Flat White

Our round moon stares blankly into the fractured dark of space
Down here, erstwhile, two sirens bleat at each other giving chase
They are distant wailing tho’, easily drowned out by the grunting clack
Of some late diesel dragging mountains some way down some local tracks
A murmur close at hand alerts those of us with some keener senses
That neighbours are readying for bed
And above my head
The crash of plates kicks off the rounds of splashing
of drains washing last nights dinners and dreams beneath our feet.
Goodnight sweet Britain
Dream well of burning roads spewing clouds of woe
as cars and buses still rumble late along your sleeping streets.
And race the dawn
When our grey air
Will once again, like magic,
Fill with twits and twittering
Pretty fluttering’s
Sweeping your groggy sleep-glued eyes and brushing the bright of light aside
Breathing fresh breath into your grey old wings.

Bon Fire

Sparks which light up this sky so bright,
to light the hearts of youth tonight.
Those that whistle, whirr and ping:
showers that usher the winter in.
Loud bright claps
and whooshes of firepower
launched from the dark,
glowing, burning…then embers.
For this sharp date
when kids stay up late,
steals breath from all lips
frozen, open and baited.
Tonight the sky is blistered light
and caught in brains
and smoked so bright.


You, my blue lipped beauty
Stare glassily at this sky of fading fluorescence
Of panels and screw coverings
Sharing your long dead warmth with steeled neighbours

In my head your laugh is raucous
As I trip,
or burn another meal
Like how you snorted that day Paul fell off his new bike
Poor Paul
Or when Isobel helped us to decorate;
Daubing delicate pink prints on your mum’s new faux mink jacket

Laughing in my head

Not now
With that fine sheen to your fading makeup
So as you stare on
At your terrible cocoon
The silence left is closer

The noise in my head of you
Is loud
And eternal somehow even from your beautiful blue pout

Hear that noise

Standard background sound radiation
perforating your life with hum
No screaming panic
Nor muted fear
Your lucky ears, in safe warm heads
Collecting your
Connected thoughts
Your fucking lucky ears

And in some world –
not far enough away from here –
Built of a soundscape you may not bear
Our brothers and mothers
Tune in daily
To that other mess
The daily execution
of sheer abhorrent sounds
A torrent of noise

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

Mosquito Night

mosquito night

Image: Wikipedia, Words: Bujonswords

Part 25 (Nighting)

asking bastards
falling –
for the oldest,
flaccid makers,
Breaking shakers –
with their maiden dreams –
kept waiting…
Lurid dreams of
maidens making
– shaking,
Bastard’s faking.
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;
blocking outwise noising!
Boisterous ranting
/ Wankers wanking
/ Banging,
for the start of fights –
so quick to spring
and sprung so loudly!
Lying low
and silent,
deftly waiting,
slowly sleeping…
Till the wankers’ gone.

Next up: Part 26


There’s too many sirens today my love
Screeching through our lives
Too many sirens for me my love
in the quiet of my thoughts
Pounding brashly down doors
I don’t know if I can now take anymore.

There’s sirens for the dying love
Alarm bells for the young
I hear shrill whines for thieves love
Them that broke up your morn’
Fished out your heaving pump
Leaving us here to mourn

So here as we wait for the silence
Still shook at this loss of amour
I’m shattered
Each time by more sirens
And left, cracking up on the floor.