Part 29 (Charlies women)

The last of the Played at a different speed collection. I hope you all have a fabulous year end 2015.

Christmas white
with christ tonight,
alive tonight
– a bright white
night.
Wish christmas white.
Alive
bright bride,
well showered by lies
with a kiss
on the side
(with a silencing bribe),
for a white christmas bride.
Bride of christ
once alive
now denied,
all united!
Fallen through
dancing lows,
reeling twice
– took the blows
with a reflex in vows.
All giving
one knows.
As a crowning white glory,
well bridled
and white,
crawled the white drive
– felt alive –
crawling dryly
to christmas.
And there
landed a bright light
(with her eyes
hiding lies)
where it grows.

Part 27 (John Door (man))

Wideboy
stood against the whole door
knowing you’re the top John
– calling all the shots John –
whose down
on the list John?
Wise crack
(alley scraping)
laughs John –
kicking in their heads
boys plied with drinks
and drugs (?)
easy target
called out first
they’re scum lads!
So get ‘em first
or kill ’em lads,
they’ll get you John;
the lads will John,
they’re drunk boys
so get in first or lose John.
On the doors boys
you’re the target:
You’ll all get it
we’ve all had it,
seen it,
been it,
known it,
you – the new ones –
you can’t know it,
soon to learn it,
feel it,
be it…
You John – door boy.
This will be your time
boys, stop the scum
from coming boys.
Get paid and
get laid
but don’t be afraid,
John in charge
we are in charge!
So don’t blow it
John do your job
go – bye!

Penultimately: Part 28 for tomorrow

Part 26 (Likol Mouses)

A play on words, rather than an admission of guilt. Part 26 of Played at a different speed:

Whip it up sliced
like some nice
mice
caught within the hands vice
– power gripping
(evil trip).
The mouse runs;
tries running
– caught tight –
this could be
the last fight!
Struggle free to run
mice,
struggling cannot go,
mice.
End coming here
and coming near to you
Mice!
You’re small
and hand’s so big –
to fight free
gripping,
squirming,
never leaving here alive
mice.
You know it.
Never try
to get our food mouse
(it’s our food mouse)!
Never eat again
dying mice!
This crippling grip,
smell’s evil here.
Mice –
you’ll not go far –
mouse!
You’re dying
dead.

Tomorrow: Part 27

Part 23 (Teletart)

So he sits up
in the nights
to write?
He’s lying;
watches tele late
and early
sees nobody,
says
no
words…
Days roll on,
and on,
forever
– says he writes?
The liar never!
Always
with his square eyes
seeing others
living their lives:
He never sees
those real
people.
Stays indoors
and hides
from people –
it’s his lot!
But not his fault.
The writer’s
got no
real people,
but a frenzy
– pictured frenzy –
bending mind
and hold,
on real life…
So
there’s overflow
of telling
fancy tales
which should be told.

And next: Part 24.

Part 21 (Tracking Tale)

Following on from yesterday, this series of poems: Played at a different speed, the subjects covered by the 10 are humdrum, as they attempt to spell out a beat of the activity. This is Part 21 (It’s about listening on a train).

Sun out with the wind
(an awesome summer wind)
with a warming sun
too clean,
crisp
entrancement
warms this mind.
Waiting,
sitting,
standing
till a whirring
speeding…
slowing: Churning papers,
scaring mutts,
rolling cigarette-butts
until
they’ve filled up all the ruts
by all the waiters
and the sitters,
standing,
boarding,
closing,
moving!
There’s the clicking and commotion
of mechanic tongues in motion.
Moving.
Then
it’s our seat
– our booked seat –
and surcharge paid to sit seat.
Slowed down then stopped.
Beat.
Machine’s not saving booked seats.
And off again, yet,
still not sitting seat!
Take ours,
use ours…
Now sat
we’ve stopped again seat.
Still –
stand –
leave –
and empty, empty, empty,
now vacant seat;
their saved seat;
they’re gone.

Tomorrow: Part 22

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

Compass

Laughing free and easily
I look to you;
to see the questions raise
within your eyes…
knowingly, and fast as light,
the answers plain –
The future is not clean…
…It’s Dynamite!

Sweet as love
and tasting fine
the nighttime grows.
Giving into passion
giving in to
all of your
tomorrows

Happiness is there to hold
A fool shouts loud.
In the night his shout
sends shivers –
turning still necks cold.

Eastern Shores

On these eastern shores so dark and late at night
cold waves break over stones and wash them clean
Beneath the fat moon floating proud above the belching surf
A sinking ship of broken dreams slips quiet from the scene

Shortly as sun cracks its fiery whip on the day
and bathes this stony silence in sweet blue
Straggling at the waters edge the shadows of last night
worn and tired and wet this sunken crew.

Lowestoft Beach January 2015

Righteous Sprite

One fat big cold hardcore night
A big fat hardcore sprite took flight
A loud shrill screech pitched far too high
Blew the night black on the sky

Stalking lives not lived quite right
Well in the eyes of this righteous sprite
Alone it skipped and whirled in skies
Lit bleakly except by its own eyes

And swooped
Bit down bit hard
Sharp bite
Found yet another half-lived life

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!

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

Freedom Man

It’s big waves
It’s the small stones
It’s footsteps in the sands
And the beaches of the shores
It’s birds on the wing
heading down south
And it’s the noises that you make
When you open up your mouth

Over-painted men
with their faces all long
Try to tie me down
But their ropes ain’t so strong
Cause I’m the Freedom Man
And I’m free
To fight on

The reason you cry
when not tied to the tribe
Or admission of guilt
From bad loving and lies
Your lonely atonement
for crimes borne of love
Well it’s all of me below
And it’s all of me above

I’m caught by the balls as you
draw me inside
It’s the warmth in your head
When your heart takes the ride
It’s from the Freedom Man
And it’s free
To ride on

Memoirs

I rode, one day, in summer
to the house where she was found.
The lawn was high from growing;
tall grass hushed me all around.

Windows, light and open,
bade my wary body in,
and that door (once black and solid)
graced my entry with its grin.

On the well-bleached floor,
still stains of blood sang red and proud,
stenches rank and pungent
forced my lungs to whinge aloud.

Where the log fire once warmed
was now a pit of fears,
as I walked about that friendly room
I could not dam my tears.

Once bright curtains – long and green –
would soak salt spies away.
Alas no grown-up hand
would draw drapes from my eyes today.

I sat for minutes,
hearing every creak and squeak and drip,
whilst in my head the flood of thoughts
got all my brain to rip!

So as my new blood mixed with hers,
all gushing through my nose,
my last thoughts were of how we change –
how quick dead memory grows.

I left so slow and choked up
that I found a memory then,
and though I try and halt it,
still flows freely – from this pen.

Broads House

Sightlessly Hopeful

Smoking Utopia
Numbly draining
unstraight thinkingness –
Self-image confusory.
Lost?
Temporal aching for focus.
What if one’s already on the greenest side of the fence?

Blankly hankering
(insolvent lungful),
regurgatory states
where memory plays the strongest link!
My weakest link,
my thoughts…
Feelings of floatyness
openness
blankness – like a virgin canvas.

Body painage.
Recently used-up
everyday the cycle uses me more.
Old and reliant on mothering still
where does/can one go from here?

Dreams of living on own, not loan
dreams you see
My base is flawed
So naked
As friends slip sandily through limp, feeble fingers
Good for shrugging and waving
and precious little else.
Oh good – to be here at the bottom again!

Livin’ in the past

Lost in time
This place: reopen
Come in
Come in
Take a seat, look around.
Last this place a point’s reflection
Made in earnest – mellow affection.
Where sweat is sweet
This home in mind
Where grime is fine
Soul comforts kind

Splendour dressed up
Brains asylum
Lean here
Lean here
Mild place to stay
A hairs breadth stance
Some brief encounters with quick repose
Of trampled appraisal
The quietly encouraged of latent heart.

A shelf stacked full
Of mean literature
A guide
A guide
That flicker through time
A passage borne but followed seldom
Where once was promise
Now found hiding.
Light bounces in and the light within
Once caught is sold where light’s unknown

Smoked holy juice
A fresh fruits yield
Drink up
Drink up
More than most to go round
And the glow of sweet tempers
Sets light to the myriad hemp
Grown for the picking
Picked up on and planted…

Cloud-like moon-light
Starlight’s bright
In air
In air
In the streets on the ground
Flashed from fields
Where none play wisely – streets empty game
Streets heady weights
Heads bow with despair
From lonely looks shorn soft, so lightly
When light was right; and places won!

Now let us know this fair fantastic
Come fly
Come fly
Lift your feet from the ground
Look fierce at the present
know your last demands
Leave your mind in my hands
I will cherish and nurture, will fondle and love –
In this polished asylum whose quiet walls listen in.

Letter to all Land Lovers

Go get your boots on you land lovers
Grab coats and please turn out the lights as you go
reeking of debt you land lovers
stinking up our streets with the cash that you owe.

How can you expect
our deep pockets to fetch
all your woes till you’re ready
to pay back what you borrowed!

Instead of taxing your brain land lovers
Instead of developing again land lovers
Instead of staying in this wet hole
Instead of doing nothing but claiming your dole!

Break free land lovers
and head for the sea
grab your boots and your coats
for a trip, just to see.
Get out of this land that no longer inflames you
break free of our mock English hullabaloo!

It’s time, don’t you see
this time on your wrist
Enjoy what you’ve got before our claws get at it.

And if you stand fast
because of our past
for reasons that frankly escape even me.

Don’t come back in 20
– bemoaning the state
and don’t plod on duly just because.

Oh land lovers,
you can still love this land
but for happiness
love from afar
not from where you already stand!

Stacey Journeygirl

In a metal box that rocks
with metal from it’s rock boxes
White Stacey cries it’s alive
in black rhymes and lies
oh White Stacey, who were
you rocking in that metal rockbox?

Oh White Stacey, with their
grim impress still fresh on your yellow locks!

From low down the top end of town
old curling burley slope-headed blokes
snarl freely as Stacey bounces by in her box
back to flat pints of watery beer
back to the sticky games of
stuck down pool
wiping leering chops of drooling shots up
lining pints up
Yet somehow never cheering up.

Oh scroats! Oh unhappy ‘happy-hour’ scroats
How many you number
And mass riches you squander.

Drowning in pool, sliding on cue!
To the sticky end of
your bitter fed night!

Derrière Mastication

Dear Sir,
I am a man –
though I may dress like a girl
and smell like a pig
a man is what I am.
So do let me by
with my lazy eye,
with my nineties cut,
with my face – like your butt!
And with this limp (why I walk like a pimp)
let me pass.

Let my skinny arse
breeze by your frame.
Let my dim-dull brain
and my too-big feet
tread this nowhere street.
Give my erroneous nose
the space it needs,
as it goes,
do not stand in my stride
as my knock-knees collide.

’Cause I’d do the same
for your irksome name –
and I’ll let your flat face pass on free
if you’ll just shut it tight
and let me be.

Happiness (bare)

The most important thing is to have a clear vision
said a blind man
No said a short woman
the most important thing is to aspire to be higher
I disagree said a disagreeably large lad –
if you are thin you are happy
Or if one can hear
,
signed the deaf.
How can you not elect freedom of movement,
a prisoner whispered
And freedom of thought,
wrote a secretive girl
(from an undisclosed address)

On the other hand, enquired a gay guy –
acceptance is highly important to happiness,
Or maybe ones individuality brings joy
nodded a follower from amongst a crowd!
Happiness beams from the pages of books
contested an illiterate sexagenarian.
From the love of cherished offspring
sang a barren couple
From the voices of angels,
growled coarse throated smokers.
No! Please understand that happiness belongs to Men!
Gushed a feminist.
To the well-endowed
whispered a small fellow.
Surely the happiness you seek lies in the warmth of community
hollered the lonely crofter
from an isolated mountain croft…

There’s always a reason,
a question or tease
to ignite every hour as it flies…
Happy hum – bright smile,
pleased bounce
warm heart.
Knowing your peace through what may turn out lies.

Chocolate

Put in the boo tin

Golf car
Gulf war
calf gore
golf war
wolf car
Wolf wore
calf sore

In our shapes of desire
Even chased dreams tire
And cows and wolves flee
From the roar of free machinery