all those times i thought i died
the ocean stroked faithful the tide

babies born and hearts beat on
i cradled your ghost for so long

i looked to other men to sing your
song
kept running instead of still it hurts
to see
i fear the spirit alive in me

i didn’t want to be ok
for fear the love would go away

i tumble through two arms untrue
i left with tears, with finger marks scared
black and blue

i lost myself to grief,
thinking in tears
I would find relief

time to face the mirror
let go
question marks like helium balloons
up to
the clouds

all that matters is that my heart
is still alive in my chest
my lungs rise to
the next breath.

PORTRAIT OF A MAN.

how many lovers in your head out

of your bed dreams
forgot or left unsaid
lost to being
rely on the gut
for seeing
thought fled to sail purple sea

expose that beating heart!

fleeting with flairs
soul to
sole
making our morals as we go

to
unknown places
with
unknown purposes
and
colour ourselves
perfect.

THE FIRST SEED OF DREAM

I loved you that January night, or

was it that I didn’t want

to fight the cold outside, your skin

so warm, so ripe.

Travel languid legged sheets

our skin smudged mornings.

Orange juice walls, dappled

sizzled bacon streaks, syrup sweet.

Sky rotates milky birds,

I stay here tied to your words.

FLY FROM WEB

Patience & timing leave all to rhythmic silence to unfold seamless Sahara sky to
rich body of silk & tomb under
a silver moon the pink shell spun sets to suit the frequency of heart, whose dying jackals melody the night.

In the coal bin all cocks look the same,
eager beaver whoos her much too fast with ash in fingers,
with furnace embers that used to be candle tips before
romance left the building.

If I could have seen the next corner the prelude would be neat as prose. Only binoculars are dreams unseen and mystified by the seasons that surround, in orbit of
starry systems & wronged wavelengths.

I read of the prophet as I sucked my cigarette
hoping to never go blind or be without breath. Hope.
Hope up against the walls or revealing it’s essence in a secret flute of air that you only catch before a sudden
breath. Hope the last to die.
Silent reels of it spread through bronchial lungs &
thread verdant veins of fat oak leaves.

I have seen wrinkles of bark on the faces that pass. Widows peek behind their curtains with candy floss hair in vale -

the best entertainment will come from memory. I must make mine good.

Follow a scent of something brilliant…
Search, salvation, salutations, salty copulation, revelations, foot & paw prints & lacerations,
random rendezvous, to bitch and praise all empty & encapsulate
to fill for the sake of a simple sip from the cup of life.

I want to remember her grape…dead potency of berries and bearers of all that has made me tingle, die and resonate.
Come and read or listen for a few none will matter but all have gathered children in a maze of demons do not handle guns with care but they talk of poetry from their tower
they speak of mirrors and doors made of soul, the laws of fluidity apply to the streets, individually there is none
just an interplay of mass, time and space.

Send messages from the precipice so young can falter and sing to the voids…supersonic freefall sugar face striped with candy colours within the matrix of mind
make it matter

THE ROOM. 

Brown sugar dissipates

oscillates

spirits at the bottom of every glass
along the bar

salty residue of shucks and soul

shackles
watch fragments sparkle

thin thread flames
face a fleshy orange glow
let all the candles burn down with cigarettes…

breathe powder
talk louder
always enough is
never more

all hours and glasses emptied
all’s left is husk moons faces
pallid retreat
to their bed havens – sheets for safety from
mindful shrills and the nights deluded thrills.

where freedom from
and freedom be
in self

spaces between connecting the dots
across the lines of the minds fields
of the world.

bring colour to the tips
light the edge
illuminate:-

Write your Name in the dark…

THE MAJESTY OF YOUTH.

 LONDON NOTEBOOK 1

Walk along the Thames

Into the city’s pours

Follow her fluid spine

Into her core

I go inside her to her lowest floor

As much as I hate her, is my want for more.

sun sets iridescence to car park walls,

gold drapes over traffic tides,

to colour golden fools

think of the flip side

think of the next ride,

the next race with the wind

you think you’ll win.

Enchanted and dazzled by the mystery of sin.

Under moonshine, drink moonshine

Chase the desire line

a divine feline is proud on the prowl,

She hunts the human mind

And has come to find

That all roads lead back to the core

And the human mind always seeks more

So get me higher,

bite my wire,

we are all flirting flames from the same fire.

The vacant womb

a sleeping tomb,

unravels day by day.

Carry out rationality in straight jackets,

pick fruit fresh from packets.

Ejaculate to the moon, never come too soon.

SPIRIT SLEEPS

tired tears
fall angry

weary of weeping
my heart is absent
and my soul is sleeping

COTTON HEAD

line up the people, the place                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    thought i’d go this way til the wind changed my face

Foot must follow foot step straight                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             on the door step of dreams too late, is it black fresh night?

or grim reaper mourning? wait ordain with dew                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 i thought i saw a path
one bird flew then

a clap of wings flutter a cloud

eyeballs follow

SWIZZLE

Swizzle Hyacinth

kiss serendipity songs

strings for scenery

whispers webs away

cracked smile down the super market isle

fate face caught in eye. I

watch kite string heart heaven made in days

Hell is a classroom of people

pupil soul

saddle wild horses -

This is

My

Circle.

IN THE STARS

Stars stay the same regardless of heroes

open like flowers

to love

in the dark of night.

Citizens of a celestial body

dressed with armour of mirror mosaics,

cherub face tell me of your

mischief and the

voice you offer the wind.

I call your answers to study my question

all answers held within and

stars are like miniature flashlight projections

of thoughts I hope to see.

Are stars fantasies? Maybe

eyeballs to another Universe?

I know Love is the fabric of this

reality

so shoot at the stars

YOU CAN PRAY BUT IN THE END YOUR HANDS WILL BE THE SAVIOURS

“I will never leave you but if I have to I will not be far, only a few hours away and if you call me I will come to rescue you from your ghosts and protect you.”

I took his words and made them my own…

I wear them like a crucifix. Keep them like a hidden song, a rosary in palm chanting out the future blanks biting lips.

You can pray but in the end your hands will be the saviors.

Take ‘I’, One, Observer, spirit warrior and ruler of hours to make each my kingdom, and you may dwell there in my eyes.

My Bible; The text in my veins that tells me of the good in life.

My Zen; The spherical world, the axis, the black of winter through the colour of season to the white in between, see all in seasons and cycles.

My Quran; remember the five pillars and perch upon them with dawn’s chorus and all the precision of a sunrise

Prophecies, wisdom and bullshit, Chinese whispers even but

I heard notes of hope in the Wailing Wall, have indeed come true

I have heard the end of the world is coming

I have seen plenty with 20:20 vision blind to the light of day.

When palms meet know this,

“A moment of realization is worth a lifetime of prayers.”

THE FREEDOM TOWER

Three deaths counted this morning from the Freedom Tower.

Price tags on discounted memories, the cost of decisions marked in question

marks around each man’s

head in question

mark  a noose

mouth full with

danger & potential.

I remember when his light stunned me like a taser.

He would light me up like a pinball machine.

Past bleeds to the present like the transition of sky when day meets night. Before you had time to look up all energies altered.

Life is your classroom and each pupil must learn their own lesson.

Hunt down destiny like a furious archer, track down the lights of your own creation, be in unison on TV nights…

as pinhole light shrinks to colorless visions of sleep

climb the freedom tower.

 

ENTER A HEAD, read these words

Open the fire gates and let me walk an unknown return – on a scent with blind faith, gnarly in pursuit of that speck of brilliance quivering on the horizon line. Moons stuck in our eyes.

I left feverish into the frosty night, chasing smoke into neon liquid nights with cider and pills-innocence/experience scale the hour glass

flux thru the streets without face or, watch feeling like Ginsburg or Burroughs with my boy at my side.

I Knew I Was Blind – i could see it coming! …Talk of body – star fish breasts – i have 10 fingers and 10 toes and 2 eyes and 1 cunt. Talk of mind – powdered mornings black and broken and star shattered/my trouble is not words but with the conjunctive –

put all HOPE in WORDS as my china blue world breaks, charged and unfolding to The Light…

left side of brain speaks – the days structure has been ruptured. fix up. turn off. pull it together/right side of brain speaks – the birth of the day is no more than a fog that disappears with each step taken. stay safe and hidden behind doors and windows and sheets. take a break thru high noon and slip between the sun and moon.

Try to catch a thought before it flies, all the while hearing string orchestras to serenade the bizarre edges in your head’s day. Imagine love making in all the homes along

all the streets in all the minds, and all the bodies -

isn’t that what we are supposed to be doing? instead or in addition to all the

people locked in their tower blocks with vision screens and busy finger

tips

GHOST STREET.

Streets hold souls to soles as they wander through dreams down alleys, over cobbles wobbles of brain under branches that decorate traffic lights

cold clear London sunset or a fire cape of colour over the west country.

I feel my ghost in my country.

I feel my ghost when I look home through a screen

scathing the streets down

Google eye map

virtual back roads clutter a murky morning

every place you have ever been, keeps a part of you

there as though you blazed a trail way travel the canvas make footprints to go back to while staring out a window lost marbles…to remind me of how

I came so

far

all the places you must go and go and remember how it felt

how it feels as it passes by

transient days loop though   danger and potential

all time is

is one long moment

Ghost St is the circumference in search of a right angle

Times like these we build substance…
…step back to expand.

STAR TREKKER TO NO MANS LAND

Everywhere is Nowhere.

So where did you want to go?

Dreamy dreamer among cardboard clouds.                  Where do you want to go?

All I see are stars when I look at you. Naked Knight. What do we do when our horses run and all we have are our soles?

Star trekker count the stars, the pinholes mark an outline. Wander precisely, for I haven’t a clue

only an idea…

Ideas are lucid and free to bloom – they wait for it.

HEADING OUT OF THE CITY 

heading out of the city