Poemaggedon
Speak My Voice
Extensive dreaming through a landscape transcribed from other places I wish fulfil.
In an abstract notion where we used to be, used to be, to be,
I am now,
Speak my voice,
He is silent over the teenage yrs of indulgence,
this is insanity where dysfunctional guests break the bread with Satan,
speak to me oh turbulent mistress, muse, panned-pied-piper, clown gag,
Restawhile, over the sleep wherein, therein we dress for dinner, for bed,
For nothing as the bomb ‘..that will bring us together..’ goes off
In a multitude of ashes of what once was living,
The thought and soul of the entire Earth is over,
Scorpions laugh,
Rats thought they were going to have a better time but burn with the rest of us,
It’s never seen in the dream where held back the space has gone through a flash thought of what where the end comes.
I never wanna see you again, she said.
He said, the five yrs is up bud’.
Bind, below,
Bellow.
WIND IN THE WILLOWS quaintness and kissing teddy makes me fucking sick,
Get with it,
Child-like in mind step into my hell you fucker!
Can of beer soothes out the press-release of streams that in Southern Ireland once held in my mind a darker secret,
The fish spoke as the luck of the Irish ran me over in a frenzy of the Emerald Isle,
Bye.
Today is going to be the last time I enter the office as I hang my guts with an auto-asphyxia tradesman entrance, lack of oxygen, spunk drawn by a 4 yr old laughing at the genius of his poo-poo.
Catch.
Split.
Finish.
*
5 In Morn’
HGV v-vehicle followed big learning lorry, in morning, followed on bike,
past industrial estate, most places closed,
claustrophobic places,
MILL Ltd grain, or barley, something stinking, filling lungs with smell, powerful,
‘shit’ in eye Hull,
STUDENT UNION SUC club,
march,
speck on broken up ‘scape,
people protest,
light red,
tower,
land rotten from garbage,
garbage-like churns smoke out,
street empty,
me
5
morn’,
night-shift working man,
unlike
night-shift students,
students (couple)
come,
voices 5 morn’ from down corridor talk,
pillow talk,
sigh,
give away sign,
night-shift Kate my pal,
morning,
morn’,
‘Ohhhhhhhh he’ s here again’
(sandman ‘s not here).
Woman, lady,
Bush Ms Kate come and read us a story,
Let the light over sink light not so bright light,
Kate…on second thoughts…
‘BREATHE’ now playing on tape,
don’t spoil misconception,
image of perfect lady,
Ms. Kate.
*
My Blood Courses In Its Entirety
My blood
courses
in its
entirety.
Struggle
stamina
note picked words
in a love song.
Where did she go?
(The Blues)
Where has she gone?
(The same old, same old)
Poetry finds me out,
I keep a certain number of things
hidden.
To lie.
To cheat.
To scheme out
out
in
through
my feelings,
teenage angst rubbish shit rubbish.
Where did time alight to?
My scent fresh on her she there.
The brain stops for an instant,
scratching off a poor dream concept, prospect,
whilst shits (rich turds) laugh,
guffaw,
all the way to the bank,
on the gravy train.
If Bono from U2 (a sizable rock band) were here he’d make this sound nice,
with heart ‘n’ soul,
that type of thing.
Hell, what d’ y’ know?
Time ‘s gone.
The song lyric lost.….what’s it called? That tune?
I
am
is
before the whole world ends,
sounds like T.S.Eliot but…
I dunno.
*
Talking In Love, Talking To Love
1
Talking in love, talking to love,
remember
talking in love, talking to love,
you
talking in love, talking to love,
there
talking in love, talking to love,
looking
talking in love, talking to love,
like a solitary creature
talking in love, talking to love,
beautiful.
Talking in love, talking to love,
I
talking Ãn love, talking to love,
could
talking in love, talking to love,
embrace
talking in love, talking to love,
you through the cold.
Talking in love, talking to love,
loving to talk,
I, you
talk through loving,
talking in love, talking to love,
remember
talking in love, talking to love,
talking
I love
talking in love, talking to love,
you, I
talking in love, talking to love,
talking to touoh,
I, you
talking in love, talking to love,
touching to talk,
talking in love, talking to love,
when
I
see
talking in love, talking to love,
but tears
talking in love, talking to love,
when we part,
loving to love, talking in love
there
loving to love, talking to love,
everything
loving to love, talking in love,
seems
loving in touch, touching is love,
fine
when
loving to touch,
you’re
around
loving to touch, loving in touch,
talking to love, talking in love,
here
loving to touch, loving in touch,
loving to talk, talking to love,
talking in love, talking to love,
talking in love, talking to love,
talking in love, talking to love,
talking.
*
We Must Work Faster.
We must work faster,
better,
fitter,
stronger,
more powerful,
more efficient,
more productive,
more stronger,
more commercially viable.
Quicker please!
Quicker than that!
Quicker!
More faster.
Never 2nd best.
Be the best.
Fight to win.
Take no prisoners.
No hope.
No pain.
No love.
No gain.
No fear.
No joy.
No stopping until we’ve beat this thing.
Be No. 1.
Then you will be a SUPERman my son.
*
Fear of Beards
Fear of not making sense.
Fear of having no place to go.
Fear of fear itself.
Fear of having no money.
Fear of never making it.
Fear of being left on the shelf.
Fear of the bomb (yeah man it’s still around).
Fear of being in the dark, no lights on.
Fear of dying abruptly, somehow.
Fear of flying.
Fear of being up too high.
Fear and loathing of one’s self.
Fear of cancer.
Fear of being old.
Fear of the reintroducation of the death penalty.
Fear of being discovered by one’s mum with one’s pants down and with a hard on.
Fear of constipation.
Fear of drowning.
Fear of being trapped in a body that doesn’t work.
Fear of work.
Fear of having ten bails of shite kicked out of one.
Fear of coming too soon.
Fear of losing one’s partner.
Fear of farting when bending down to be knighted by the Queen.
Fear of one’s eyeballs popping out when sneezing.
Fear of being a stand-up comic.
Fear of getting one’s nipples bitten off by a strange Lewis Carrol nightmare.
Fear of sounding like a critic.
Fear of sounding dull.
Fear of going crackers.
Fear of fear caused by some long forgotten fear.
Fear of hitting the sauce too hard.
Fear of not being able to have kids.
Fear of being too brainy.
Fear of getting the worst deal on the whole lot.
Fear of getting wrongly accused for something one didn’ t do.
Fear of believing Freud.
Fear of finding out that I’m in fact a woman trapped in a man’s body.
Fear of large breasts.
Fear of turning into a violent thug, purely due to one’ s hard upbringing.
Fear of addictive substances.
Fear of being young, dumb and full of come.
Fear of belonging to a tribe.
Fear of wearing the wrong thing to the wrong occasion, whislt acting……wrongly.
Fear of being a hippy.
Fear of beards.
*
Sexy City
Sex city,
city of sound- cars millions upon millions,
city,
taxis,
trains,
coaches,
subway/tube sounds all at once.
Radio plays,
says…
sexy sounds,
Sime’s times,
shit beat,
hip crap,
rollin’ on,
“whu?”,
“you wha’?”
Night-club,
radio disc-jockey,
time= night,
get down,
city big,
bigger than big,
singles he plays,
sex,
sexy sounds,
singles= chart bound,
hound down town,
‘hound dog gonna eat that pussy’,
down town hound,
shit,
sexy radio singles, single find another, copulate in sexy city,
time out,
shite,
hang-over morning,
city sexy,
no sounds,
sexy
not.
*
Poetry Thoughts Naked Pretentious
Poetry thoughts naked pretentious- more or less.
Hacked in.
Poetry.
Prose.
Uselessness.
Uselessness.
Breaking up D.N.A and reconstructin’/deconstructin’ mess of human beings.
Soul dissection
Crucifixion.
Peacock image.
“There’s only one way that fella can go.”
“That’ s a blast out drug.”
Enough.
*
You And I
2
You and I, you and I,
acrossss
you and I, you and I,
every barrier
you and I, you and I,
malice hatred
you and I, you and I,
petty bitter remark
you and I, you and I,
encircling
you and I, you and I,
enfolding
you and I, you and I,
hugging
you and I, you and I,
to our breasts
you and I, you and I,
this
you and I, you and I,
this thing.
I and you, you and I,
enjoying
I and you, you and I,
being
I and you, you and I,
feeling
I and you, you and I,
this
I and you, you and I,
this
I and you, you and I,
this thing.
Talking, touching, loving, loving, touching, talking to each other
I and you, you and I,
you and I, you and I.
*
S. O. S Cup Of Tea Time
Lonely life in dreadnought.
Mind burnt.
End-fill,
being with,
ledger,
pledged,
punt,
f-
c-
a
e
i
o
u
time stop,
slow up.
Being wishful.
Forward/reverse,
where applicable,
where necessary,
a use of force,
showy.
Cup of tea time,
S. A. S
S. B. S
S. O. S.
*
Through Love, This Love
3
May it
through love, this love,
last
through love, this love,
for a
through love, this love,
long time
through love, this love,
I and you,
through love, this love
you and I
through love, this love,
talking in,
through love, this love,
talking to,
through love, this love,
see,
through love, this love,
say,
through love, this love,
hear,
through love, this love,
touch,
through love, this love,
smell,
through love,this love,
taste
this love, through love,
let’s
through love, this love,
shut
this love,through love,
our
through love,this love,
eyes
this love, through love,
and
through love, this love,
go away somewhere
this love, through love,
somewhere
through love, this love,
where
this love, through love,
it’s never bad,
through love, this love,
I and you
through love, this love,
loving,
through love, this love,
you and I
through love, this love,
touching,
through love, this love,
talking,
through love, this love,
talking in
through love, this love,
love.
*
FOUR LINE KINKS - part one. *
The light coherent sentence splits,
The currency of dancing hits,
In spite of which the current stance,
That hyper pensive urge implants.
True tense defence with sense asunder,
Undertones of mystic hunger,
Reinstatements rant surpassed,
In statements chance it flows apart.
So darks music the brightest arts,
As night attacks the plastercast,
My purse disperses what it spends,
So buried in the mouth of friends.
*
Poemageddon
Poemageddon engulfs everything you see all around,
I am you we one in hot white hell
The coolness, collectedtogetherness,
Ruthless, unrepentant killer who liked to suck blood,
Now he says he had fantasies
Since 11 yrs old about his forthcoming electric chair death,
He spoke (poemageddon) like a BRETT ELLIS character, but this was for real.
Poemageddon.
Poemageddon.
Poemageddon.
Unfurl my ex-love in a last fuck,
Spank my ass first, I wanna remember,
Poemageddon.
Lost
Poemageddon.
I wanted it to be epic,
I guess it wasn’t.
*
Give Me a Mantra
Give me a mantra where I will not bore.
Give me honesty over intelligence oh Lord.
Give me love over sex trivial.
Give me love, peace and happiness inside,
make it so,
no falseness in abstract tides.
*
Fuck It
As the violin and other stringed instruments in the quartet play on,
I find my mind is made up, I find my mind is made up.
The tiredness, pressure, fatigue sets in, I am too exhausted to find joy,
Positive notes seem like hollow clangs,
The quartet expresses it, playing Benjamin Britten or something sad.
The quartet doesn’t help it, this mithering, being maudy,
I haven’t felt this demoralised since I got sacked for being ill,
And that’s saying something.
‘Enough is enough.’
Like a pretentious teenager’s poem,
Feeling like sick nostalgia,
I look back,
I look over my shoulder,
I keep my head down and say: FUCK IT!
*
From
From point A to point B,
From this to that,
From good to bad,
From bad to good,
We live our lives in joy.
From one day to the next,
From main course to sweet,
From the bar to bed,
From snow to rain,
We live our lives in joy.
From 0-60 in a quick time,
From gay to straight,
From limbo to purpose,
From one season to the next,
We live our lives in joy.
From hot to cold,
From clear to fuzzy,
From unable to compes mentis,
From celestial to base,
We live our lives in joy.
From one line to the next,
From straight to gay,
From single to married,
From temper to tears before bed time,
We live our lives in joy you and me.
*
Fuzzy Felt
Fuzz, fuzzy felt, farting, free, form, free form, fffffnowt, aye, ist, each.
That’s my dream,
that is
you,
that is
my
nightmare
or
issssssss
it?
Break,
eigth,
late
I’m
tooooo
late.
“Hey mate!”
Said,
What did she say?
It’s gone now,
tis
gone
away,
in the dream.
And I awoke again, from some transatlantic dream.
There,
suffering,
tired,
jet—lagged
to
Sonic Youth track, reoccurring, feedback guitar, noise and heat of’ band,
booming through my speakers like the drone of a mega-jet.
And I fell back to sleep,
suffering
is
too
strong a word,
let me tell you ‘bout suffering…
in the dream, in the dream, in the dream my head fills with a thousand sssssins…
*
Time Still
So small
in words
which
escape me,
proof of
things
life, today
testing,
all of it
insubstantial,
preoccupation,
time still,
time still.
*
Get Thee Behind Me
Holding each other in the rain the period is over when all was lost,
And now it comes to passing like a bad metaphor,
Move on.
The couple were lost in each other
Whilst stepping lightly on the Moon’s surface he escaped,
Some would say, up his own backside.
‘Where in the world?’
Advert stupid, simple, jingle quoted as the world in revolution turns,
And they are with us now in this where we used to be.
No more self-pity, no more depression,
Switched off
As the machine goes on in this place where this used to be.
Abstract logo, we live for it,
Things written in rushing,
rush-hour,
rush job,
Russian film-maker long gone ’79 made the pace of films as opposite
as you can get from your average pop-corn crunching,
Boiled sweet sucking,
B.J later darlin’ crowd.
Move on,
Get thee behind me cynicism,
Get ye gone all chuff things.
*
What Am I To Make of This?
What am I to make of this?
When all is fallen and I am useless.
When I open my eyes up to the great blue,
in appraisal of myself like some sick movie star.
What is in a name?
In place or form of what I may say?
Shall I be judged as a teenage, immature poet,
who has nothing note worthy to say?
What is thought of free thought?
Who cares in the release of that
which you or I may deny or be.
What is round up in me?
What of how I end,
finish now,
in some wanton way?
What are we to make of this?
*
FOUR LINE KINKS - part two.*
The comprehensive reprehensions,
Learned in visible absentia,
Dementia man neglects to mention,
Correctional incarceration.
The guilt from patients grip unclasped,
Beget the guillotining farce,
On heavens blunder south it rasps,
To overload the underclass.
Aggression spits the asdic blips,
Of pens to swords intelligence,
As lightning fights the thunder clips,
In bouquet flies and smoking hearts.
Pronunciation bombs the phrase,
And sinks entrenching yesterdays,
The charge so sent seawater bends,
With counter Poemageddon claims.
*
Get Fucked
Get fucked.
Get a life.
Get a job.
Get out.
Get with it.
Get recognised.
Get a job.
Get some sleep.
Get a car.
Get a life.
Get a T.V.
Get a C.D player.
Get any electrical goods that may enhance one’s life to a greater degree.
Get a list of things one is going to do.
‘Get Carter.’
Get a pet.
Get pissed & destroy.
Get a car.
Get a mobile phone.
Get connected to the INTERNET.
Get a P.C. first.
Get un-P.C.
Get with it.
Get going.
Get tough.
Hang about..get me.
Get you.
Get fat.
Get married.
Get old.
Get sold down the river.
Get sacked.
Get ill.
Get cheap, dirty, thrills.
Get ahead.
Get off my case.
Get off y’ face.
Get outta here!
Get boxing clever.
Get even.
Get away.
Get away with it.
Get fucked.
*
FOUR LINE KINKS - part three.*
We stretch the mono-rail for kinks,
With prepossessing stencil kicks,
The broken word rehearsing lisps,
In scents of happy deference.
The sabotage of spoken lips,
Re-atomised in aspic patience,
Notes regression cures obsession,
In and out of grace relations.
Future tension underpassed,
To rent to let defend at last,
Repent the spice suffice relents,
Forgiveness purges recompense.
Concurrent sins depart in fits,
To unspent stars the end collects,
In apprehending ring-fence hates,
With mobile tones and exit gates.
The lies despise the slow convention,
Tact with strength to counteract,
The cataracts with photographs,
Now over-egging introspection.
*
Time Dried In Lost Space
Time dried in lost space
I am
poet dead
in blurge of inner most self.
Sense of seeing
touch
poems
forgotten
lyrics forgotten,
glockenspiel
ahh
Mr. Chips
broad.
Space.
Hull
poem. Bristol
writing.
W-S-M.
Cunts
&
wankers
&
low-life scum buckets.
All in all,
a
shit lot,
I’ d rather be a bad-lot with at least something to say
than
a
cunt
who
knows nothing
&
conducts him or herself
like a ‘used-piece of spent jet-trash.’
Am ending.
Paper file,
computer file.
Lost poet.
Lost form.
Stop scream.
Ice-cream.
Blitz.
Past,
gone.
I
I
I.
*
FOUR LINE KINKS - part four.*
As time digests the rhyme invests,
New interlocking body-parts,
Torpedo speeds to lockers chests,
Euphoric gypsy buns and tarts.
Hence to sanctify reliance,
He shafts the lifts unending gifts,
An integrating sound of nice,
Destroys the hell in downward trips.
The dream remains unsent intention,
Controversial sex detection,
Lasting ticks succumb to bits,
Of pasteurising cream retention.
With Irrespective ex-compliance,
And death to criminal defiance,
The smiles extinguish colder flames,
To excavate the missiles clients.
*
Fucking Ex-
Where in where in I came from the world turns in a rainy day to what I used to know.
This isn’t here, where I pass into the returned image of lavatory (public)
And the initial first stages of a fuck with an ex-
Why?
Shifting as unpleasantness, insecurity,
The Welsh strippers before a baying crowd of over 500 rampant women;
Ages 15-83,
And all, and all,
While I wonder lonely as a poof, ‘please take me gently sir!’
The messages in my head are received with a burst of hyper-reality,
Oranges are not the only but are the only and will only and round repeated only only, double back,
On my head son.
You know that I mean where his bread is buttered, fat cunt train driver from ’89
A bigot, loud-mouthed, son-of-a-bitch, boasting about how he breaks the 100 m.p.h. speed limit.
You know what I mean?
Hey,
Still attracted but now repulsed by her feet, still attracted
But retracted attracted because the whole past experiences ring,
BLAKE’S SONGS OF INNOCENCE & EXPERIENCE,
Leaving a bitter taste in my mouth, ‘O rose thou art sick..’
My mind haunted by CASPER the friendly poof using his ectoplasm for lube as he shafts unexpectedly in the dead of night,
you little pricked medieval ponce.
Then other flats illuminate,
There is stillness at teatime,
I look out to emptiness,
Not over my shoulder.
*
XYLOPHONE PROSE*No, Sorry, I shall not want,while the still waters leadeth me in,Surely the wind, the valley of the sea-salt,Station, taxi rank, cacophony of chords,The guy picks up his love with his flesh,Light, movement, human voice, melancholy,Someone is beating Warhol - he loves it,Slamming it against Hirst - he falls in,Lock the doors, walk thru shadows,'cause I spent all my sweat on Red Gold and salty food,Yea, though I walk thru the paths of the book,The Lord is my translator, my Delilah, my Sea-breeze,I surrender.
*
I Am a Staff of Iron
I am a staff of iron.
I am a rock off Krypton.
I am a supersonic hedgehog.
I am a megatonne bomb.
I am a person
most of the time.
*
Extensive dreaming through a landscape transcribed from other places I wish fulfil.
In an abstract notion where we used to be, used to be, to be,
I am now,
Speak my voice,
He is silent over the teenage yrs of indulgence,
this is insanity where dysfunctional guests break the bread with Satan,
speak to me oh turbulent mistress, muse, panned-pied-piper, clown gag,
Restawhile, over the sleep wherein, therein we dress for dinner, for bed,
For nothing as the bomb ‘..that will bring us together..’ goes off
In a multitude of ashes of what once was living,
The thought and soul of the entire Earth is over,
Scorpions laugh,
Rats thought they were going to have a better time but burn with the rest of us,
It’s never seen in the dream where held back the space has gone through a flash thought of what where the end comes.
I never wanna see you again, she said.
He said, the five yrs is up bud’.
Bind, below,
Bellow.
WIND IN THE WILLOWS quaintness and kissing teddy makes me fucking sick,
Get with it,
Child-like in mind step into my hell you fucker!
Can of beer soothes out the press-release of streams that in Southern Ireland once held in my mind a darker secret,
The fish spoke as the luck of the Irish ran me over in a frenzy of the Emerald Isle,
Bye.
Today is going to be the last time I enter the office as I hang my guts with an auto-asphyxia tradesman entrance, lack of oxygen, spunk drawn by a 4 yr old laughing at the genius of his poo-poo.
Catch.
Split.
Finish.
*
5 In Morn’
HGV v-vehicle followed big learning lorry, in morning, followed on bike,
past industrial estate, most places closed,
claustrophobic places,
MILL Ltd grain, or barley, something stinking, filling lungs with smell, powerful,
‘shit’ in eye Hull,
STUDENT UNION SUC club,
march,
speck on broken up ‘scape,
people protest,
light red,
tower,
land rotten from garbage,
garbage-like churns smoke out,
street empty,
me
5
morn’,
night-shift working man,
unlike
night-shift students,
students (couple)
come,
voices 5 morn’ from down corridor talk,
pillow talk,
sigh,
give away sign,
night-shift Kate my pal,
morning,
morn’,
‘Ohhhhhhhh he’ s here again’
(sandman ‘s not here).
Woman, lady,
Bush Ms Kate come and read us a story,
Let the light over sink light not so bright light,
Kate…on second thoughts…
‘BREATHE’ now playing on tape,
don’t spoil misconception,
image of perfect lady,
Ms. Kate.
*
My Blood Courses In Its Entirety
My blood
courses
in its
entirety.
Struggle
stamina
note picked words
in a love song.
Where did she go?
(The Blues)
Where has she gone?
(The same old, same old)
Poetry finds me out,
I keep a certain number of things
hidden.
To lie.
To cheat.
To scheme out
out
in
through
my feelings,
teenage angst rubbish shit rubbish.
Where did time alight to?
My scent fresh on her she there.
The brain stops for an instant,
scratching off a poor dream concept, prospect,
whilst shits (rich turds) laugh,
guffaw,
all the way to the bank,
on the gravy train.
If Bono from U2 (a sizable rock band) were here he’d make this sound nice,
with heart ‘n’ soul,
that type of thing.
Hell, what d’ y’ know?
Time ‘s gone.
The song lyric lost.….what’s it called? That tune?
I
am
is
before the whole world ends,
sounds like T.S.Eliot but…
I dunno.
*
Talking In Love, Talking To Love
1
Talking in love, talking to love,
remember
talking in love, talking to love,
you
talking in love, talking to love,
there
talking in love, talking to love,
looking
talking in love, talking to love,
like a solitary creature
talking in love, talking to love,
beautiful.
Talking in love, talking to love,
I
talking Ãn love, talking to love,
could
talking in love, talking to love,
embrace
talking in love, talking to love,
you through the cold.
Talking in love, talking to love,
loving to talk,
I, you
talk through loving,
talking in love, talking to love,
remember
talking in love, talking to love,
talking
I love
talking in love, talking to love,
you, I
talking in love, talking to love,
talking to touoh,
I, you
talking in love, talking to love,
touching to talk,
talking in love, talking to love,
when
I
see
talking in love, talking to love,
but tears
talking in love, talking to love,
when we part,
loving to love, talking in love
there
loving to love, talking to love,
everything
loving to love, talking in love,
seems
loving in touch, touching is love,
fine
when
loving to touch,
you’re
around
loving to touch, loving in touch,
talking to love, talking in love,
here
loving to touch, loving in touch,
loving to talk, talking to love,
talking in love, talking to love,
talking in love, talking to love,
talking in love, talking to love,
talking.
*
We Must Work Faster.
We must work faster,
better,
fitter,
stronger,
more powerful,
more efficient,
more productive,
more stronger,
more commercially viable.
Quicker please!
Quicker than that!
Quicker!
More faster.
Never 2nd best.
Be the best.
Fight to win.
Take no prisoners.
No hope.
No pain.
No love.
No gain.
No fear.
No joy.
No stopping until we’ve beat this thing.
Be No. 1.
Then you will be a SUPERman my son.
*
Fear of Beards
Fear of not making sense.
Fear of having no place to go.
Fear of fear itself.
Fear of having no money.
Fear of never making it.
Fear of being left on the shelf.
Fear of the bomb (yeah man it’s still around).
Fear of being in the dark, no lights on.
Fear of dying abruptly, somehow.
Fear of flying.
Fear of being up too high.
Fear and loathing of one’s self.
Fear of cancer.
Fear of being old.
Fear of the reintroducation of the death penalty.
Fear of being discovered by one’s mum with one’s pants down and with a hard on.
Fear of constipation.
Fear of drowning.
Fear of being trapped in a body that doesn’t work.
Fear of work.
Fear of having ten bails of shite kicked out of one.
Fear of coming too soon.
Fear of losing one’s partner.
Fear of farting when bending down to be knighted by the Queen.
Fear of one’s eyeballs popping out when sneezing.
Fear of being a stand-up comic.
Fear of getting one’s nipples bitten off by a strange Lewis Carrol nightmare.
Fear of sounding like a critic.
Fear of sounding dull.
Fear of going crackers.
Fear of fear caused by some long forgotten fear.
Fear of hitting the sauce too hard.
Fear of not being able to have kids.
Fear of being too brainy.
Fear of getting the worst deal on the whole lot.
Fear of getting wrongly accused for something one didn’ t do.
Fear of believing Freud.
Fear of finding out that I’m in fact a woman trapped in a man’s body.
Fear of large breasts.
Fear of turning into a violent thug, purely due to one’ s hard upbringing.
Fear of addictive substances.
Fear of being young, dumb and full of come.
Fear of belonging to a tribe.
Fear of wearing the wrong thing to the wrong occasion, whislt acting……wrongly.
Fear of being a hippy.
Fear of beards.
*
Sexy City
Sex city,
city of sound- cars millions upon millions,
city,
taxis,
trains,
coaches,
subway/tube sounds all at once.
Radio plays,
says…
sexy sounds,
Sime’s times,
shit beat,
hip crap,
rollin’ on,
“whu?”,
“you wha’?”
Night-club,
radio disc-jockey,
time= night,
get down,
city big,
bigger than big,
singles he plays,
sex,
sexy sounds,
singles= chart bound,
hound down town,
‘hound dog gonna eat that pussy’,
down town hound,
shit,
sexy radio singles, single find another, copulate in sexy city,
time out,
shite,
hang-over morning,
city sexy,
no sounds,
sexy
not.
*
Poetry Thoughts Naked Pretentious
Poetry thoughts naked pretentious- more or less.
Hacked in.
Poetry.
Prose.
Uselessness.
Uselessness.
Breaking up D.N.A and reconstructin’/deconstructin’ mess of human beings.
Soul dissection
Crucifixion.
Peacock image.
“There’s only one way that fella can go.”
“That’ s a blast out drug.”
Enough.
*
You And I
2
You and I, you and I,
acrossss
you and I, you and I,
every barrier
you and I, you and I,
malice hatred
you and I, you and I,
petty bitter remark
you and I, you and I,
encircling
you and I, you and I,
enfolding
you and I, you and I,
hugging
you and I, you and I,
to our breasts
you and I, you and I,
this
you and I, you and I,
this thing.
I and you, you and I,
enjoying
I and you, you and I,
being
I and you, you and I,
feeling
I and you, you and I,
this
I and you, you and I,
this
I and you, you and I,
this thing.
Talking, touching, loving, loving, touching, talking to each other
I and you, you and I,
you and I, you and I.
*
S. O. S Cup Of Tea Time
Lonely life in dreadnought.
Mind burnt.
End-fill,
being with,
ledger,
pledged,
punt,
f-
c-
a
e
i
o
u
time stop,
slow up.
Being wishful.
Forward/reverse,
where applicable,
where necessary,
a use of force,
showy.
Cup of tea time,
S. A. S
S. B. S
S. O. S.
*
Through Love, This Love
3
May it
through love, this love,
last
through love, this love,
for a
through love, this love,
long time
through love, this love,
I and you,
through love, this love
you and I
through love, this love,
talking in,
through love, this love,
talking to,
through love, this love,
see,
through love, this love,
say,
through love, this love,
hear,
through love, this love,
touch,
through love, this love,
smell,
through love,this love,
taste
this love, through love,
let’s
through love, this love,
shut
this love,through love,
our
through love,this love,
eyes
this love, through love,
and
through love, this love,
go away somewhere
this love, through love,
somewhere
through love, this love,
where
this love, through love,
it’s never bad,
through love, this love,
I and you
through love, this love,
loving,
through love, this love,
you and I
through love, this love,
touching,
through love, this love,
talking,
through love, this love,
talking in
through love, this love,
love.
*
FOUR LINE KINKS - part one. *
The light coherent sentence splits,
The currency of dancing hits,
In spite of which the current stance,
That hyper pensive urge implants.
True tense defence with sense asunder,
Undertones of mystic hunger,
Reinstatements rant surpassed,
In statements chance it flows apart.
So darks music the brightest arts,
As night attacks the plastercast,
My purse disperses what it spends,
So buried in the mouth of friends.
*
Poemageddon
Poemageddon engulfs everything you see all around,
I am you we one in hot white hell
The coolness, collectedtogetherness,
Ruthless, unrepentant killer who liked to suck blood,
Now he says he had fantasies
Since 11 yrs old about his forthcoming electric chair death,
He spoke (poemageddon) like a BRETT ELLIS character, but this was for real.
Poemageddon.
Poemageddon.
Poemageddon.
Unfurl my ex-love in a last fuck,
Spank my ass first, I wanna remember,
Poemageddon.
Lost
Poemageddon.
I wanted it to be epic,
I guess it wasn’t.
*
Give Me a Mantra
Give me a mantra where I will not bore.
Give me honesty over intelligence oh Lord.
Give me love over sex trivial.
Give me love, peace and happiness inside,
make it so,
no falseness in abstract tides.
*
Fuck It
As the violin and other stringed instruments in the quartet play on,
I find my mind is made up, I find my mind is made up.
The tiredness, pressure, fatigue sets in, I am too exhausted to find joy,
Positive notes seem like hollow clangs,
The quartet expresses it, playing Benjamin Britten or something sad.
The quartet doesn’t help it, this mithering, being maudy,
I haven’t felt this demoralised since I got sacked for being ill,
And that’s saying something.
‘Enough is enough.’
Like a pretentious teenager’s poem,
Feeling like sick nostalgia,
I look back,
I look over my shoulder,
I keep my head down and say: FUCK IT!
*
From
From point A to point B,
From this to that,
From good to bad,
From bad to good,
We live our lives in joy.
From one day to the next,
From main course to sweet,
From the bar to bed,
From snow to rain,
We live our lives in joy.
From 0-60 in a quick time,
From gay to straight,
From limbo to purpose,
From one season to the next,
We live our lives in joy.
From hot to cold,
From clear to fuzzy,
From unable to compes mentis,
From celestial to base,
We live our lives in joy.
From one line to the next,
From straight to gay,
From single to married,
From temper to tears before bed time,
We live our lives in joy you and me.
*
Fuzzy Felt
Fuzz, fuzzy felt, farting, free, form, free form, fffffnowt, aye, ist, each.
That’s my dream,
that is
you,
that is
my
nightmare
or
issssssss
it?
Break,
eigth,
late
I’m
tooooo
late.
“Hey mate!”
Said,
What did she say?
It’s gone now,
tis
gone
away,
in the dream.
And I awoke again, from some transatlantic dream.
There,
suffering,
tired,
jet—lagged
to
Sonic Youth track, reoccurring, feedback guitar, noise and heat of’ band,
booming through my speakers like the drone of a mega-jet.
And I fell back to sleep,
suffering
is
too
strong a word,
let me tell you ‘bout suffering…
in the dream, in the dream, in the dream my head fills with a thousand sssssins…
*
Time Still
So small
in words
which
escape me,
proof of
things
life, today
testing,
all of it
insubstantial,
preoccupation,
time still,
time still.
*
Get Thee Behind Me
Holding each other in the rain the period is over when all was lost,
And now it comes to passing like a bad metaphor,
Move on.
The couple were lost in each other
Whilst stepping lightly on the Moon’s surface he escaped,
Some would say, up his own backside.
‘Where in the world?’
Advert stupid, simple, jingle quoted as the world in revolution turns,
And they are with us now in this where we used to be.
No more self-pity, no more depression,
Switched off
As the machine goes on in this place where this used to be.
Abstract logo, we live for it,
Things written in rushing,
rush-hour,
rush job,
Russian film-maker long gone ’79 made the pace of films as opposite
as you can get from your average pop-corn crunching,
Boiled sweet sucking,
B.J later darlin’ crowd.
Move on,
Get thee behind me cynicism,
Get ye gone all chuff things.
*
What Am I To Make of This?
What am I to make of this?
When all is fallen and I am useless.
When I open my eyes up to the great blue,
in appraisal of myself like some sick movie star.
What is in a name?
In place or form of what I may say?
Shall I be judged as a teenage, immature poet,
who has nothing note worthy to say?
What is thought of free thought?
Who cares in the release of that
which you or I may deny or be.
What is round up in me?
What of how I end,
finish now,
in some wanton way?
What are we to make of this?
*
FOUR LINE KINKS - part two.*
The comprehensive reprehensions,
Learned in visible absentia,
Dementia man neglects to mention,
Correctional incarceration.
The guilt from patients grip unclasped,
Beget the guillotining farce,
On heavens blunder south it rasps,
To overload the underclass.
Aggression spits the asdic blips,
Of pens to swords intelligence,
As lightning fights the thunder clips,
In bouquet flies and smoking hearts.
Pronunciation bombs the phrase,
And sinks entrenching yesterdays,
The charge so sent seawater bends,
With counter Poemageddon claims.
*
Get Fucked
Get fucked.
Get a life.
Get a job.
Get out.
Get with it.
Get recognised.
Get a job.
Get some sleep.
Get a car.
Get a life.
Get a T.V.
Get a C.D player.
Get any electrical goods that may enhance one’s life to a greater degree.
Get a list of things one is going to do.
‘Get Carter.’
Get a pet.
Get pissed & destroy.
Get a car.
Get a mobile phone.
Get connected to the INTERNET.
Get a P.C. first.
Get un-P.C.
Get with it.
Get going.
Get tough.
Hang about..get me.
Get you.
Get fat.
Get married.
Get old.
Get sold down the river.
Get sacked.
Get ill.
Get cheap, dirty, thrills.
Get ahead.
Get off my case.
Get off y’ face.
Get outta here!
Get boxing clever.
Get even.
Get away.
Get away with it.
Get fucked.
*
FOUR LINE KINKS - part three.*
We stretch the mono-rail for kinks,
With prepossessing stencil kicks,
The broken word rehearsing lisps,
In scents of happy deference.
The sabotage of spoken lips,
Re-atomised in aspic patience,
Notes regression cures obsession,
In and out of grace relations.
Future tension underpassed,
To rent to let defend at last,
Repent the spice suffice relents,
Forgiveness purges recompense.
Concurrent sins depart in fits,
To unspent stars the end collects,
In apprehending ring-fence hates,
With mobile tones and exit gates.
The lies despise the slow convention,
Tact with strength to counteract,
The cataracts with photographs,
Now over-egging introspection.
*
Time Dried In Lost Space
Time dried in lost space
I am
poet dead
in blurge of inner most self.
Sense of seeing
touch
poems
forgotten
lyrics forgotten,
glockenspiel
ahh
Mr. Chips
broad.
Space.
Hull
poem. Bristol
writing.
W-S-M.
Cunts
&
wankers
&
low-life scum buckets.
All in all,
a
shit lot,
I’ d rather be a bad-lot with at least something to say
than
a
cunt
who
knows nothing
&
conducts him or herself
like a ‘used-piece of spent jet-trash.’
Am ending.
Paper file,
computer file.
Lost poet.
Lost form.
Stop scream.
Ice-cream.
Blitz.
Past,
gone.
I
I
I.
*
FOUR LINE KINKS - part four.*
As time digests the rhyme invests,
New interlocking body-parts,
Torpedo speeds to lockers chests,
Euphoric gypsy buns and tarts.
Hence to sanctify reliance,
He shafts the lifts unending gifts,
An integrating sound of nice,
Destroys the hell in downward trips.
The dream remains unsent intention,
Controversial sex detection,
Lasting ticks succumb to bits,
Of pasteurising cream retention.
With Irrespective ex-compliance,
And death to criminal defiance,
The smiles extinguish colder flames,
To excavate the missiles clients.
*
Fucking Ex-
Where in where in I came from the world turns in a rainy day to what I used to know.
This isn’t here, where I pass into the returned image of lavatory (public)
And the initial first stages of a fuck with an ex-
Why?
Shifting as unpleasantness, insecurity,
The Welsh strippers before a baying crowd of over 500 rampant women;
Ages 15-83,
And all, and all,
While I wonder lonely as a poof, ‘please take me gently sir!’
The messages in my head are received with a burst of hyper-reality,
Oranges are not the only but are the only and will only and round repeated only only, double back,
On my head son.
You know that I mean where his bread is buttered, fat cunt train driver from ’89
A bigot, loud-mouthed, son-of-a-bitch, boasting about how he breaks the 100 m.p.h. speed limit.
You know what I mean?
Hey,
Still attracted but now repulsed by her feet, still attracted
But retracted attracted because the whole past experiences ring,
BLAKE’S SONGS OF INNOCENCE & EXPERIENCE,
Leaving a bitter taste in my mouth, ‘O rose thou art sick..’
My mind haunted by CASPER the friendly poof using his ectoplasm for lube as he shafts unexpectedly in the dead of night,
you little pricked medieval ponce.
Then other flats illuminate,
There is stillness at teatime,
I look out to emptiness,
Not over my shoulder.
*
XYLOPHONE PROSE*No, Sorry, I shall not want,while the still waters leadeth me in,Surely the wind, the valley of the sea-salt,Station, taxi rank, cacophony of chords,The guy picks up his love with his flesh,Light, movement, human voice, melancholy,Someone is beating Warhol - he loves it,Slamming it against Hirst - he falls in,Lock the doors, walk thru shadows,'cause I spent all my sweat on Red Gold and salty food,Yea, though I walk thru the paths of the book,The Lord is my translator, my Delilah, my Sea-breeze,I surrender.
*
I Am a Staff of Iron
I am a staff of iron.
I am a rock off Krypton.
I am a supersonic hedgehog.
I am a megatonne bomb.
I am a person
most of the time.
*
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