30 September 2010




The hour is getting late,

And now your time is come,

For time you can’t abate,

Your course is nearly run,

Why not accept your fate,

Admit that you are done,

You just can’t match his gait,

You have been outrun,

You’re in a sorry state,

The end is now begun,

Lying there prostrate,

You have come undone.

The End


28 September 2010

Magic Shoes


I wear elevator shoes,

To rise above the blues,

They’re platform souled,

And they make me bold,

They got wings you see,

So they keep me free,

I can’t walk on the ground,

‘Cause I won’t stay down,

I’ve got magic shoes,

That keep away the blues.

The End


25 September 2010



They’re puppets all,


In the thrall,

Of their regrets,

They got bones,

But got no marrow,

They’re throwing stones,

But they cast no shadow.

The End


Theatre of the Macabre


Giant strides in tiny steps – its one step forward and two steps back on the soft treadmill to nowhere fast. The air’s too thick for breathing and leaves me gasping and floundering like a fish out of water - it’s so thick that it’s an impediment to progress - I have to wade through it – upstream. My ball and chain rattle melancholy – lonely spectres in my shadow. I’m dragging yesterday’s half remembered dreams like billowing grey shrouds around my gelatinous form. My mind’s a theatre of ghosts and shrieking banshees - acting out a play in hollow words. The blood curdles in my veins where acid courses corrosive, assailing points of reason. The curtain call rings hollow – echoing a chorus of disgrace ‘author’ ‘author’ at the shrinking man in the balcony. I’m a drunken acrobat on a razor sharp trapezium – my every gesture shreds my flesh as I scream in mute abstractions. Horror show eyes flare like a hall of black mirrors – reflecting every surface of my nightmare. My bones click like ju ju sticks some toothless old shaman has tossed in divination – they lay there screaming that the futures bleak, the futures black. I turn to return – and turn again in dizzying stagnation. My fondest dreams and deepest fears dance arm in arm - wraith like, in lantern shadows across my walls - ghastly tapestries of deceit and disappointment writhing in obscene dimensions to the music of my tortured psyche. I stand in tattered raiment with the howling all around me – where am I among these caustic harbingers of devastation? Where do I stand in this tempest of the soul, this storm in my teacup?

The End


23 September 2010

Pandora’s Place



Pandora’s Place

It is a fragile autonomy, a quake in the soul of quickening pulse and febrile grasp. I’m a tremble, a candle in the draft – a quiver full of crooked arrows. I walk a wavering tight rope, don’t look down. I’m a character in a pulped book, all my pages stuck and my ink bleeding. My kite has run out of string, tugged, torn and tattered on the wind, stuck in a tree. I’m on the vacillator elevator heading down, head first, ground floor deliveries – anxieties and miseries. I got a heart. I got a heart that pounds so loud a band follows it, they’re playing the blues. Just around my corner chaos lurks in calamitous clothes, with malicious intent. Something wicked surely comes with gnashing teeth and banging drums. I got to get out of this fret palace before I loose my mind, before I’m twisted so far they’ll never untie me. Where are my colours? Where are my dimensions? I was resolved, now I’ve dissolved. I’ve gone woolly minded and I’m unravelling - drawn out in a long thin scream. I want to leave, but I can’t find the door. What did I have to come here for?

The End


20 September 2010



I’d never beg for scraps,

From anybody’s table,

I take what I want,

Whenever I am able,

I’ll never fall for traps,

Even if they’re tasteful,

My wildness I will flaunt,

I’ll never be an angel,

You may think perhaps,

I’m spinning you a fable,

You might even taunt,

You’d better do it careful,

For wolves never vaunt,

No matter how unstable.

The End


The Last Temptation.



She was the last temptation,

She really was a flirt,

She was a sweet sensation,

In her leather mini skirt,

She leaked lethal radiation,

From underneath her skirt,

She invited degradation,

One last wallow in the dirt,

This creature was so craven,

I so wanted her it hurt,

My foxy little raven,

So sexy and so pert,

I really ought to hasten,

My eyes I should avert,

But the fascination,

Spurs me like a quirt,

Lead me to temptation,

I’ll bathe amidst the dirt.

The End


15 September 2010

Like A Dolphin


It's like a glittering silver chain, each link bent and soldered to the next just before the mind arrives to apprehend them. Words are linked like the molecules of water that combine to make an ocean. I'm a Albatross skimming the surface of that ocean in an endless, effortless flight. I dip my beak in and fish for prizes. I'm like a great whale powering through the water gliding slowly as a bird in thick air. I'm sifting through the briny for the words that bring me sustenance. I'm a dolphin at play cavorting, reeling, spinning and leaping into the air with the joy of a child with a new toy on Christmas morning. I glide through words and they slip sensuously over my streamlined body. I swim like an arrow. I swim the way swallows fly and caper in balletic symmetry, unpredictable and altogether beautiful. Sunlight penetrates the waves and casts a lattice of light against my dolphin skin. It sheathes me in a shimmering of syntax and lexical possibility. When I'm writing I can see it all, the images sear in my mind - I can never write them all down – I just smear the colours like paint on the wall. When the heat is in me and the words come faster than I can write, it's like free falling from eight miles up - from where the stars live.

13 September 2010



The Angel of Revelation by William Blake


I am the Resurrection

And I bear the light,

Dawning in a new direction,

Like the Phoenix I take flight,

Here by divine intercession,

To reclaim by birthright,

To take my place on Zion,

Messiah of the night,

For I am like the Lion,

I have a lethal bite,

And I will dispatch anyone,

Who’s looking for a fight,

There’s no room for friction,

In my gardens of delight,

Where with subtle fusion,

We’ll make our souls ignite,

For I am the Resurrection,

And bearer of the light.

The End


11 September 2010

Blessed By Angels


White flash, feather pillow, tightly sprung exuberance uncoiled on a cool trajectory arching ever higher into the stratosphere, heaven bent. Blood flush, heart quickens, wax melts in the lap like electric eels on a low charge. Tingling flesh expanding, retracting and breathing luxuriant with newfound sensory opportunities. The air is liquid and cool, chilled through icy funnels. The air is absorbed deep into your hollow body, filling every cavity with birthday songs. “Hallelujah.” Racing and tipping headlong into the moment, falling and flying into the ever expanding now. Cosseted in the knowledge of cool divinity, the light pours out of you. You’re ten feet tall and climbing, every heartbeat propels you upward, outward, onward. Your mouth is sticky dry and your numb throat has you swallowing like a gecko. You are the lizard tongued babbling prophet of the new age of pleasure increase, of soft opulence and gentle vice under the new gods of ecstasy and gratification, heaven here on Earth. “Amen.” You’re as fast as Mercury, your feathered feet don’t sully themselves with the floor. Above gravity, but not depravity, beyond redemption and beyond caring, you are transformed. You have become a god, a lightning conductor for all the grace and beauty in the universe. You are the child of heaven, you’ve been blessed by angels who sprinkled you with sacramental dust that sparkles in your eyes and shines through your pores. Yes, you have been blessed, cocaine, heaven sent.

The Pause That Refreshes

The End

7 September 2010

Less Is More


Less Is More

Three words I adore,

Less is more,

They remind me,

To write with economy.

The End





I claim no ownership of others,

Be they friends or lovers,

All men to me are brothers,

All women sisters too,

For it’s hatred I eschew,

And love that I pursue.

The End


Know It All


Know It All

He likes life’s tempo slow,

He’s become a frightful bore,

He has no room to grow,

Feet planted on the floor,

He’s learned all he need know,

And cares to learn no more,

There’s nothing new to show,

He’s seen it all before,

There’s no where left to go,

For he has closed the door.

The End


6 September 2010

All At Sea

On the shores of life’s long dreaming,
The foaming surf of passions bred,
Churn whirlpools in our scheming,
Crash the coast where love has fled,
And beach the lovers screaming,
For the lives that they once led,
Amid the jetsam of disillusion,
And the breakers of desire,
They are shed of their illusion,
They have quenched the inner fire,
They are confounded by confusion,
And so they wallow in the mire,
Until the tide of fascination,
Drags them where its waves require,
Where they’ll surf in new sensation,
Leave behind the distant shore,
And the cries of lamentation,
Are drowned by the ocean’s roar,
For the lovers they have chosen,
They are all at sea once more.
The End

4 September 2010

Timothy Leary

Timothy Leary

I knocked on the doors of perception,

There was nobody at reception,

Who would give me some direction,

I explained about Timothy Leary,

And his tune in - drop out theory,

There was no-one there to hear me,

As everything went bleary,

The seven tongues of God,

Had made me feel quite odd,

As if my mind were flawed,

He said the politics of ecstasy,

Would help to set my mind free,

And that I would find the key,

In magic mushrooms and LSD,

I wanted another groove,

And I was out to prove,

That I could make that move,

If the Universe is an IQ test,

Then I would do my very best,

The drugs that I did ingest,

Would help me in my quest,

But what I could not see,

Is drugs can’t set you free,

It was always up to me,

And never Timothy Leary.

The End


Ménage á trois

Jean Luc Goddard ‘Bande a Part’ 1964


Three in a bed,

By passion led,

All caution fled,

Nothing is said,

As legs are spread,

Of telling lies,

Or of secret alibi’s,

Just smiling eyes,

Pressing thighs,

And lover’s sighs,

In friendly guise,

On tangled sheets,

Three heart beats,

As love completes,

And then depletes,

In the morning light,

No talk about the night,

And secretive delight,

Three lovers take flight,

Feeling now contrite,

Making their goodbyes,

While rehearsing lies,

Adopting their disguise,

Avoid each other’s eyes,

As their friendship dies.

The End


2 September 2010


rick griffin_ man from utopia_ page_ 011
Picture ‘Man From Utopia’ by Rick Griffin
I’d rather be a freak,
Than be a square,
I don’t wanna be my dad,
And I like my long hair,
I fly it like my flag,
Because I just don’t care,
What anybody thinks,
They can stand and stare,
Let them worry about,
The clothes that I wear,
Wherever they’re at,
Is really nowhere,
They can call me names,
They can curse and swear,
Because I can be free,
But they don’t dare,
They don’t understand,
Men like me are rare,
Anything that’s mine,
I’m willing to share,
Providing of course,
I’ve got some to spare,
When it comes to love,
I’m a millionaire,
They say that I’m a freak
But I just don’t care.
The End

1 September 2010





And possibility,

Stretch in all directions,

Unfolds like a lotus blossom,

Full of promise and broken paths,

Any of which could lead you nowhere,

Anyone you meet might be your assassin,

Or they could just be the love of your life,

There is no telling what the future holds,

There is no telling if it holds anything,

You stumble blindly into tomorrow,

Never leaving and never arriving,

Tomorrows forbidden shores,

Beckon you nonetheless,

You cannot resist,

You must cross,

The ocean,

To her.

The End