Truth of Mind?

Confusions of noise
blot any answers from surfacing,
in their stead – a maze of ideas
and questions, idly pass time –
twisting tales;
glancing at even the dimmest stars of truth.

Eventually only these flagrant lies stand firm
and there is no cessation in noise!
Some comfort is found
in the familiarity of these timeless ‘whoppers’.
This barely comforts rhetoric;
but comfort it is –
and all sinew
grapples it securely to heart
– still waiting the truth.

Till time has passed
this day and this night…
Only more exaggerated during the night
and more conscious at day.

Atomic Ironic

They asked us to build
An island to build a base to
Build a gun on
Then
They asked us to build
An island to build a town on
To get blown up
They got us to build these
Far from home
On the other side of the planet
An impossible task
Taking miles of man hours
And costing an aeon of money

We spent our time
Ingeniously
Breaking the codes of the atom
Building the biggest
The wildest, the newest
Securing our seat
At the side of the mighty
Wasting our atmosphere
Nuking the air
To check
That no further threats
Grew anywhere…

The great Suffolk train ride

A residual stink
That acrid jarring of smells
Grating receptors and flashing memories
Of narrow escapes
Close shaves
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
Scrape habitable
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 Middle of the Night

In the mid-
dull of the night
I lay
and listen to the rain
In this hot room
the sounds of splash
draw out my
slightly sighs again
Were you not here so
short-a-time-ago to
sweat with mine
The ticks
tock by
so bluh
dee slow
hammer out
such emp
tea time
Through this din of rain
and thunderous clocks
my thoughts
collect on you
I’m sure though
slow these days
will fly and
bring me close
in time to you

The Horse and the Cat

Where are you bound cat?
Asked a horse in dulcet tones
Why ask you?
Are you interested in my goings
or comings?
The cat replied.
You, puss,
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.
I agree.
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)
became one.

The mighty sun beat down on vacant stables
Through the dark our moon glowed on nights effluent stream.

Lazy Boy

Busy days
Ain’t got the strength
To blow these blues away
Worth no money
Got no food
This mind state set
With no wants but you.

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!