In the deep blue sky there is that white sun that shines so it burns the tiles between our sunbeds and the pool
After breakfast mum and dad play catch with me and all the other kids who stay in this hotel in Kokkari
Last night I ate octopus and squeezed it’s suckers in my teeth and waited for it to wriggle but it didn’t it was fried
On Sunday we are driving up a mountain to a cave
Where mum says Pythagoras was an early believer in triangles
And all the beaches here are lapped by water that’s crystal clear and lets me chase the different fishes which swim near
On the plane that brought us here my ears popped and I wanted to stay at Gatwick but now this is such a lovely place to stay I wish I could.
Our big, fat, white rabbit
Has short white ears and pink staring eyes
I like feeding it carrots or lettuce
But Scamper likes sunflower seeds best
Our uncle Bill says Scamper’s too fat
And would be better off cooked
With carrots and broccoli in the pot
But mum’s promised we’re not going
To eat him; no matter how big and fat Scamper got.
A residual stink
That acrid jarring of smells
Grating receptors and flashing memories
Of narrow escapes
The clawing tendrils of inertia
Rancid in manner
I squeeze my eyes tight, grin
Embracing this funk of what
Might have been.
We pull through Manningtree
Wondering the ghosts haunting
It’s industrial might
Desolate journeying through
Time’s very decay
In this error of modernisation
Thirty years dilapidation
The dead in the Dedham Vale
How well your dark flocks of sheep
Crowd your secret
As far removed from clouds
As your dark wet brickwork alleyways
And menacing piping
Anyone claiming this outpost of progress
Will need time and
Wealth to mobilise your dunes
Of crumbling rubble
Your vast concrete footprints
Me and my passenger friends
Flee North, hammering the short stretch
Of track left ‘train-friendly’
This far East
I love speed
Trees wave furiously
Frozen in streaks
Passing this great machine
We tear past bikers and dog walkers
The fluorescent smear of joggers,
Of heath-jumpers, bowl by the window
As a bright feeble January sun
Sweeps through the innards of our carriage
Painting faces and seats
In chilling reds and oranges
Until the next clutch of housing or industrial estates
Breaks those marvellous red beams
Inevitably someone impresses the brake
A forest of pylons
So gantry’s encase this slow snake.
In the mid-
dull of the night
and listen to the rain
In this hot room
the sounds of splash
draw out my
slightly sighs again
Were you not here so
sweat with mine
Through this din of rain
and thunderous clocks
collect on you
I’m sure though
slow these days
will fly and
bring me close
in time to you
As fierce as I’m swallowed,
through momentous times,
Stunned and shunned
on a quiet sidewalk somewhere.
Reminding myself of others –
times, people, even places.
And thus, I’m left
a mushy pulp of lightness:
from this path.
In another room
An age away
Rips the night apart
We curl a tune
A line of thought
Limping like a broken dream
To drown, face down
In our puddles of beer and tea
Washed ashore in perpetuity
on our islands of cakes
In those valleys of skunks
Through a portent,
Diverse from ours, away,
Reaps the rewards of climbing the stars
Of sacrifices moody and unwholesome
Compromising breath of the soul itself,
Each in reward for renown
For compensation so vast and improbable that
merely reaching the heart of others,
Has immeasurably enhanced
The quality as well as status
Each of us – in this other world – enjoy.
Some blurred echo of those thoughts
Retain a tenuous grip in the
Blank planes of
My particular memories.
Forging bearable apology
For having squandered
And exhausted such energy.
accompanies the blissful trite –
expressionless bile –
that is here present.
Along the way
the slag of a light known as day
(though it’s furthest away
from his mind)
lazily, calling for soulless repent
from a murkier past:
There, our municipal pit
All thoughts and feelings enter
is full, brimming
with nameless creations!
No claimers and nobody looks for,
or asks for, their namers –
till they’re called from the nights.
This bubbling hubbub of babies and boobies
This packed rack of scooters, of trikes and of buggies
Steaming hot flat-whites and freezing cold smoothies
And tapas treats, chocolate sweets, all kinds of lovelies.
Here where the roads cross, facing the old cross
Where crosswords fill time or just buoy the headline’s dross
Where pizza gets eaten by Saturday dads
Where Friday lunch mums dish the news good and sad.
This raucous in calm, our oasis of mania
Awaits you in plain sight down Beckenham high street
The pit at the back for your kids to go batty in
Entices the spectrum of lively South London in.
Where are you bound cat?
Asked a horse in dulcet tones
Why ask you?
Are you interested in my goings
The cat replied.
the horse whinnied.
are too impertinent for my liking!
You – dear horse – are too ignorant for a horse.
This said, the cat rubbed it’s body about the great calves of the equine!
And you, generous feline, are too
bold for a creature of your minority.
Shall we walk?
The cat moved off,
the horse followed.
What a glorious day!
Remarked the cat as they wandered
out to rolling landscapes.
Was the horses only exclamation.
Now shall we not continue?
The cat seemed restless.
No; you are correct!
A cloud enveloped them
and the horse,
(in its giant monstrosity)
and the cat,
(in its sly minority)
The mighty sun beat down on vacant stables
Through the dark our moon glowed on nights effluent stream.
This balmy March night
is sweetly delicious
A purple-filled, cloud-coloured sky
saturated in pollen
Licks at my face
Caressing and exciting me
a carefree jubilant love, warm
enticing and gorgeously fresh!
How about this night
so lithe and fascinating
Spectral whirs of light
and smells fill my head
as the sky whirs on.
Sweet sweet March.
These fucking fuckers
Fucking up our lives
For their personal stake
In our political state
Sucking our lives dry
Leading fates awry
Leaving fears to dry
And this comment’ry
Which tries to make it seem alright
Is now as bad
As the fuckers so merrily fucking us
So shame on me
for plugging in
For staying tuned and trying
How sorely fucked the feeling is
As wit washes over this fucking
That’s really surely fucking up
I hardly ever knew the game
Yet know that I’m now