The Tragic Disappearance of All Known Stuff




Worsted, Tweed, Galician calicos, reamed

cotton screed, diaphanous silks, dour,

coarse linens, Chinese screen tableaux

of mislaid epochs, safe and unsafe tapestries,

sad stacked in the old mead hall, the conference centre,

the hubristic hub of soft arrogance now



The once sure folk have fled, melted and mutated,

The meek ones headed for the hills, they crouch

and mooch grumpy, sucking stale breadsticks

in their holes, the old caves and calcified barrows.

The diehards fought foolhardy rear-guard actions –

smouldering stockyard bone stooks  stand pyrrhic



With the Labyrinthines gone away, nature is displeased,

Ever abhorrent of void it convenes

Bison, heck, leopard, eel and titmouse,

Louse, curlew, ptarmigan, to settle

a modus of repair. They soon conclude the obvious:

You are only as good as your last, worst


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Bleak midwinter light

Flowers bloom trees without leaves

Labile distortions

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Ali-Ooop! (La)



Spurts (crumbs!)

after (post) noon

Tai chi medicine (ballet)

Sugar (candyfloss) plum

Hobbyhorse (barber’s sugarstick) whrligiggl


Options left open (both ends burning)

Orange (segmented)pith & zest

Sssszzzlick spillage

(sudden) rushing blood

Learnt forget foulness

Sanguinity (crimsom kingsmen) surge out

Falstaffian (Buster Bloodvessel) rogue

Put a sock o(n) it

Nelly (kuh) dem Oliphant

Eeek! A mousey (Jeremy)

Free range (horse whisperererer) hard boiled oeufs

Never (chronological tome) overcook

Quench poached water (mill on’ t floss)

PS Eliot (Gorgeous Gorge)

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punctuation gets

in the way too much colon

all the best full stop

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Ashes to Ashes



Ongoing natter

random chronic gibberish

still work in progress

 virgin walnut oil

unhurried lapping

waters flow uphill

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Hill of (hAs)Beens



Pinnate shadows cast

fingers monochrome gloveless

casablanca mornings

under pergola

down the hangover market

unquenchable thirst fat man

intelligence like marble

solid cold & hard

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you are the only

one in the room who knows what

always ends in tears

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you are

getting into it

shit it went again

in the blink of a blink of

a blink of a blink

the blink

of an


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My Comrade who fell in the Hoover Dam. 1933 (Slipped!)



Hey You!

You with the Stars

In your Stars

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pOp #4



ornery sniper

phlox magenta fingernails

telescopic sites

hatless in Brussels

some neutralised citizen

dragged away limp

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Pressing Olives



Gethsemane, Gethsamane

One fore you and one for me

Somewhere near the River Lee

First thing in the morning

Scrunching tinnies in a bush

Fishers fishing without luck

Throw your face down in the muck

First thing in the morning

Gethsemane, Gethsemane

Is there honey still for tea

First thing in the morning

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Close Up (starecase)


















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Doktor Phibbs



Too cold to shower just yet—
perhaps later, eh?
For what purpose do
we owe this visit?
Warmth & ambiguity?
Sorry, we are busy now
Improving our mindfulness
Down in A & E
Listening to Monsters of Uselessness
Sharing what helps them sleep nights
Practising no more than what
the heavenly hour permits




Weasel words spill out the chine

Mickey-taking sophists whisper

Sour nothings in the ear.

When water walks and sunshine showers

Blossom on sad earth

The chastised winter will concede

Ground to spring hastening

Blue dismembered times of mirth

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Bedsheets & Spreadsheets


For the truth must out
Starbucks fakes a cold shower
Obstacular slowness after
Hormonal chin-wags
Static hyperactive void
Crystal set crackles and spits
Arthur Streeb-Greebling
rings out loud & clear…
Crowded house of noise
One thing at a time sweet cheese
& piccalilli circus
cavort resembling gavotte
Jericho charcuterie
Mobs baying for blood
House of C’mons up in arms
Speaker Berkow drops bollock
Wendy housekeeper tut-tuts—
He who cares wins out
Losers, suckers & bums guffaw
All mouth and trousers
What am I waiting for now?
Food and full abnegation
Of any responsibility
Carry on Contemptuous
Sid & Doris Bonkers
Ashen kneed Ron Face…
Destiny: Tumbrils

doggo: Minus Catapult


The Avocado

Time for a bite after a
long, steady haul so far—

Play nicely now
hear me.
No more pelting rocks
at old ladies backsides as
they are passing by.
know that it’s you that’s doing
don’t pretend they don’t. or
me either.
& never make
Out you don’t or you’ll
end up like
the others
Hanging from the yardarm by
the cross for crimes and
That’s you.
a misdemeanour alright.
A bloody misdemeanour.

—Stop that.
stop it now,
you’re making I
laugh. She said
she had
a big bruise on her bum.
Wanted to show me…
I did not. It was enough
to keep a straight face
as it was.
Silly old cow.
Best stop it though, luv
you might have someone’s eye out.
and you don’t want all that do you?
just play it doggo:
Minus Catapult.

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Sabbath Bloody Sabbath

Graffiti scrawled on outhouse
wall reads encrypted hogwash
post-traumatic non
compost heapos coins
the passer by leaning over
sideways sucking on a thumb,
doodling on mad scribblepad,
critiquing spondylitis,
resurrecting monomyths of
last year’s potatoes, shrivelled
up like bollocks after nights
of desperation…weeping
silently over shadows

Who that there they say
-thought that dead or done away?
Beloved beloved
Come back to smote your
beaten heart like drum
machine turned up to plenty
on the Rickenbacker Scale
of enough is not enough
Black Sabbath just passed over
Until the next time
I remain yours and
truly Paranoid….


Car roof frost crept up
Under myrtle pantry hall;
Jeered snored Slumberball;
just one piss taker detained;
Monday prospects—cautious
Delicious crock auspicious:
off white slate, slick black chalk,
no shiny patent shoes,
dust puttees pour moi—
Falcons ravage Patriots,
fight onto twittering end,
Slippery stout slops puddle,
Scrumbled suds scud up aloft,
Posties perched in crowsnest crofts.
Pigeons sport posh headgear,
epaulettes & bronze brocades,
hail to the chef…get out of Dumfries,
fast as your eggs will carry you

phillippic: desert island dusks

Night of flaky news
No sleep till Becks & Brooklyn
Every Time you say Goodbye
Seems like a nice lad
Despite appearances
To the contrary
Nero’s turn swift to burning
effigies swing on lamp posts
hard earned reputations
dangle on fraid knots
fickle fate fingers famous
fake news fallacies…
fcuk well off back
whence from where you came
flashpoints of fiction
far flung Phillipic

Tassies of Cnoc an Iuir



Gloom hawks fulminate
squawking health iniquities
preaching avoidance
stretching gruff luck
fortifying condolence
munching prescription vittles
condemning bad violence
falsifying falsified
circumstantial evidence,
smiling as they chill—

chronic condition grows worse
suitably abject, scathing:

Acting out the old soldier
routine again then are we
watching souls swim by
in mute glassy repartee?

Only in short bursts these days
Can see no future in it
Let the dud bury the dud
Off upstairs for a good stretch
Let out for bad behaviour
roam glum rollin’ hills
& Tassies of Cnoc an Iuir

countdown to ecstasy…



Waiting for Blow Up!
messaging the gas board—
the sound of the lag
shinning down the drainpipe
hiding from the chain gang
Attila the Hen
collared by our intrepid footpad
Noel ‘Scoop’ Malarkey
Of The Avocado – authenticated
Fake News straight from the
oval lozenge stuck to the
Georgian mantelpiece
Daily drivel delivered direct
to your little orange paw.
Spirit of Adventure, St
Elsewhere, St hEnhousemuir
How I hate Fair Isle jumpers
—never eat two for God’s Sake
Beautiful—it’s not

Tate Little



landscapes & portraits

awesome collections adorn

miniature still lives

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the urinal of luv

I am about Tristram Shandy, and I have radically trimmed my beard. So, while musing on Ricks’ intro to the 1967 edition, which is pretty good, it occurred to me that, if Tristram was 17yrs at a 70’s comp, what would he be like? This is an interesting basis for extending an internal monologue; for, Ricks’ intro the contrasts between the certainty of the 18th century and the uncertainty of the 20th with Gene as a certain nihilist. Perhaps this is a strand that can be pursued. It fits with the episodic sketching and maybe gives me the breadth to get away from my habitual condensation, denseness, clogginess, or whatever.

Chronic Ills #1

The funeral seems to have gone well; from which
I imagine that he has been buried, the
family did not kill each other, her
mother did not walk around with her
knickers round her ankles, and nobody
died of tedium during the older
brother’s peroration.
However, I may well be wrong.
We are only renters here, because if we sell
we need somewhere to live.
I am, for some reason
unplumbable, drawn to the
Robert Donat’s political speech in
The Thirty-Nine Steps; something to do with
wearing a pair of purloined
handcuffs and having a piss. Indeed when
shackled together, he and
Madeleine Carol must have been
bursting for a pee: mutual micturition in
1930’s cinema anyone?
Who’s Gone for a Piss!

Golgotha Blues


Is it you
upending the beginning?
And – by the way –
How’s your head?
dirt dust
fine talc

How’s mine—
is she there?
Is she
the quiet one
in the corner pulling
on a woodbine

Smoking woodies bare boobed,
hairy chest stark summer sun,
short sleeved bri-nylon pastel
shirt open brashly to the waist,
walks staccato on buggered feet,
thinking god knows nor cares what.
Buddha-like inscrutable archetype.
Head full up cranky wonky dreams

Leaf’s thoughts in the
sunken garden late
good friday afternoon, as he
with pre-stressed concrete-
like neck & shoulders; tired eyes
bloodshot from catch-up daytime
sleep from a bad night remembered
that kept her up all night; killed the
dead time with gimmicky schlock
horror film at three, copious lurid
cartoon blood oozing from every pixel,
aware of skull cap thinning
wildly, itchy unkempt beard,
a wretched sight altogether to behold.
So, Leaf sat facing the late low sun,
toyed with jet trails and midges
crowding the sky, teatime birds
come and go, stopping to perch for
a last warm on the naked rowan,

and head off, out of the cold, indoors
to manic evening nests, Leaf too went
back indoors because it was still there.

Mason Wells survives his third bombing; random business this life. Populations swarming here there and everywhere. Radical fluctuation, rapid shifts in direction, some weird algorithm, brown patches on cows…get the washing in!

Time bumbles lopsidedly
Westward murkrays entomb shade
six-forty Pull the blinds close to home
Call it a day…Day! Ninety eight not in;
Lawrence Ferlinghetti
born in 1918
& still lives
Today in
Beat that!

Badgers Cum Home to Roost

English pastorale:
Beware! Trespassers will be

Trade Winds Blow Off

gust impudent sleep;
Scantily clad warily
rest still just gone dawn;
special chumley warmers
consummate love over
chlorinated chicken soup…

Only time will tell of course
Proof of pudding found
In Venezuela…

(Loud cheers and tobacco spits)
New deal struck post EGGPLASM
(35 squid a month saved)
‘Today the Gas Board—
Tomorrow the World!’

Did not dream (at all?)
on grassy uplands,
snug summer pastures,
capricious morning glory…
Domesticated God
Portrait (of the) Artist (as
a) Vacuum Cleaner
Leaves messiah knackered out
Major events thus postpones
Only minor miracles
Tenable today—

writing guff, combing hair (singular),
Powdering my knees, reading these poems:
High on Rust (pun on Night Ours?)
Made up by Ray Webber;
blurb includes the usual
posthumous suspects:
Hindley, Brady, Ferlinghetti,
Ashbery, and O’Hara plus
beasts EZ & TS—
Critique suppose if the spirit moves
or more pressingly: the bowel

Gas Board-
apply The Art of the Scam
in its Original Jerkish

Horace, Horace wherefore art
thou if not here?
Fancy a smoke & a fag
Whooo o o sH!

Sudden Sou’Wester flusters galley
Oil lamps dervish dancing wildly
Cold pork clunks grace offshore hulks
Red jelly allover waffler…

Splo Ooos h a H aha!
Scalding hot boiling pot
Fair stood the wind for

Sinister unidexters tweak
Spin ludicrous yarns
A Bernie* for Buck House
Queenie gets to stay
& as for the rest—
Make ‘em an offer
dat day cant refuse*

*One million pounds sterling (Bernie Ecclestone size bung*)
*Sweeteners, inducements, gift-horses

Daylight Robbery

Bull rushes (into)
China shop (unseen)
(Nay snatches)
Family silver,
Old Moor’s Almanac
Run of the mill artifacts–
Porcelain zebra, farm animals et al–

Inattention to detail
cloven cumbersome
Eberneezered good
furl & fog…meretricious
blurred apparitions fail to
get that- smiling minx
emerges bonnily on rye
one hundred per cent
Smell of horsepiss fingers
manifestly bodilicious
scrumptious glowing isotopes
radiate warmth & succour
mystified gobshites
gaze knowingly on blue cheese
nudity can’t be thrown off
like a uniform, y’know-
Lorenzetti Woman
Painted strawberry hangs up
on nuisance caller
lobster telephone exchange

Third Degree (Burn’s Nightcap)


More haggis, Angus?
 As if you've got no option
 stuck up f-f-freezing Cairn
Gormless wee beastie
 prone timorous troglodyte
 Nurse Zing (frost-bitten)
Tootsies icicles
 that is…
 f-f-fractious dreek dank dark
 clapped out anglepoise 
nods off...
 waiting room night malingers
 caresses cold dunk fingers
 puffy after early bath
Showers grumble come mid-morning
 crumbling inky murk
 Happy News Flash Bang Wallop!

 Waiting for noxious sausage—
 Pork & Leek -
What wondrous feasting!
 as intransigence
 gives way to coercion
Jam-packed Sheiling Mall

 ghostly dead come day dissemble
 autonomous flicker shows
 & lethal English Custard
 Slices Down The Dog & Duck
 Twice a week
Doffing bluebell caps




whether you like it or not,
you are much, much better now—
just get used to it, enjoy,
do your own thing, strut you stuff.
Either way
Nobody gives a shit these days.
They’re too busy being them.
you are wary of doormats.
Just use the opaque windows.
Best learn to leap before you can run…
or have a dump, or get cleaned up:
simples minus curve balls
Slow release porridge regime,
open prison daily chores,
melt into a madding crowd,
stay utterly stum,
incognito ergo sum,
well, treely & rurally
hid from Herstory,
out of sight is out of mind,
smells malinger on,
taste of burnt okra,
lady fingers hits the deck
Hey kid! Let’s dissect some trees!!
It’s coming on lunchtime
Sing joy & peace songs
Naff Hallelujahs…
Di Maggio eats
Caravaggio’s fruit bowl
Still life after all these years
Oranges and lemons melt
Incognito ergo sum
Greater than small walk on parts
Phillip Seymour-Legwarmers
Vignettes, bit parts, cameos—
Now you see it &
Now you don’t…

Lollipop (Who loves ya Baby?)

Sucked away prodigously
since first light broke icy dark
Tried very hard to punt
A Third Humanism–

No one seems much interested
So I left dystopia
Had cosmetic surgery
Convalesced on Crimson Strand

Found this grain of sand
in elastic rubber dunes
–longshore tobacco drifter
just struck it lucky I guess

Right place: right time malarkey
It just ain’t cooking—too cold
Here in half-baked Alaska
All is about food & syntax

Craving precious indigo
Giotto grumbles
Pulverises Nigella seeds
Burnt brown coffee kills

Telly Savalas licked me
soppy sloppy seducer–
Who loves ya baby?

President Tweet

Drawing shallow air
 Fellow travellers feign
 silent indifference:
 (plush purple posies
 wilt in winter heat)
 events draw prematurely
to an abject close

 Overworm turns Underworm
stomachs churning inside out:

 Hail to the Chaffinch!
 Hail to the Chuff!

Enter stooge left Vladiator
God's own chosen quarterback

 Lions take five: Christian dada
 Untermensch ist ubermensch
 Triumph of the Wall
 Even Street investors blush
 At such an embarrassment of 
 witches and warlocks
 Servants of Beelzebubbles
 Hang on creaking rafters
 One eyed pyramid salesmen 
 jostle for prime positions…

 Assassination dreams
 occupy diligent couch
 potentates so they can say
 where they were when this one 
 gets richly deserved
 long overdue comeuppance
 or when children inquire:
 'What did you do in the war?'


Country’s gonna grow!

No ploughman!—no cry
Safe to go below skipper?
go now & eat manatee
Edifying grub blubber

good ole soul Lebensmittel…
frazzle Lucifer on soot
– A speciality of t’house
President Tweet sleeps
Sleep of the recently chuffed
Out here we Hear No
anguished cries (no more)
sing spangled cattle
bullocks low in sulphur smog
Fires indignant
hell freezes then soon smoulders
-we’ve only just begun
White hopes and promises-
…only just begun

Old John Boy


(c) Milton's Cottage; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation (c) Milton’s Cottage; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

Blind Tiresias

Rhythmically swaying

Iambic rapper

Muttering incantations

Committing morning verse

To pellucid memory

Ear cocked for milkmaids

Waiting enthroned in turmoil

illuminated by defeat

cherished hard won republic

brief lost earthly paradise

postponed for another eternity

another enlightenment

another bright spark

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Bury my Hurt at Wounded Knee

Ten it is on Radio
Balls—Every Child Splutters
Dribbles on and on
Post or no post this morning—
sleeping dogs tell no lies
Made big revisions to piece of string
Resistance is useful
Urge to sudden flop—
Is it a shower yer after, Sir?
Intimate separation speaks
In oxymorons…
Who said that?
Me I think
And who may you be when you’re at home?
Making (all the) mistakes (in the) book
And why would you think that you’re saying that now?
Stubborn bogey (up my) nose—

& who the hell was that?
Must be (the) dainty music
Chopin haunts my windowsill
Tschaikovski: celebrated
(as a) very fast worker
Decomposed (in just
over) seven soggy days
The Compleat works of Peat Bog
Cradled jealous (to his) ample bosom
Making (all the) mistakes (in the) book bar one
I’m getting it on
Getting it all down
(as much as) I can…(as much as) I can…(as much as) I can
Pinocchio is drowning
Where’s the fucking Whale?
Typical just typical
Never there when you need one
O ye Whales!
Ye Accursed Whales

Oxtail soup & toast
Sate one sunny afternoon;
sugar frosted shrubs look good
enough to eat for afters…
So you went out with the stick?
Yes, just a few tentative steps
Are you taking the sun now?
No in a minute
When the sky comes round
Shall we make it two?
Yes let’s make it two

Sun got round at bang on two
Devo Harding or Devo Trump?
Balanced on bladed razor
Fag paper slender
No one saved my life last night
Puzzles me why not
Was I not in pain?


Clarity & Charity
(most weird Sisters of

Jolly Green Murphy)
forswore their novice vows of nice
& lost like Lennon songs left
glum parental controllers
orse-whipped immortals
Red in flesh & blood
Behind to whimper
Well-rehearsed mea culpas:
Suspend wholesome disbelief
Postpone all pressing
Engagements abandon hope
Indefinitely for now
Waiting by the phone watching
Brando documentaries
Provoke sympathy
for slow grieving elders
staring staff in hand
watching the armada shrink
into Tahitian puddles…
Fit for what purpose?
Purpose being what?
Why the Telling of Tall Tales
The life enhancing
Tittle-tattle of hum-drum…
Apollonian work!
burping a poem in loud-
toasting to mad ecstasies
Acting up like Billy Goat
Dionysian hogwash—
Questioning your worth
to Self & Others are we?
Self-therapy stinks…
Well you would say that
Here! Smell my karma
Eek! Stinking purple Bishop
How can you do this
On the day after day after
lying there snoring

as her wife steps into
your dressing gown…

Cypress says…

fifteen twenty one
après-douche fancy fulfilled
anise rub down complete so
whilst smelling pungent
& puny as a nectarine
go below for liquid top up,
courageous blue remembered
mountainous coffee
the over rated preference,
but knowing deep down it
ought be sea-green tea
doing sterling slow hypnotic work on
jumpy pylorus & duodenum,
diffusing furry mauve limpets
on pearl heavy oyster communes…

yaboos sound below,
unplucked poultry bids farewell
hides dry roasted nuts—
a nation holds its collective bad breath,
an elephant farts in Rangoon,
diaphanous sub-uterine
crabby nebulae await the Year of the Cock

Spinsters conjure up bachelors
as pliant uxorious dotes
malinger on every sticky word,
both smiling bitterly
at tatty monographed hankies
which need a jolly good mend,
enduring cruel jibes resonate
in blue conniving eyes of
cruel frumpy girlfriends

fifteen fifty four:
Soon putative sun
sets itself beyond
elephantine cloud
blinding whitened fascia
gets inbetween aerosol
spray paint cataracts
danger! High voltage
celestial oblong blur
electric yellow interjects
Jaded crusty eyes struggle
Clueless under Capricorn

sheer impertinence



nostrils alert to

sniffable rain on the breeze,

heed telltale droplets

weeping on open fan window,

overnight shower

easily deduced to tears:

all other alternatives

seem a bit too far-fetched:

water sprinklers in February,

titans caught short

on early morning rampage,

and that old chestnut,

jet aircraft toilets.

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…to be continued



as they have their lunch

The Prisoner of Haiku

makes it through the wall…

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Let’s call it a day for now
Just so as you know what time
I want to call it
It is as you can see a poorly lit room

A long haired pedestrian
In a floppy wooden hat
Leans, stretches out,
Pulls back the curtains, reveals

A full on fading
gawping gibbous moon
obscured by insurgent ghost riders
careering from the Northlands
Spotted a giant clear as day
Paddling in the sea
Of Tranquility:
Cubistic Eyebrow,
unambiguous stark cyclops,
Ivory orb under
shut umbrella eyebrow:
Window latch serpent handle
oily black lipstick
Groucho Marx pisstake
Squinting snootily:
Adolf holding pince-nez
for the Hitler family album…
You know the type, don’t you?
seen it all before, love
seen it all before…
as clear as day it
was as clear as day

full moon setting…

clear tomorrow here
days zip past
often primrose trite
not so for others’ kites-
crucial times like these

Here (see below)
Going on a bit just then…
Becoming beings relax
after onset lycanthropia

dormant patients protect us
via guilt & frailty
‘We do not mean you any harm’
They say
‘Stop turning your backs’

as we once shall you

who may live to regret it
on the day when

it’s your turn to sleep

Trying so-so  hard to hide excruciating pain
Not to scare the horses of hope
a miserable prospect
for those poor bastards
personally affected by issues
considered in this poem
—Goodnight & Wake Up!

MiStah mOpp (Char-Man)




(duStpan & Bru(sj)sh),


(scRim & ChaMois),


(scour, raspish, Rubba)


(wax &shine –BufF)

& TouCh-UP

(blushEN, sh(ine)y, finesSE

up porCh (rouge, glOSSy LipstiCk)

Well doNe Job(Pat pate thrice: p-p-pAT)

(Well Done®…!)

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Pressing buttons is fraught
With potential disaster
Self-destructive tendencies
Disregard consequences
Plunging headlong in the void
Swans dive slow in fetid lakes

Factors beyond dawn patrol
sense ebbs while love grows fragile
been there saw the t-shirt
savaged on the twilight wire
Scented sanguine tatters drip
On stony porous ground:
the first cut was the daftest
—how come we never learn
from our fascination
with cut & paste alibis?

Dubious communiques
arrive from far off lightships
coaxing weak sun jars pulsate
diligence smells of sawdust
meanwhile next door erudite
yes men jostle for number
one in the copycat charts
the truth fears for its life
in fugitive Siberia



Chat Poem #1

The abysmal dancer witters on:

‘…got a tweet from Buddha

naturally I tweeted back–

O! How we tittered.’


Looking out at ragged garden:

took  a modest winter battering

noxious giant Sussex Hens

word mind selects: ‘Topiary’


Sculpted hedgerow dinosaurs

mock Gothic ramparts; all shapes

phallic by decree,

got no choice in theses matters-

black racing car minus

backseat driver,

equals a dead duck,

& a family of

unreal estate elephants.


so nearly lost to reason I paused

came upon my senses

scattered all around.

The duties of the day press in:

Wake the dead, feed the head,

Clean up, sit up, sit down…

All go

All go rhythm


Chat Poem#2


Just now something moved me

& stopped me in mid-step

& I teeter on one foot

like a Wallander

hopping on barbed wire


I saw her on my morning

in the middle of her night

Blocking up the toilet

by the stark hospital light


I will see her later on

On her morning off

And we will argue once again



Leaf over leaf

The page is made

From wood


chipped and pulvered

Mulched and pressed


Blotter and wafer

Are a mystery

To me

But you can eat always

Rice paper.


This evening in the middle

Of her day

The washing machine will

Stop me from napping


We will eat supper for lunch

And I will dream of Dali’s

Lobster Flamingos

sulking in green mud




Just the very thought of it

& l just wet myself

Dry agony blocks sinuses


-welling floodgates spill over




When weeping willows

Transgress their quota of woe

Tell them no worries



Watched the wheel for all

It was not there some mud, chewing gum, and dog shit



Jupiter turned up

uninvited yesterday

Orrery troubles

Waiting in the wings he said

Pre-stressed concrete blocks ahead

signifying nothing yet





Up and down
Up and down
That’s him today for a change…
Down now
Up later…
To invariably find
Graham Nash still talking
Woodstock and Joni Mitchell
Edging closer to a close
California dreaming
Manchester Trade Hall
I love Jennifer Eccles
Life comprising Cakes & Ale
Occasional taste of honey
Stolen on Saddleworth Moor

Alptraums Ltd

While walking naked
Into the gas chamber one felt
A certain thrill at
one’s predicament:
bereft as one is of Ambassadors
Plenipotentiaries, creeps
& other former fellow
on the groovy train
to Gobbledegook Central

Nonetheless is more or less
A condition of extreme despair
Energises oneself to crave
A morsel to eat…
Or is it a trick
To lure me from this
Earth shat-a-ring-a-roses
Like twits leave sinking ships
Tree up (this time round)
On the deal (what)I made
Wit (ha-ha) myself & eye…
One before breakfast
thirteen days a week
for twenty nine days
How could I possibly
Make a telling difference
Without self-regulation?
Better word up quick
Stop flying by the seat
Of my sovereignty
Call a May Election
Climb a few more Alptraums
Mourn far distant Maidenhead

One Stop Shoplifter

The first Human Contact of
the Week Award goes to…

who, while supersaturated
with head-crunching prescription
drugs, heard out my proposal
with consummate alacrity…

Attempts to remedy the parlous
tobacco situation have fallen on deaf legs
A canned orchestra plays wistful dainties on the window sill
I listen out for salvation—
no salvation arrives on the ten-fifty two

Emil Coiran cracks me up
We are all failures—like it
Dormant bureaucrat
Can’t wait to get on with it
More disappointment on demand
Basic human rights movement
Sings love’s old sweet song:

Academe, Sweet Academe
How still I see thee
Lying through your teeth
Understand you shortcomings
Before you start discussions
Terms of endearment
Fall on quilted ears

Le Crunch

Ingratitude did not come easy to Adam at first, but he told me that once you get the hang it, it soon becomes a firm favourite with all the family, & creating just the right environment for it to thrive results in endless time consuming diversion…
—You’re obsessed! I thought, but he was my man and I did not want to prick his bubble
—What do you fancy to eat? I said
—Apple crumble, he replied contemplating apathy
The air grew thick with orange blossom.

—Maculate misconceptions are more frequent than first meets the eye, said the Omniscient Narrator, looking straight into camera two. And to me it seems somehow inevitable that this little episode will precede a fall to end all falls
—Well you should bloody well know, I thought, knowingly
Adam began to weep in despair, smelling trouble in the air, and cursed the green lentil stew for provoking his melancholia, exploiting his innocence.
—Fuck the crumble! I thought, angrily crunching the rosy apple, which, it must be said, tasted everso tangy if not a little toxic


Before I knew it I was flat on my back writhing in ecstasy with an Anaconda watching on, reading Constrictor’s Monthly, and smiling benignly at my antics
—You been at the apples, I see, it said in a broad, warm, matriarchal brogue
—Am I still in Eden? I asked
—No, Cirencester, the Serpent replied. All the apples you want here, my dear. Truth be told that’s all there fucking is. Excuse my French.
—Original Sin, I sobbed
—Non, mon petit dejeuner, said the Anaconda. Golden Delicious.


…halfway between ludic rant
& macabre reality
really ought i have a shower
Now the gas is flowing?
& get changed into
shy retiring tweed
Priestess of Thaumaturge
Scourgess of Pareidolia
Tirelessly seeking out
a poetry of cartoon shorts
to embed in your third eye
therefore upside down
sometimes inside out
eluctable in the dark

Insolent Green

Life enhancement calls the old & infirm ,
the homeless amputee, the various frail sticks
the homesick summary rejects of this gruel regime,
clumsy messages lost on deaf or dormant ansaphones—
perhaps they did themselves in overnight
& were swept up in the alms of public thaumaturges,
cleverly disguised as aliens in lime reflective dayglo
Mickey Mouse onesies who compress them

into giant black bin liners and stack them aboard
green public transports and drop them off
for re-cycling as motorway bollards by
Maggot & Maggot Ltd,
Proud exploiters of anything that’s going
since shite drew its first corrupted breath
& fucking weebles wobbled but never fell down…
Alternatively they might be having
A well deserved lie-in on this soggy Sunday morning

Dreaming of spring lambkins
Gambolling tumbling spilling
leaping giant cowpats
& kissing dandelions to
drift off in four leaf clover…
or just say I’ll call back later
Or another day or never again
as I know they are
deliberately not

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