Cicada Chorus
The 5 elements bespoken bereft to where indigo bright winged bird soars above the plight of slum laden hillside image film insert seen God of small things a bright stall installed woven prose prized above all where we used to be she said he said they said in common common-place all said and done and undone where the light breaks across a cliff cragged place in no space this comes to pass this comes to pass we used to be slow too slow he said she passed up the opportunity the unity of the masters of men questioned by the serfs where are your masters he questioned but none would answer he left alone to atonement tunes that mixed with the air of unease a bright crisp dawn twice seen never left it should be as one expects one never leaves it to chance of course where turquoise dreams picked and pocketed through the annuls of time speak spoken sprachen yawn fingered to timeless oil paint remember remember remember remember remember a fifth gear changed down down down down winding countryside briefly tyre kissed splice splice splice edit point nae punctuation to be nice nice instead of eh…alone…instead sore point wrist include radius and ulna meta-phalanges’ ‘n’ all with tendons muscles ligaments’ open to being ripped shattered askew bereft of comfort: water,
Wood,
Fire,
Earth,
Metal;
Calm sea,
Bending willow,
Open fire,
Gathering soil,
Settling molten steel,
(back to again, back to again, back to again, back to again, back to again)
Still ocean.
You were where you should be,
You were where you ought to be,
You will be late in this time,
You will be free, sublime.
The phases of each verse disintegrate as smashed by a sword; “cut bone! Cut bone!” Spoken it takes on a new regal angle.
Or, disposable take away plastic carton burger box tossed away; untidily chucked as crisp packets and various fast food packaging gathers in the wind on urbane urban streets- “you dirty BLEEP!!!”
Where is your pride? Civic duty? Social politeness?
Preach on man, preach on to all those unwashed sea of people, ebbing and flowing, unknowing, (then) to music, intoxication prising open minds rough course chemical impeachment. I have stepped back in time to Woodstock, yeah man! Yeah man! Yeah man! Yeah..!
Man!
Yeeahh…..
Man!
Interject that with men on the moon.
Interlope- if you will- Steppen Wolf, Lynard Skynard, and all that crew.
Intercede grim coarse British reality weather wet, wild and shhhiiiiiit.
Was it?
Was it?
Was it? Was it? WAS IT?
“How the hell should I know?”
Torrid, sensual, up ‘n’ down, well…maybe.
Do it when?
Do it…
When?
Do it when?
Do it when?
Indulgence.
‘Indulgent me.’ (quoteth)
Where was the song that broke the bank? That broke the mould? That saw different angles? Well…hindsight…it’s different when you’re there, at the time, when certain personal experiences pass between two people; when 2 becomes….you know the rest,
Rest,
Rest,
Metal
Rests,
Gathering,
Opening up;
To fire,
Bending in a storm; wind and rain cold lashing,
still,
still,
still waters,
lake
deep,
deep,
deep, still, deep, still, deep.
*
2 Stroke bespoke break, breaketh ‘til until we met from bend, sway, to the most uppeth where I wonder/wander in the A.C (air conditioning) it frees all of us, makes fools of us.
Get on, get it on! Songbird sweetly touched the ephemeral sky blue, all new, nuances trapped and, (at the same time) released by time. Time. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-
Tock,
Time
Makes
Fools
Of
Us.
*
Cicadas (big flying Crete crickets) sing their relentless chorus. A multitude of small black ants busy themselves along the garden border before a holiday villa. A mechanical noise beside my ear intermittently comes on,
Goes off,
Chatter sunbathing bathers,
Comes on,
Get it on,
Get it on,
Crete Mediterranean breeze blows past,
Then…
Fades,
Get it on,
Comes on,
Goes off,
Get the factor 20 on;
Sun block cream,
Get your hat on,
‘if you wanna get ahead, get a hat!’
Get it on,
Violence, violent song, crash, ask for more? Crash cymbal splash,
Trash,
Trashed in ear drum,
Button pressed mess,
So description
All through points weary, nearly, my child temperate soul fluffed to knowing a humane structure block, stop!
Stop.
STOP!
Stop.
St-
Op.
Opened again for fruitful friends parlance organised by a faithful friend end summit summat shore grind slow my friend ne’er whist bespoken big chore all of this in a shower of light particles again “where’s the beach?” question arcs itself over to the end impeach to lawyer writ large over herself struggle stomach gurgle you USAF memory/memorial to beacon light blink antenna shut we’ve come this far plus why not why not why why not why not not knotted tension builds in their calf/calves muscle(s) be be bee hum strong forlorn torn to sheet pressed forged metal under Vulcan’s hammer fire sworn oath makes fools of us all it makes the diesel ignition past staves crochets illuminates phosphorus flash temper grave in these duff chuff emissions speak spake softly to the anew shiny sporting weighed in up and measured to where this audience falls deathly silent cold hinge squeaked butter-would-not-melt foretold where this does not fold in time she sought the comfort in me to speak spake of these things does not detract for the initial freedoms where heat slowly finds us to get it on get with program clear all of that out of your head you that art without you fffffelt the t-t-tip of a flower besieged by ants crawling at a hell of a pace to this dawn 3rd time up 3rd time lucky unlucky in love lucky at cards watch the spurious pale then tan or burn to these dreams of 2 vehicles bell-bottomed and out o’ fashion we quick we quick in succession believe in ourselves or at least summink “sweet as..” “sorted” “touch, long time.”
*
Speech flows as a stream of thought possesses the innocence of what has gone before. Speak the orator’s words like they mean something Eucidales. Bang down a fist like a hammer, emptying rhetoric as disposable as any honed, trimmed, sound byte.
In bits we hear these things itching to get at us, we, who were free in all of this have given up our rights slowly but surely, eroded like a mountainside, the falseness of it all makes one feel sick. Be sure to vote with feet and that’ll be the end of it. Get it? ‘Get it on,’ you say? Mmmn….
*
“Where’s y’ hat?”
Where indeed. Where tumblin’ ‘n’ rumblin’ we go on- “you do though don’t you though.”
(Pause for effect)
Posh paws. Posh Spice; a singer of 5 all-girl band mid’ 90s’, too thin now- careful now, careful now.
(Pause for relief)
“It’s alright. It’s…….alright. It’s time…..”
(Pause for applause)
*
We were turned through the multifarious/nefarious processes that bore us out, worked before, in after; hand-out, unworkable as a medium hand-made, and as impressive, to all that came before. You wish it were not so. You protest that it is not, cannot, be so.
It is.
It breathes on its own a dark energy that once bore us proud or sycophantically on its back. Did you know its name? Did you recognise it in the streets? Did you betray it? Did you ignore it as if it wasn’t there? Did you release it?
“What did you do?”
Are you responsible?
Are the labyrinthine thoughts letting it into our everyday lives?
I question all who would think the last point. I question my increasing proclivity to jump on that band wagon where it is a case of us and them; ‘they’, ‘them lot’, and so on.
A bile duct metaphorically exercised in the name of freedom, of justice, of peace; whilst we feed, not scraps as per yesteryear, but a full three course dinner, (some) an eight course with selected wines for each.
And it grows, with its dark energy, stronger- unstoppable.
Each culture has a beast in the darkness, int’, into the shadows from whence they, you, I, will never return. The labyrinth walls of hard rock hewn in Crete to which the half-man/half-bull [Minotaur] creature feeds on sacrificed virgins. The monster that must be slain by a hero [Theseus] :
Balance,
Order,
Harmony,
(take your pick)
Returned.
Modern day monster in the deep, dark, psychiatric, criminally insane, cells, a series of locked high security gates negotiated by Federal Bureau of Investigations cadet Clarice Starling (our heroine) facing Dr Hannibal Lecter [‘bogey man’]. Negate the labyrinth- her own mind- to catch another monster.
Candour.
Candid.
“In the can.”
(But for how long?)
Who will save us?
(Not I)
Who will save us?
(Not you)
Who will save us?
(Not them)
Who will save us?
(Not anyone)
Who will save us?
(Anyone?)
From the monsters real or imagined like a childhood bad memory: the thing under the stairs. Lost in fear one is too afraid to think clearly, logically, fight or flight response acutely attuned. Shadows across dark Dickensian walls thrown, Jack the Ripper smog fumed.
The beasts were once put on trial in Nuremburg, actual monsters- men under the banner of collective amorality. Under the guise of the greater good, therein, one after the other, after the other, after the other multiple upon multiple, ‘pon multiple, millions sacrificed to their, ‘greater’ good: ‘the final solution’; the lines blurred 1940s where black is white, white is black.
Led fear,
Led fear,
Lead fear,
Led fear,
Led fear by a bull-ring through its nose.
*
Soul washed.
Sea crash.
Soul anew- sun-kiss it with a breaking dawn cicadas start up- their conductor occasionally quietens them down with his bright, pointed, baton- allow jet fighter to roar overhead, ref’: United States Air Force, in this case, Euro-fighter sky blessed.
Seeping sleep body-clock misaligned for what each dream what does it tell? Nonsense of course, as a matter of course, cerebral, neuropsychological, sort of de-fragging; the re-aligning of files in a computer/laptop/notebook, etc.
Bog down.
Bog down with detail, the last winds of free men, breathe a sigh of relief intoned, in tune, “keep it together lads!” soulful, spirit today, broken wheel no longer keeps the circle as one thing, true.
Dump.
Dispose.
Lost.
Lost black, puppy dog follows, “are you my new pack?” He asks.
Big cats (tom cat, male?) 3 sit on cushions outside Crete quaint soft furnishings, bric-a-brac. What do you think?
*
A lift in time preaches itself into the wardens; keepers of us, of all of us. “Hey man…get on the bus!” Keyed in and typed meticulously through past thoughts and reminisces of times (back in the day) g-g-get got gone gristle lean on, acquire greater quality- not quantity- meat from the bone,
Bone,
Bone,
b-
bonhomie bovine peppered desire taunt telt tome tomb nae room to passenger plane traverse thousands of miles defy gravity with your smile make up your mind bliss lubricated thought flurry in hardiness 68 (or was it 78?) sheep shorn working all life Peak District hands we land at o’ God o’ clock in the morning spend
spend
spend
spend
spend ½ a life time looking for these truths or the truth or maybe the best version of it at the time
time
time
time
time to reconsider or revalue what has been learnt or the whole delve int’ t’ that bit about fear or evil incarnate blasé where ignoring average civic balance a new day today yesterday tomorrow the past is a foreign country yesteryear history makes us or tricked tricks us to be here eventually straightforwardness the adage of simple is best Sunday dress mess mess mess up mess missed mess up train of thought line of inquiry with this
this
this
thisssssss
trist
turnabout
miss
“Hey miss?!”
Young taunt feels like..
Sounds like..
Is like..
Was like..
For the like love of God don’t or am like monsieur ecoute madame fraulein tog rating sketch where heavy head equals too long a song man woman girl boy bait breath test bless
Bless
Bless
Turn over time type up and edit all night
Bless
Raised foreign language words conversational in true time ago don’t hog Lillo bet
Bless
*
There was a time when a song sounded true eclipsed to gentleness,
Forgotten,
Recalled (in a snip)
To where we bliss,
Where we tiny, tin-pot town,
Townie,
Wide-boy chancer,
Jaguar nicer,
Palatial,
Where cloud feels tentatively ‘cross the sky,
Thou shalt,
Thou shalt not,
Well………………in a cold embrace at least,
At the time,
At the wherewithal,
Musak,
Musio,
Music,
I’m………
Lost…
In.
Do you venture beyond these shores sleepily to the next time, to the Walford soap-opera East End of Londinium twang: “leave it..it’s family!!!!”
Leave it in the family.
Behind closed doors.
Beneath the sheets.
Between the lines.
Hush!! Mum’s the word!
My lips are sealed.
We feel.
We feel.
We feel.
We feel.
We feel enlightened to progress jet cicadas shut up nae strike that let ‘em speak sing my brethren encapsulate mobile phone cell terrorist cell cell cell phone speech speech fear do not feed the terror the horror the fear of doing someting extraordinary good mmn above average to say the least seek a sidewinder missile in the very of very Nellie the Elephant packed her trunk and bunk up become forth do not pour whiskey rake through the past soulful ring tone Reliant Robin 3-wheel car us out outta here “punch it baby!” y’ naw toon doon broom wish stick downright am down wiv that “tight” this is hurtin’ this is Richard Mr O. B. E Burton (Order of the British Empire) ne’er never nell tire tired sensibility do you “how do you do I’m English” room full womb-broom fuddin’ at last when alls bin binned recycle or done be gone “y’ fekkin’ idiot” bless ye but be gone,
Gone,
Gone,
g-,
one,
one,
one,
one,
first step: still waters,
second step: bend tree (wood),
third step: open up like fire (explosion),
fourth step: gather up like soil (earth),
fifth step: settle like molten lead (metal),
and return to….
Still
Water,
Still
Ocean,
Still
Lake,
Still
Cup of….
Still
Swimming pool.
*
Wood,
Fire,
Earth,
Metal;
Calm sea,
Bending willow,
Open fire,
Gathering soil,
Settling molten steel,
(back to again, back to again, back to again, back to again, back to again)
Still ocean.
You were where you should be,
You were where you ought to be,
You will be late in this time,
You will be free, sublime.
The phases of each verse disintegrate as smashed by a sword; “cut bone! Cut bone!” Spoken it takes on a new regal angle.
Or, disposable take away plastic carton burger box tossed away; untidily chucked as crisp packets and various fast food packaging gathers in the wind on urbane urban streets- “you dirty BLEEP!!!”
Where is your pride? Civic duty? Social politeness?
Preach on man, preach on to all those unwashed sea of people, ebbing and flowing, unknowing, (then) to music, intoxication prising open minds rough course chemical impeachment. I have stepped back in time to Woodstock, yeah man! Yeah man! Yeah man! Yeah..!
Man!
Yeeahh…..
Man!
Interject that with men on the moon.
Interlope- if you will- Steppen Wolf, Lynard Skynard, and all that crew.
Intercede grim coarse British reality weather wet, wild and shhhiiiiiit.
Was it?
Was it?
Was it? Was it? WAS IT?
“How the hell should I know?”
Torrid, sensual, up ‘n’ down, well…maybe.
Do it when?
Do it…
When?
Do it when?
Do it when?
Indulgence.
‘Indulgent me.’ (quoteth)
Where was the song that broke the bank? That broke the mould? That saw different angles? Well…hindsight…it’s different when you’re there, at the time, when certain personal experiences pass between two people; when 2 becomes….you know the rest,
Rest,
Rest,
Metal
Rests,
Gathering,
Opening up;
To fire,
Bending in a storm; wind and rain cold lashing,
still,
still,
still waters,
lake
deep,
deep,
deep, still, deep, still, deep.
*
2 Stroke bespoke break, breaketh ‘til until we met from bend, sway, to the most uppeth where I wonder/wander in the A.C (air conditioning) it frees all of us, makes fools of us.
Get on, get it on! Songbird sweetly touched the ephemeral sky blue, all new, nuances trapped and, (at the same time) released by time. Time. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-
Tock,
Time
Makes
Fools
Of
Us.
*
Cicadas (big flying Crete crickets) sing their relentless chorus. A multitude of small black ants busy themselves along the garden border before a holiday villa. A mechanical noise beside my ear intermittently comes on,
Goes off,
Chatter sunbathing bathers,
Comes on,
Get it on,
Get it on,
Crete Mediterranean breeze blows past,
Then…
Fades,
Get it on,
Comes on,
Goes off,
Get the factor 20 on;
Sun block cream,
Get your hat on,
‘if you wanna get ahead, get a hat!’
Get it on,
Violence, violent song, crash, ask for more? Crash cymbal splash,
Trash,
Trashed in ear drum,
Button pressed mess,
So description
All through points weary, nearly, my child temperate soul fluffed to knowing a humane structure block, stop!
Stop.
STOP!
Stop.
St-
Op.
Opened again for fruitful friends parlance organised by a faithful friend end summit summat shore grind slow my friend ne’er whist bespoken big chore all of this in a shower of light particles again “where’s the beach?” question arcs itself over to the end impeach to lawyer writ large over herself struggle stomach gurgle you USAF memory/memorial to beacon light blink antenna shut we’ve come this far plus why not why not why why not why not not knotted tension builds in their calf/calves muscle(s) be be bee hum strong forlorn torn to sheet pressed forged metal under Vulcan’s hammer fire sworn oath makes fools of us all it makes the diesel ignition past staves crochets illuminates phosphorus flash temper grave in these duff chuff emissions speak spake softly to the anew shiny sporting weighed in up and measured to where this audience falls deathly silent cold hinge squeaked butter-would-not-melt foretold where this does not fold in time she sought the comfort in me to speak spake of these things does not detract for the initial freedoms where heat slowly finds us to get it on get with program clear all of that out of your head you that art without you fffffelt the t-t-tip of a flower besieged by ants crawling at a hell of a pace to this dawn 3rd time up 3rd time lucky unlucky in love lucky at cards watch the spurious pale then tan or burn to these dreams of 2 vehicles bell-bottomed and out o’ fashion we quick we quick in succession believe in ourselves or at least summink “sweet as..” “sorted” “touch, long time.”
*
Speech flows as a stream of thought possesses the innocence of what has gone before. Speak the orator’s words like they mean something Eucidales. Bang down a fist like a hammer, emptying rhetoric as disposable as any honed, trimmed, sound byte.
In bits we hear these things itching to get at us, we, who were free in all of this have given up our rights slowly but surely, eroded like a mountainside, the falseness of it all makes one feel sick. Be sure to vote with feet and that’ll be the end of it. Get it? ‘Get it on,’ you say? Mmmn….
*
“Where’s y’ hat?”
Where indeed. Where tumblin’ ‘n’ rumblin’ we go on- “you do though don’t you though.”
(Pause for effect)
Posh paws. Posh Spice; a singer of 5 all-girl band mid’ 90s’, too thin now- careful now, careful now.
(Pause for relief)
“It’s alright. It’s…….alright. It’s time…..”
(Pause for applause)
*
We were turned through the multifarious/nefarious processes that bore us out, worked before, in after; hand-out, unworkable as a medium hand-made, and as impressive, to all that came before. You wish it were not so. You protest that it is not, cannot, be so.
It is.
It breathes on its own a dark energy that once bore us proud or sycophantically on its back. Did you know its name? Did you recognise it in the streets? Did you betray it? Did you ignore it as if it wasn’t there? Did you release it?
“What did you do?”
Are you responsible?
Are the labyrinthine thoughts letting it into our everyday lives?
I question all who would think the last point. I question my increasing proclivity to jump on that band wagon where it is a case of us and them; ‘they’, ‘them lot’, and so on.
A bile duct metaphorically exercised in the name of freedom, of justice, of peace; whilst we feed, not scraps as per yesteryear, but a full three course dinner, (some) an eight course with selected wines for each.
And it grows, with its dark energy, stronger- unstoppable.
Each culture has a beast in the darkness, int’, into the shadows from whence they, you, I, will never return. The labyrinth walls of hard rock hewn in Crete to which the half-man/half-bull [Minotaur] creature feeds on sacrificed virgins. The monster that must be slain by a hero [Theseus] :
Balance,
Order,
Harmony,
(take your pick)
Returned.
Modern day monster in the deep, dark, psychiatric, criminally insane, cells, a series of locked high security gates negotiated by Federal Bureau of Investigations cadet Clarice Starling (our heroine) facing Dr Hannibal Lecter [‘bogey man’]. Negate the labyrinth- her own mind- to catch another monster.
Candour.
Candid.
“In the can.”
(But for how long?)
Who will save us?
(Not I)
Who will save us?
(Not you)
Who will save us?
(Not them)
Who will save us?
(Not anyone)
Who will save us?
(Anyone?)
From the monsters real or imagined like a childhood bad memory: the thing under the stairs. Lost in fear one is too afraid to think clearly, logically, fight or flight response acutely attuned. Shadows across dark Dickensian walls thrown, Jack the Ripper smog fumed.
The beasts were once put on trial in Nuremburg, actual monsters- men under the banner of collective amorality. Under the guise of the greater good, therein, one after the other, after the other, after the other multiple upon multiple, ‘pon multiple, millions sacrificed to their, ‘greater’ good: ‘the final solution’; the lines blurred 1940s where black is white, white is black.
Led fear,
Led fear,
Lead fear,
Led fear,
Led fear by a bull-ring through its nose.
*
Soul washed.
Sea crash.
Soul anew- sun-kiss it with a breaking dawn cicadas start up- their conductor occasionally quietens them down with his bright, pointed, baton- allow jet fighter to roar overhead, ref’: United States Air Force, in this case, Euro-fighter sky blessed.
Seeping sleep body-clock misaligned for what each dream what does it tell? Nonsense of course, as a matter of course, cerebral, neuropsychological, sort of de-fragging; the re-aligning of files in a computer/laptop/notebook, etc.
Bog down.
Bog down with detail, the last winds of free men, breathe a sigh of relief intoned, in tune, “keep it together lads!” soulful, spirit today, broken wheel no longer keeps the circle as one thing, true.
Dump.
Dispose.
Lost.
Lost black, puppy dog follows, “are you my new pack?” He asks.
Big cats (tom cat, male?) 3 sit on cushions outside Crete quaint soft furnishings, bric-a-brac. What do you think?
*
A lift in time preaches itself into the wardens; keepers of us, of all of us. “Hey man…get on the bus!” Keyed in and typed meticulously through past thoughts and reminisces of times (back in the day) g-g-get got gone gristle lean on, acquire greater quality- not quantity- meat from the bone,
Bone,
Bone,
b-
bonhomie bovine peppered desire taunt telt tome tomb nae room to passenger plane traverse thousands of miles defy gravity with your smile make up your mind bliss lubricated thought flurry in hardiness 68 (or was it 78?) sheep shorn working all life Peak District hands we land at o’ God o’ clock in the morning spend
spend
spend
spend
spend ½ a life time looking for these truths or the truth or maybe the best version of it at the time
time
time
time
time to reconsider or revalue what has been learnt or the whole delve int’ t’ that bit about fear or evil incarnate blasé where ignoring average civic balance a new day today yesterday tomorrow the past is a foreign country yesteryear history makes us or tricked tricks us to be here eventually straightforwardness the adage of simple is best Sunday dress mess mess mess up mess missed mess up train of thought line of inquiry with this
this
this
thisssssss
trist
turnabout
miss
“Hey miss?!”
Young taunt feels like..
Sounds like..
Is like..
Was like..
For the like love of God don’t or am like monsieur ecoute madame fraulein tog rating sketch where heavy head equals too long a song man woman girl boy bait breath test bless
Bless
Bless
Turn over time type up and edit all night
Bless
Raised foreign language words conversational in true time ago don’t hog Lillo bet
Bless
*
There was a time when a song sounded true eclipsed to gentleness,
Forgotten,
Recalled (in a snip)
To where we bliss,
Where we tiny, tin-pot town,
Townie,
Wide-boy chancer,
Jaguar nicer,
Palatial,
Where cloud feels tentatively ‘cross the sky,
Thou shalt,
Thou shalt not,
Well………………in a cold embrace at least,
At the time,
At the wherewithal,
Musak,
Musio,
Music,
I’m………
Lost…
In.
Do you venture beyond these shores sleepily to the next time, to the Walford soap-opera East End of Londinium twang: “leave it..it’s family!!!!”
Leave it in the family.
Behind closed doors.
Beneath the sheets.
Between the lines.
Hush!! Mum’s the word!
My lips are sealed.
We feel.
We feel.
We feel.
We feel.
We feel enlightened to progress jet cicadas shut up nae strike that let ‘em speak sing my brethren encapsulate mobile phone cell terrorist cell cell cell phone speech speech fear do not feed the terror the horror the fear of doing someting extraordinary good mmn above average to say the least seek a sidewinder missile in the very of very Nellie the Elephant packed her trunk and bunk up become forth do not pour whiskey rake through the past soulful ring tone Reliant Robin 3-wheel car us out outta here “punch it baby!” y’ naw toon doon broom wish stick downright am down wiv that “tight” this is hurtin’ this is Richard Mr O. B. E Burton (Order of the British Empire) ne’er never nell tire tired sensibility do you “how do you do I’m English” room full womb-broom fuddin’ at last when alls bin binned recycle or done be gone “y’ fekkin’ idiot” bless ye but be gone,
Gone,
Gone,
g-,
one,
one,
one,
one,
first step: still waters,
second step: bend tree (wood),
third step: open up like fire (explosion),
fourth step: gather up like soil (earth),
fifth step: settle like molten lead (metal),
and return to….
Still
Water,
Still
Ocean,
Still
Lake,
Still
Cup of….
Still
Swimming pool.
*
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