1706

Slow delight,
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)
is spent
lazily, calling for soulless repent
from a murkier past:
Not uncommon.

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 –
remaining silent
till they’re called from the nights.

Beakonomics

So… Swallows are migrating
Along with Redwing, Terns – it’s shocking
Have baby-kissers not voted!?
To curtail this selfish flocking?

Out in our channel: The Basking Shark
(Perhaps a hundred more)
Are sodding off to warmer climes
Having trawled our sacred shore

Here come those bastard Butterflies
Of course! As others cleared their way
Billions pilfering our pollen
Where are our heroes, brave, today?

Some say the U.S. has it worse
Mobbed by bands of bloody Bison
And don’t mention rotten Humpbacks
Crowding their coasts another season

How damned divisive all these beasts
Descending in their swarms
To our little land of plenty
Seeking food or warmer homes

Where are our visionary leaders?
Where are our lines of demarcation?
How are we supposed to flourish?
Under such fecund infestation?

Because… when just One of us needs refuge
Or seek succour in new lands
How speedily the world locks down
How swift we cage the humans

Beakonomics

The Last Word

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
That comedy
Which tries to make it seem alright
Is now as bad
And ignorant
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
It’s us,
it’s you,
it’s me
That’s really surely fucking up
I hardly ever knew the game
Yet know that I’m now
Royally f**ked

 

Get Ready

Let’s get ready to shine a light
Here in the dark of our internet night
Plotting a coup in anonymous spaces
Driving the ire of inhumane wastes

Let’s shine a light on the core of these themes
Muster battallions through click-friendly meme’s
Inform those who’s backgrounds are hiding bones
Ransack the media, hammer points home

There is a real fight on our hands right here
Yes, unsettling but evermore clear
Some old-guard blackguards are keeping mum
Derailing all threats from your education

Let’s get ready to light the fuse
Shine our minds bright on this crippling ruse
Alas there’s slim chance of your own Eldorado
P’raps excuse tho’ to ignite future-wise souls

Flammarion

By Anonymous – Camille Flammarion, L’Atmosphère: Météorologie Populaire (Paris, 1888), pp. 163, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=318054

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!!

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
Cacophany
The daily execution
of sheer abhorrent sounds
A torrent of noise

Off The Page

Rivers of rooftops flow
Drowning out windows
with clouds from below.
Down where the noise and malevolence grow!

Whilst daily you claw at your dreams:
taking apart
every thought you believe.

I keep seeing your face –
hearing your succulent tongue lick your breath –
as anonymous people take place.
Stealing a memory
of what your love left.

the rain falls

a dropping constant in today’s bleak rush for tomorrows motional ideas and rewards, grasped at for the sake of change regardless. As home coughs its overused phlegm up from way deep back in time. As the race to use every last atom of life rushes ever onwards, screeching past all who ever thought they wanted it and past the next, tirelessly marking second-hand starts or bristling with excitement for the latest ‘greatest’ which often proves merely more complicated and intensive than those passed. Whilst every hour, by weight, more rain falls.

So where do all the puddles flow? Not steamed away by a sun too well concealed out in space by vast gatherings of carbon clouds, blotting all but the invisible rays of dancing ultra violets from brightening up our mornings. Deprived of heat waters fail to boil, they inch up round our lives – flooding street and town, home and farm, plants and pumps. Icily imbibing our land saturated in chemicals and yesterdays dead, stirring up the mud like so many should have done so long ago. And every hour, by weight, more rain falls.

What can we do now, but watch and wait? Listening to the stories and rhetoric of unlucky leaders flailing in time, as changes rush by them in plastic and radio waves too fast for too few to notice, far less appraise or employ. Living in the echo of our shared histories – bent only on eschewing blame – even as dark fault-lines creak and fissure under their own weight, in greed… Whilst every hour, by weight, more rain falls.

  • edited (improved?) and reposted from August 2015. Here’s a morose reflection on how things are for a Tuesday evening…
Rainfall in Venice

Rainfall

Key words

I keep forgetting to keep doing this… but often remember the words…

bujonswords

Relax!
Kick back,
take stock,
unwind.
Accept where you’re at:
ease the fret
from your mind.
Take an open account
of your life
and of those
who make colour and add
to the light of our kind.

Be free
in your head.
Be steady
be true –
as open to change
as the clouds are to blue.
Stay focused,
directed,
keep rhythmic
and new.
During spiralling lies
sincerely be you.

View original post

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

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.

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.

To Each Their Own

Everybody’s different baby
And they’re not ALL after you
You can appreciate others pathways
Don’t waste thought
on what they think of you.

Chill out, like a cucumber,
Live like it’s all about you
Kerb the melancholy that pokes your days,
don’t let your sad juice bleach all blue

Where does all this ire rise from
Who made your life so dire
Perhaps you need awakening
Something to re-fire those hearts desire

0206

In come the faces
fresh with night and leaving traces
Placing the fresh faces in places
In the sweet night lost
in bass races

You are on my mind
In time with tranquil nights I find
Though finally in mists of time
These friendly traces
lose their place in line!

Art slides

1212

Bring Sheila back
the stories of wonder!
Cried Leopard
as Grongo limped off.
A fine young scene by any standards.

Grongo was lame
and tame
and toothless…
He limped with both legs;
Leopard laughed.

But all liked young Grongo:
They laughed when he wanted
and lived better for it!
Young Grongo
was ever the player.

A quest was dealt
some wonder felt.
A search for 3 years and 4 days….

Leopard watched open-mouthed
espying a Grongoesque shape
and Queen Sheila squealed delightedly
as the cripple hopped under the light!

I have the wonder
your mind will ponder
this marvelous might I will preach!
The size of blue eyes is a fancy enquiry!
Now leaving you blank
I leave rich!

Olden

Injections of objective retention,
recondite, a bile-like-ripe lifer.
Can profane living
give rise to oblivion?
Give re-issuing license to losers?

Outstanding, derivative pleasurer
found lighting the end of a fuse:
Warnings abounded about her
moreover land closed in around her!
Still silence in mind,
expletives well timed,
I’d rather live lightly than longer…

A moaning most maudlin disgruntler
caught slinking and loudly around me.
These sorry sad Sinbads,
these bored boring bastards.
All fellow food-fighters forever!

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.

takers rhyme

Someone takes it all
She knew
There’s someone takes it all
The sick heat of our
everywhere city-heads
crash against the wall

And in the broken bones
Of your crap dreams
Where cash has poisoned thoughts
And done-in trees
There are no wings
Nor cherubim’s

Giants of mirth ground down
She saw
Her giants of mirth ground down
Under weights of debts and pressure
So many ways to grind you down

Someone takes it all she knew
There’s someone takes it all
No floral wisps or sun rays
Dry her tears from this bleak floor

Who takes it all? Do you
Who stands fast taking
All the all?The liars robbing even bile
Still
There’s always more to take
Take more

At the Edge of the World

At the edge of the world,
Where only power and influence survive.
The ‘greatest’ of men collide.
Teasing nuclear envelopes
The way kids round our way, tease creepy-crawlies.
And just as this mighty cloud of wealth teeters on the brink…

A loud voice, deep in the midst of our crowd,
Remembered the bosom
(the soft cosy curve of sweet breast) out loud.

You’ll never believe that one shout saved the world!
Or rescued our leaders
From their throw-away plot
To blow us all up,
But you’ll have to believe that it’s true.
And as she shouted again, I’ll tell you –

So sudden this rage and shame fell
Like a shroud
As each nutter revisited
Memories of real warmth
And worth.