Lowestoft Holler

There’s this little green town on the East coast
Where work all gets lost in the cloudy smoke
There’s a tan on the beach if you’re visiting
It still comes with cheap chips and ice cream

Every day the sun lifts the darkness
Breaking memories anchored in some trawling past
No crowds fill the streets, they’re in online
Gossiping or gaming over flat wine

Books banked in dust pad the library
While shops stocked in staple brands of jewellery
Alternate with smoking miscellany
As broad across as sacred is our greenery

When you pass by, and you will, don’t be afeared
The East coast is not the place it used to be
As calm and cool as any burg is wont to be
A little slower true, but aren’t we meant to be


Smoked Out Slow

Bored with work ‘cause there’s too much to do
Wasting my time instead listening to music
Writing words to fill my head
Filling my soul with the takers of pain
Drinking some smoking then writing again

And imbibing
Deep breathing
To scribble again

Slow music better than no music
Quiet music better than loud
Hot tunes hold my mind in line
This night goes so slow – so unkind
The shakes once again start me shaking
It’s the fault of quick thinking whilst sitting

The tongues through my head
Keep me waking

Drastic action has me waiting
So long that eyes close under eyelids
Strange thoughts prop my psyche
Weird music and thinking
Sad slow – stoppage drinking
pushes time
to just over the brink!



A return to attempting to find my poetic voice. We have come to the end of a string of Beck’ Beat Poetry events, which have been a series of fantastical occasions! Enabling me and others to meet and hear top-class poets from across south London (and Hackney)!

Here is the 420



Words (c) Adam Bujons. Image (c) Vincent Van Gogh

Words (c) Adam Bujons. Image (c) Vincent Van Gogh

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.

To Smoke

To suck & breathe foul yellow air,
To suffocate;

With each chemically enhanced

Each wispy grey breath
To die:

Mournfully golden teeth and fingers
Yearning for pungent
Alluring fags!

Pleading for the next big toxic kick!
As cells give up and blood thins out

Just one rasping gasp
One wheezing whiff

Just one more nicotinous smoke
To smoke.

cigarette ads

There’s My Way…

Full of tea yet low on greed
How much you query the green!

All of the money and honey you stash.
Why do you need to have all of that cash?

Here I rot topped up with pot
And dysfunctioning? Me got not!

As round this life you scream in fits
Killing time and joy – losing love in bits.

Burning up days with rants and quarrel
Smashing dreams down, leaving the rubble?

How do you righteous become so bloated
When out in this liberty, I grin easy and float on.

Theres my way



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]

Mothers of Mope

The marvellous mendicant mothers of Mope
worry about weaning their kids off dope.
Haplessly harried they hardly hold hope
of finding an answer that isn’t looped rope!

Round here the rising sun breaks slow the cloud
which builds through the night
– from the fags dark allows,
yet, none of Mopes mistresses notice,
through rows,
that newly a day is born
– sweet, fresh and proud.

Surely some sapient soul serves to sate
the confusion of questions one’s sure to negate,
in diurnal dialogue done direct and to date…
or so you’d suppose, in most all other states.

Here though, in Mope, the mothers are clear:
we’ll have no free thinking ta! None of that here!
Perish the thought of fresh views or ideas
and hold your big books from coming too near!

The plan goes so simple (it has to it’s true) –
the brideless of Mope know all that they do;
that learning from lessons is theirs to eschew!
Our proliferate pups truly think this their due.

So work on you earners, as hard as you can
Build coin for your country to feed the taxman.
His pennies and coffers are spent
– the grand plan:
Dished out to the mothers
who need what they can!


Poor Stoney’s Plans Scuppered Again

He happened upon a bath
in which he figured ‘t would be a laugh,
that – sunk in that bath he’d sit
and lick smoke from a lazy spliff!

Huddled down and soaking clean
A joyous feeling crept inside
and with the tide, thoughts lapped at dreams –
clambered grimly bridges wide –
and, lightly grasped a brighter side…

From such elation…
Surely a humbling height to tumble from!
The ensuing reversal of fortunes
reads adverse and, at worse, prompts distortions:

…You astute will have spotted a cloud (rich and green –
with poor Stoneys name scrawled in big curls
whisps and whirls)
well this cloud sought escape;
as befits such big green!

As would happen that day there were sniffers about
Sniffing a smell that they’d all then sniff out!!
So this brought them flocking (think the wind changed, twice!)
with their noses all up, and – all twitching like mice…

Thus they sniffed him out –
Dragged him out –
Threw him out and
Locked him out!
…erroneous twerps, I hear you mutter – utterly fair…
And here you have entered
so late in my day
I’ve been washed, mashed, bashed, hassled:
I feel half blown away!

Tonight indeed the green is mean,
lovingly sweet and judiciously keen!
Now is time, to brightly fly –
Paint your own pictures on this blue sky!

Bath smoke sketch


Sulking in old boots and smoking dry tobacco into ringlets of fug there is a beautiful untouchable riding my memory like slow waves. Free to ramble through all my day-to-day wonderings this wisp of a witch leaves hints of her passing arse and brushing breast but refuses to shed light on any corner or artifice?! She chooses instead to skulk around corners and tease from the dark hollows of her once incandescent beauty. I am weak and willing and glad of her smokey company. This mirage of memory kindles warmth in my cold dark thoughts. She is far removed from reality by time in my head and far more intimate with me now, even thru her clouds and footprints… evaporating each time I try to get close.


This is how many cigarettes I’ve had
This is how many cigarettes I’ve had
Why do you think it makes me feel glad
by counting the number of smokes I’ve had?

This is the number of drinks I’ve drunk
This is the number of drinks I’ve drunk
Why do you continue to wallow in past
by counting the number I’ve times I’ve been drunk?

This is the number of women I’ve had
This is the number of women I’ve had
Why this bombardment of guilt that you try
as I recite the number of women I’ve laid?

And, this is the amount which I love you
This is the amount which I love you
Does it make you feel better inside
knowing how much I say that I love you?


In pseudo-darkness
we scrapped and flapped,
catching streaky rays of light –
odd fragments of the sun.

We sat there –
this living hole –
glimpsed life through blinking eyes,
through a smoke so dense with grins,
so heavy and so wide.

As our hours
on –
as our eyes flickered
idly around,
as our liquid minds closed down,
I think, here in this night, we’ll drown!

Slumped at dawn
I woke with burns.
I woke!

Fire’s here…
But not –
this heat is sun, is light
is hot.
So clumsily we rise,
we yawn;
we eat and leave this scummy hole.
We open out into the morn.

Cheerily? No…
But brighter for light,
glad to escape the weights of last night –
the long times spent listening
to low and lowly noises:
outside sounds of dark,
of confusion.

We’re out, we smile
we disperse
for the day.

Green people from Roman arena london

Lies Before the Storm

Remorse addles my memories
Pocketing each bliss afternoon
With the passions of night
The crimson rivers of my beautiful flesh
Lap the poison down
Sweet honey

Where do I want to be?
With my bad habits
and bad thoughts
Racking brains daily for other ways to see…
Rocking my bed hotly
(With hot rocks you understand
not hot rocking!)

My beautiful body
And rugged face
Lies blatant and huge
As this heart fights to keep pace.

Random Dinosaurs from Crystal Palace

Day Light

(for) Morning our sun
breaks early, shines fierce –
lighting up all.
Drying puddles of tears.
Heralds each day begun,
the end of night fears!

So time moves along,
wakes new eyes to ideas,
lends broke hearts a new song;
shouts love on deaf ears.
I ponder the motions
through this mind so naive
so wrapped up with questions –
how I’m s’posed to achieve?

The glorious sun
catches dreams, feeds the breeze
keeps my loves all-day-warm
yet I long for a piece…
from here I spy a gloom
which promises ease
I fight with these notions,
to stand here on my feet.

A wonder undone
every thought a disease?
Where’s the answer I long
what to do to appease?
As the rising horizon
comes again from the east
where are all my dreams flowing?
Is there peace in this sleep?

At last my mind’s numb
floats in hoops and queries
another sunny day gone
Left my head just memories.
Yet, morning our sun
breaks early shines fierce.


I’m gonna get so stoned that
straight and
I can’t talk

I’m gonna get so stoned till I can’t see clear
So I
can’t walk
my mind


This is going to kill you quickly
As you toke it oh so slowly
Rolled about for half the night
Thumbed and fumbled till was just right
Smoothed as round as round you know
Watch it glow


clouds 2007Smoke curls gladly
through my iris
reflections in recess.
This is my first
I can’t let it happen
I shan’t let it happen
Easily said…

So my lungs numb
to music in my brains,
humdrum, passages.
And outside, somewhere,
someone else;
another one, is shot!

Impersonal formality.
I pay no heed to this atrocity…
Still my cigarettes burn
Still my minds yearn
Still I don’t earn…enough to smoke!!

The Contrary Motivations of a Hippie Driving Fanatic

Oh great earth
Sweet with loves green nature
How deeply I’m enriched
With your illustrious nurture
As you light up my awe inspired mind
With delight
Never failing to excite
You grow lush in the night!

And still
When I grip the galloping wheel of my car
Your beauty keeps up
No matter how fast
I pass.


Smoke clouds rise and in their eyes
the fruitless mists disappear

Lost rhythm verse – disenchanted?
Climb the wires and disappear
Close your mind so I can find
the exact point where you disappear