The stream (all workshops)
In clay from ancient times,
our tread has deepened, faded,
graded its declines, those patterns of our gait
translate the size and height, our stance.
We rise to walk upright,
seize weapons of the hand and mind,
our troubles multiply,
our brains try hard to understand.
Have we, do we e'er progress?
We think it so; we know;
and still we make the same mistakes
that man made eons ago.
I don't know why it happens
there is no warning, reason, rhyme
but crashes are drawn to me
they happen all the time
There should be some alarm
"This system's going to fail"
I could prevent a nervous break-down
and another computer-sale
I was watching the Moscow Cat Circus
on youtube the other day and I thought
my cats would never have done
this. They live on a rogue planet where their
dogs steal the show with obsessive, mad tail-wagging
and slurpy, wild, wet kisses.
Perhaps I should have learned to swim better
maybe it wasn't so smart to paddle out there
in a fifteen foot cyclone surf
on a paddle board
Mum and Dad
will be so mad
I wonder if
I'll get in trouble?
They say your life
flashes before
your eyes
when you die
this shouldn't
take long,
I'm only
very
young.
The Alien D.J.
Oh Mr alien please land near me
just like the DJ says
don’t go to Africa or the middle East
come to where comfort obeys.
You don’t want to see the starving
or hear the wailing of the oppressed
Come to sunny Florida, New York, Paris
or London, maybe that would be best.
You see here we have class, culture,
no one hungers but our silly slimmer’s
I’m sure there’s more for you to see
we even have lights with dimmers
Oh fickle youth why do you forsake me?
I'm a husk, with craggy skin, worn and weathered by countless summers.
A furrowed brow, ploughed by care and worry.
Crows feet creeping from tired eyes.
Dough like flesh, dimpled and folded,
needed and rolled.
Puckered and flaccid.
Sexual appitite waning
Filled with bravado
Flim flam
And fakery,
Topped up with whiskey.
Heart stops beating.
A deafening sound,
Silence echoing.
HAGGIS HORROR by Ian Thomson
My Love and I went hiking on the slopes of dark Ben Down,
Thick mist descended, we got lost, strayed off the path to town
My heart near stopped, as through the murk, I heard an off- tune whistle.
The chilling sound as bull Haggis played pibroch on a thistle.
Self seeks expression
Like our oil flow station
Connected to a reserve
Refineries meant to serve
Suffered serious sabotage
Locked and neglected
Dust speaks for the rejected
Our resources misapplied
Hardship thus multiplied
With tests, temptation and trials
Turn on the safety valve
Let crude from the other half
Be refined by the essence
That which gives us presence
To exist and be who we are
Just for now, don’t let the world escape,
Reach out; don’t worry about the mistakes,
Think loud, but don’t lose your mind in the fray,
Don’t be afraid, the worlds supposed to be this way,
And everyone knows it’s an incredible game,
So put a smile on your face,
And keep your head held high, so the waves won’t take you away,
And if you need advice then it’s okay, so does everyone else,
And if starts to rain, don’t leave right away,
But just for now,
Don’t let the world escape.
The night the sky opened and
angels fell to earth
I was dreaming an Alligator dream.
I have to write this down before I forget
my opening line and the dream eats me alive.
I have to wear the black-lace wings of poetry:
to lift me from the mushroom of perception
and the crater of depression,
not that they happen to happen with any regularity,
though the moon turning on my dime
brings out
the beast in me
bleeding with an elusive prey that
I think, looks more and more like me.
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