just as I stormed out
(stories of abrupt
departure & failed
reunion make up
this – my stock in trade)
all anguish became
fear & suspicion
(once again the guilt of the
victim who has always had
enough)
~
The only blood spilt
was as ever mine
yet I was in the wrong just as
ever I was before for as
long as I could remember
~
There were my motives
always questioned and
wistfully approved by those
who held the sway over things
at that particular time…
(to be continued…)
…floorsucker churns, provokes
gaspings and breathings
safe depthiness is spored
making me splutter
like a pudgy, tetchy baby.
This grief hugs me hollow.
fig lungs implode:
Lites
Bladderwrack
& oyster beards
strangle raddled eyes
Blasted by terror
we stare in mirrors
for escape not reflection.
Look there only when
lamp posts resemble fate.
Napalm funburst sunset, oilslick bitter tears
Give way to pork smells, rumbaba, cockatoos
Squawk, rustles of last gasp, reeling tigers,
plangent oozing, floating, clades and phylums
make touching, silken, floating islands.
everything comes to
those who can be bothered
to make the effort
crashed out on Jung’s Porch
gazing up at the upside down
welcome mat above the door
so you’ve got to think
upside down to make it out
Your visions will become clear
only when you can look
into your own heart.
Who looks outside, dreams;
who looks inside, awakes.
– Carl Jung
No matter when a god will come
A tory most crass, loud, and pompous
Created a row and a rumpus
After saying the needy
Were lazy and greedy
They ate him with oodles of humus
A
Mohawk moon bounces
off the back of lamas,
wheat settles down the valley,
faux electric fences snigger,
old farts: new beginnings—
shock of the old gone claggy
all I learnt forgotten now
lanark new lanark biomass
cri de coeur upsets blue crows
conspiracies of silage grow
When I take the air and roam
the tombstones and monuments
the iron door clicks ajar –
the cycle is complete.
Only now the air is sound
is it safe to do the rounds.
When I check the last twitch,
the most challenging flitch,
the one at the top
of the heap grips the grill.
A zither plays loud mad brash.
I pull my sword and euthanize him.
Then & only then the loading can commence…
Here comes the sun to have a laugh,
a snigger, a check it out, a gloat at
little lives playing themselves out in safe,
unhappy scripts:
polishing, dusting, painting crypts.
Rolling tiffs, thinking cliffs, wind blowing quiffs,
In skipper’s beards, fucking weird.
And I sit in judgement. How fucking weird is that?
Purple sloping Wonderfield
Bog cattle hugging below
Sat like the statue thinking
Halfway up on a blasted stump
Beneath a humming pylon
Beside a scruffy gorse
Sits a painted horse
Myrtle twizzling track
Made respectable by
Tarmac and white strips
Desiccated coconut flakes
Magnolia and cherry blossom
Windblown dusting cows snouts
Makes them shuffle, snort in concert
Painted horse sneezes along aloof
So we cut the abstract,
not like light or mayhem
See that, I missed it too
Perhaps it…no
Don’t fall for that
Luxury
Turn off the light.
Shan’t see now
Angels
This is you and me
Once immediate
Like a memory
Of
Important lightning
Grimbeau 