The stream (all workshops)
Do I Dare?
All that would require
Is an unbending desire
To walk out of that bloody door.
But where would you go?
Fear and doubt in a conspiracy,
Whispering abort plans and mutiny,
My dreams now dashed below.
Don’t listen to them!
Hope surging past both,
Go couch surfing at a mates,
Find a-few flats at good rate,
Be gone before I deflate!
Once again I soar past my prison cell,
The happiness tangible and real,
The unbending desire resolute,
I put forward my first foot.
Old mother Hubbard
she went to the cupboard
to give the poor dog a bone.
But when she got there
the cupboard was bare,
a thing that she’d never known.
She went to the Doc,
in deep horror and shock,
the doc, he gave her a pill.
She swallowed it whole
then choked in a bowl,
footing an N.H.S bill.
She did what she ort,
some money she sort’
begging the bank for a loan.
They said “with regret
you’re not a safe bet”.
She didn’t much like their tone.
great you
your mission of sharing
is greater
that’s been my mission
ever since I was born
whilst others did yawn
we all don't know much
but we pretend to be
Ah! Know all
our knowledge shared
brings each one closer
be not a miser
in self knowledge exposure
a lot out there have to learn
in life’s lessons
their fingers they burn
help them to save
the cost of a balm
the sun catchs
what the moons wish
crescent turns
and harsh pressed burns
we are more then
works turning
pedestal silhouettes
cigarette smoke
and the dull fire
seeping into shadows
slink fast the tender
night
Delicate as a butterfly,
Deadly as a viper’s sigh.
It must be simple,
To call me a dog on the street,
A villain if you are really angry.
It must be simple,
To look at me and not see me,
To listen to me and not hear me.
Or maybe it’s not so simple,
But you do it anyway.
It must be fun,
To laugh at crippled children,
Because you hate their parents.
It must be fun,
To cry falsely with perfect tears,
To laugh truly with flawless malice,
Or maybe it’s not so fun,
But you do it anyway.
street like a circumpunct
a concrete toybox
with a hatchback heartbeat
brick-orgies of houses loom over
the lawns shaved with diamonds
the rituals
the microcosm
conjoined houses breeding
dull children
with photograph senses
with monotonous syndrome
with weak bodies and clean teeth
the clocks are lazy here
II
last month I was rewarded by dead badger
head draped over curb
like a masterpiece
by noon he’d been cleaned away
The True Haul of Life…
They’re hauling life about on their backs,
I can see it’s heavy invisible hard shell.
The only worry my people now lacks,
is about a non return ticket straight to hell.
Not that the rich don’t want us to have it,
they’d get rid of us commoners in a flash.
But they know they’d be well in the shit,
finding someone else to manage their stash.
nothing lesser than exotic
the simmering and the shivering
quivers aroused
all over the silken
eel like curvaceous body
serpentined
entwined
and
dipped in white wine
sweet as the rose’s liqueur
if ever you've tasted
supine oozes the fruits of love
tasty
and
luscious too
who won't relish the sword
with which slice
Oh one time lover you
Venus's eye stares above the garden
Its sullen eye blinks- then hardens
16 veils of August night
Venus shares with bird winged flight
The garden black beneath the heat
Starlight stands, as petals speak
"When will you buy another truck?"
my wife asks each time she gets inside.
Then I reply "With any luck,
this old heap will be my final ride."
She just smiles and rolls her eyes
as I sit down in the driver's side.
This back and forth has no surprise.
My truck wears miles with shambling pride.
It's paint is faded, clear coat is peeled.
My rear has worn the seat to fit.
The floor board dirt's nearly congealed.
There may be fossils beneath it.
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