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!

 

4:20

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

 

Flit

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
Lungful

Each wispy grey breath
To die:

Inhale
Exhale
Mournfully golden teeth and fingers
Yearning for pungent
Rancid
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

Er…