this Hate be hated?!

[from November 2011]

Devilishly Quick

devilishly quick

image: http://ghostblade-13.deviantart.com/art/She-Has-Ghost-Eyes-138428202 words: Bujonswords

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.

Lies Before the Storm

Remorse addles my memories
Pocketing each bliss afternoon
With the passions of night
The crimson rivers of my beautiful flesh
Lap the poison down
Sweet honey

Where do I want to be?
With my bad habits
and bad thoughts
Racking brains daily for other ways to see…
Rocking my bed hotly
(With hot rocks you understand
not hot rocking!)

My beautiful body
And rugged face
Lies blatant and huge
As this heart fights to keep pace.

Random Dinosaurs from Crystal Palace

201101

You can’t paint all beauty in one colour
You won’t solve all riddles with one brain
You can’t right all wrongs with one rule
And you’ll never fill all guts with just one grain!
You can’t be all people with one skin
You just can’t be all night with only one sun
You can’t know all love with one heart
You shouldn’t tell all tales in one tongue
You couldn’t plant all forests with one seed
You can’t cure all sick with one pill
And you can’t live a life in just one day
You can’t only be day with one night still
You can’t be all to everyone
or everything to one
Yet we can all be, under one God?

The Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed in Sun, William Blake

The Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed in Sun, William Blake

The Late Night Count

Broken minds
lay scattered
feeling
like shattered
glass
Splintering
through fingers
Hindering
believers
holding up the thinkers
and propping
Those deceivers
with their
conceit!

All the while sweet lips
Count mutely to 10 and back
Again in time.

Dangling
limply from heights
The not quite rights
Take stock
of lights
And hang
low lights
at night
to frighten
out of sight ideas
And dreams
that shape their plight.

Still the beauty of mouths
Mouthing fails to enter or
Break the pattern.

1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10

Let It By

So shallow lies which on these quiet ears this year have fallen
Such sweet shallow lies

And those poor vows of meagre build that lay so sourly broken
Oh poor broken promises

As time has filled my days with tales and ventures fresh and new
Some clouds of poison people
Push wispily through my view

Knotted up about themselves in a kind of happy vice
Bleeding crimson harshly from their minds upon my life.

Stacey Journeygirl

In a metal box that rocks
with metal from it’s rock boxes
White Stacey cries it’s alive
in black rhymes and lies
oh White Stacey, who were
you rocking in that metal rockbox?

Oh White Stacey, with their
grim impress still fresh on your yellow locks!

From low down the top end of town
old curling burley slope-headed blokes
snarl freely as Stacey bounces by in her box
back to flat pints of watery beer
back to the sticky games of
stuck down pool
wiping leering chops of drooling shots up
lining pints up
Yet somehow never cheering up.

Oh scroats! Oh unhappy ‘happy-hour’ scroats
How many you number
And mass riches you squander.

Drowning in pool, sliding on cue!
To the sticky end of
your bitter fed night!

Waiting for impatience

Such dedication from so many stars and this medication to stick up their arse how full and engaging the mighty play lights entertaining ideas that take most of the night. Where musical reasons take second seats back for the cat thieves and bread men who smell their attack! Well late and unstable a morbid curl comes rolling eyes wide and licking air just as well… Oh! Too late indeed for your eye-licking frenzy and caught by a lash these tears painfully leave.

Duplicity

Ambled in,
with his smell
like a case of bad wind.
Rousing all the preachers
& bleeders from their beds
rising even Docility’s
dull dishevelled head.

 Why those lies?

All these good men of God
stood up to cry:

 Where have you blown in from boy
awakening us – does this bring your joy?
Well, here I am a lie,
and first you think me boy
& then I’ve stirred you up?
Were you sleeping anyway?

Just then the crowd
of sleepy blokes
remembered all their sleeping folk.
So whispering in whispered voices
each one, straight, told Duplicity:
He was annoyed!

 Well here I sit in quandary men
I’m unmoved by your gripes
and I shall wake you up again
whether daytime or at night.
You cannot sleep you truthful chaps
else lies like me will steel

And left, just then, back through the night
biding time until the next false thrill

Beats Farewell

Soon I will be gone
I’m sure
And know I’ll get what’s wrong
Let’s see
Just hope you hear my song
In time
To stop shit going on
Regretting
Some mistakes I’ve made
This life
That draws my soul to shade
Alright
Agreed that’s somewhat grave
And yet
It’s all a plan once laid
I guess