Thick night

A heavy mist sits

On the ghosts of trees

Damping sound close

To the dark deep

Fox barks sound far

Through wet air

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…
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
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


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
Until knackered –
Visibly shaken –
Memory leaves completely!
Flicking off
On its swift way out!


[from 2011]

Letter to all Land Lovers

Go get your boots on you land lovers
Grab coats and please turn out the lights as you go
reeking of debt you land lovers
stinking up our streets with the cash that you owe.

How can you expect
our deep pockets to fetch
all your woes till you’re ready
to pay back what you borrowed!

Instead of taxing your brain land lovers
Instead of developing again land lovers
Instead of staying in this wet hole
Instead of doing nothing but claiming your dole!

Break free land lovers
and head for the sea
grab your boots and your coats
for a trip, just to see.
Get out of this land that no longer inflames you
break free of our mock English hullabaloo!

It’s time, don’t you see
this time on your wrist
Enjoy what you’ve got before our claws get at it.

And if you stand fast
because of our past
for reasons that frankly escape even me.

Don’t come back in 20
– bemoaning the state
and don’t plod on duly just because.

Oh land lovers,
you can still love this land
but for happiness
love from afar
not from where you already stand!

Thinking Time

It’s time to stop running and think
Time to be bright
Be a light
Take a step down the right way
Along unknown roads
That may fill up your time
It’s time to stop randomly running
To think!

Call me by a number
Your glorious voice
Enticing at night
With your more-than-words noise
Down the loud line
Crackle in deep shots
Of booms and interminable danger
Rambling through my mid-sentence
On cheap wheels made in Hong Kong
Putt-puttering and upsetting
The slow train of my thoughts.

Humbly the wind blows on
Shaking our world
Like the loose frames of rented windows
Letting in the rattling cans
And tired exhausts
And helping to fan the flames
Of my mind’s eye.

Some might look at this bleak
Torch as if the cold winds
Of urban ruin, were bent
On snuffing the candle of my imagination.
I choose the brighter, nobler explanation
And stoke the fires
And fan the flames.

Blast your wretched decadence
Damn your polluters
Of lungs
Of spirit.
And as my mind runs,
Scattering thoughts and reasoning
Like spooked fish in a bowl.
That is when I realise
It’s time to stop running and


Feel it from under
The crack of clouds collapsing holds your whole parched world in wonder
Pitter patter starts and mighty
Drenches all asunder
That heat that held us
Close and breathing
Hard and hot is undone
For skies, turgid with blue,
Belch forth great torrents
Drawn from under
Tonight is blown clear
Shattered by an air whom bellows

High Tree

Give me a branch in a high tree
Let me sit high in a tree
Make space in the leaves for our late tea
And as reflections on a flat lake
Capture whispers of breezes
This is what you can remember
In place of our European diseases

Just maybe in my tree so high
The answers to burning lies and whys?
The reasons for continued dire life lie!

Bring in the pain
Hide it in rain
Lie that it’s fine
And cry late again.

Hate too late
Don’t wait
For fear.
The way ahead of you now
Will NEVER be – or get – clear.

So give me a branch aloof from your brow
A high tree for me
Just one high bough.

cloud walking or thirtysix

Here I sit in the bath, with my bits all wet
Composing an alibi, for the inkless stinking internet
And in the scribblings of this soak, retort a pithy epithet.

You could cast your net wide fella, I tweet; you do not hear.
Those benefits (with links) I blogged won’t make it clear,
Likewise it matters not whose liked my cause – it fails to draw you near

And my sweet friend, you squarely foot the blame at the W W W
However, I remember, not so long ago, waiting for your reply when I text you!
And even further back, with BeaTy, my calls would seldom get through…

Lets not confuse your loathing of technology for what irks you most.
The truth inside that furry heart – is no problem with any ISP host!
I’ll yell it loud – ’cause I know you’ll not get too close.

My friend you sometimes seem to fear the world – not just the interweb.
You know, doing it online lets you choose with whose shoulders you rub
That’s not to say, you’ll avoid forever those you’re keen to snub.

And on this note then L-J I’ll say no more,
Well just some short comment; ‘there’s so much more’
And I will wait for you to figure out what your web’s for.

On a night like this

Sunset in August from Canary Wharf

View of London West from Canary Wharf

Incredible speed sped me to this point in the night.
Turned from the tele
food, but somehow no beer, in my belly.
Mrs B sits on the couch and quips
trying to get buy-in from the back of my head.
On a night like this I start to write –
beaming out ideas from the back of my head.
Here – I might hope – is the next block
From twitter to facebook to linkedin to this blog:
Here is a new line in new lines of thinking.