Bedlam Museum of the Mind

A visit to Bethlem Hospital
Museum of the Mind this week.
Open Wednesday to Friday 10am-5pm
(unless you’re in a ‘group’).
I find myself struck by the times.

There is a wide range of art
as well as historical lunacies to enjoy
and the staff and ‘service users’
are impeccably informed and helpful.

Here are two of the few photo’s I took to remind me of the visit.

Harriet Jordan

Harriet Jordan

Harriet Jordan (after)

Harriet Jordan (after)

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…

Sad Tears

Tears drop hotly from cheeks
They run down
Dry before they reach the ground
A store of tears built up o’er weeks

Dressed in coats dragged fresh from the streets
Worn bare
Reveal a heart so rare
Cold golden heart mired in defeats

Through windows high in walls
Open to sky
The saddest song drifts by
On cold hearts sits the saddest song of all.

Polisylum

Standby…
Standby.
Standby you!
Can’t get enough of that magic you do!
Stocks are broke
Oil’s all down the drain
you too get the feeling you’re here once again?
Standby – hold tight –
We’ll shoot when it’s time
wait for the clamour of bangs on the line.

Here’s the latest
broken news
We’ve forgiven Iran
The Soviets too.
Out of their madness and out of their heads
Our greatest have failed
to lead us to death.

Standby anxious
You’re not due yet
There’s time to drop bombs
Our gods hedging his bets
Stately you wait on
The pride of good taste
Please be in no hurry
to rush with the race.

Song from the shops

Juices
Pears
and crazy airs-of-graces
Slew my love
so quick, to call her dead!
Culled so young
and cruelly filled with fluid…
Slid to death –
the slide was in her head.

The Whealing Nature of Time

Warm as love – blood spurts from the fresh flesh wounds of cancers fading shadows! As sharply as the bones of my belief shattered a year ago, so my dreams of idylls splinter freely today. Here, like the glove too tight for comfort (stretches clean and webs in yellow), memories of fun cling longingly to the curves of my lightless brain.

So it is, here among my playful shadows, the blisters of yesterdays scratching; the flake of my worn-dry skin, prove achingly alien to any tender caress… Painfully barren of others touch or kiss, just sore from neglect. Where else could my thoughts wear down such sumptuous solitude? Long since forgotten, left to scar – somehow free through these peels of skin, transparent as the wafer-thin meat itself. Myself!

I am left only with the memories of pain (which hurts more?). So in this ache of reminiscence, and the lurch to escape, time (heavy as my eyelids) hammers out the tune of our minute and ticks me reeling into the arms of my tomorrow.

Avenged Beast

Suffer in silence
insolent pig!
Grovel your sorrows
tragic cow!
Pray for forgiveness
wretched dog!
Show not contempt
pathetic beast!

When you were not so lowly
not cowering on the ground –
you spat upon my helpless corpse
I needed not your curses;
so when your dying starts to bite
how can you expect forgiveness?

Now you are going, insolent pig.
I know not where
tragic cow.
I will not watch wretched dog…
I do not care.
Pathetic beast.

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.

Harlot Nights

Once a lady laid her love on me –
spread it thick and luscious
round my heart.
Told my ears of sweet times spent
regarding me.
Kissed my lips she’d loved
right from the start.

Each day this new love grew up fast
around us.
Each entwined within each other’s stare.
Till one day I went to love my lover
as I woke I knew
she was not there.

Had I over-loved this girl who loved me?
Sweet and true, pure wrapping love
too fast.
Did I fall for one so live and sexy
while she loved me
she lived in her past.

So I did the right way I’d been taught to –
said goodbye although
my love’s not there.
Closed the door and walked along the roadside
so that tomorrow night
I will not care.

Once more down

Once more down
As romance comes around
Where bad winds blow hard
Drowning poor dogs barks

Once more down
Only noises drown
No springs bring fresh rain
Cracking dried dead drains

Once more down
Violence is still grown
Fighting spills into streets
But even tears no longer weep

 

Singular Heart

Out of the reach of love
Standing clear of the paths that others dream of
How did you get so lost?
So far from warm hearts in this long frost
When worlds get close enough to touch
Your lonely tide draws all heat off

Here’s no blind old preacher
Crushed by the weight of a heart breached!
Just turning the other cheek
Keeping thoughts clear and pain out of reach

A rising chorus of lovers wail
for lost chance and misdirection
Somehow your drive is stuck on fail
When teased with a threat of emotion
And this shield that is fear’s
Some coarse protection

Unwilling to tempt a hope of union
So you stand clear of the
rough hewn path
And let those pass
Who promise what love desires…

A ‘their’ crisis

The same see-saw of political woe
Tips again, sending Europe low
Incongruous savagery glitters in eyes
Drowning those caught in Mediterranean lies

As Persian calamities blossom their fruit
Following Western confoundings stamped red under boot
Where opportune bastards enjoy their destruction
The shores of South Europe lap with waves of disgust

It’s impossible, isn’t it, to see through the sea
This chronicled tangle of bloody hypocrisy
Lost on the minds of those leaders of fame
What smirks of confidence, for re-consciencing blame…

“It’s here” say the moppers who soak up the blood,
Whether northern beaches, whether the south
“We are to blame” call the lefties in Putney
Even while they choose here (“Arab murderous thugs”)

Glorious, pointless, baseless waste
Leaving no solid grounds for dissent except an onerous taste
Even while oil fields burn far distant skies
Ingenious savagery glitters in eyes.

Saturday the 13th

Tremors of confusion wrack your mind
And you’re too bonkers lost to think in time
So taking your own misery
Too seriously to grin
The laps of speedy craziness
Spiral around then in

Other peoples’ screams of joy seep
Through a split ‘tween glass and wood
Where in your house
The echoes of this delight
Bounce round your ears
And shake them good

But it’s not happiness you gleen from this
As sour grit grinds your grinding teeth
Even as the rest of town
Erupts, lost in excitement,
The tears that smear your moribund cheeks
Are not loose with relief

Oh poisoned mind
Dumb angry blind
Alone
For another swift day
Why waste these thoughts
Why curse your time
Take stock
Feel alive
And
Live your way.

Veil

“Get down
you let down!
Please, just let us be!”
Is the caustic
retort they shall
once lie on me.
My whimsy all worn out –
bravado expired.
It’s the last blunt remark
as the rest of all’s fired.

“Get back
you sad sack!”
With a cringing retreat,
thus, I’m sacked
through their tongue
swiftly licked
to defeat.

red onion slice

red onion

Oh Deed

Footprints in the grime

 

144

Temperance:
A lighter side of candour.
Slowly time mounts
pressing them down.
Where do all the roads
(where can they) go?
Seen from darkness
rushing by.

Night watchers,
trickling, ebbs of worry gone.
Only in this time,
they’re paid any mind…
Then caught again as light
escapes
and leaves just time behind.