Pages

29 July 2011

Lamentations

moon_sct_big
Her pale orb silent shines
Painting monochromatic still
Over those at rest
Both the living 
And the dead
A million lamentations wept
Silver tears for lovers lost
And children taken
In the soft and bitter night
.

25 July 2011

Yo Yo Adjustment

yoyo-(1)

I don’t know which way is up

And which way is right

Some police officers

From the mathematics division

Was asking me the square

Of the hippopotenuse

But I kept shtum –

I ain’t as dumb as I look

And I don’t look as dumb as I seem

I just stared at their Velcro macramé feet

And acted all sweet and innocent

Like a Spanish hyena in heat

“I had shoes like em once,” I said,

“but they wouldn’t hang straight.”

They beat me relentlessly

They beat me thoroughly

When they eventually left

I knew I’d been beaten

Cops don’t hand out beatings

Like that no more, no pride

No professional pride in their work

I’m not complaining see

And I ain’t going all nostalgic

It’s just I hate to see declining standards

I lost my sense of up and down

So I went to have my yo – yo adjusted

The man said we don’t do that no more

People use satellite navigators

“I can’t afford no scatellite,” I said

“If everybody gets a scatellite -

They will blot out the sun!”

But we’ll know where it is,

He said, we’ll track it on satellites.

I got a new string for my yo – yo

But he said I’d have to wind it myself

They had declining standards to maintain

I no longer know which way is up

And which way is right

My yo – yo pulls to the left

Or maybe it’s me -

Standing a little to the right

.

21 July 2011

Burglar

window

 

The morning sun creeps

Through your window

Like a friendly burglar

.

19 July 2011

Thief

Mirror

In the mirror

A familiar face

It was stolen

.

Monkey Business

Typing_monkey

Give 1000 monkeys typewriters and what do you get? You get nothing. Everyone knows that monkeys have no interest in literature, preferring as they do a strong oral tradition of story telling. Some have asserted that the complete works of William Shakespeare were written by monkeys with typewriters. That’s just silly, everyone knows that there were no monkeys in those days.

.

18 July 2011

Mr Soft

House-on-the-Hill

I recently discovered that the hill outside my house had a sufficient incline to propel me to quite some speed, enough momentum in fact to crush small children. This is the only pleasure left to me in my old age, confined as I am to the wheelchair. There’s always some nice police officer who will help a distraught old man home, but not before I have collected my victims tears in a phial which I can drink later at my leisure, mmm - delicious.

.

.

16 July 2011

Seven Wonders

sphinx
The Seven Wonders
Walked in the park
No-one saw them
It was dark
.

Puppets

natchpuppet

I'll poke you,

You poke me,

I know it's pointless,

But it's free,

I'll tag you,

In my pics too,

I've got nothing,

Else to do,

I know it's pointless,

But you see,

I want you all,

To look at me,

It’s a bit of fun,

You must agree,

It might seem pointless,

But it’s free.

(A Facebook Serenade)

.

Over my radio

Radio

Velvet doves

Coo silence

Over my radio

.

14 July 2011

Charles Bukowski Is Dead

bukowski1

The fossilized remains of Bukowski

Washed up on the Santa Monica shore

They held a procession for them

And in the farmers market

His remains were divided

Among the flute players and lovers

Who blew their hollow horns

With soft mewling sounds

Whilst wiping honest sweat

From tear stained eyes

In the baking furnace

Of contradictions, no contradictions

Of passions spent, and passions lent

Smothering their innocent pretence

With fearsome glamorous intentions

Each helping themselves to his pieces

And handling them like hot rocks

Popped them into their charnel mouths

So to speak the tongues of angels

But nothing of sense came out;

“This is a nice vintage Bukowski

With a good fruity bouquet

And pleasant lingering aftertaste

Of plum and cherryade liqueur”

But the pieces soon turned to ashes

In their dried and blackened mouths

And the bitter taste of idiocy

Left no ironic stone unturned

There was no savor in this dish

For you see, Charles Bukowski is dead

.

11 July 2011

10 July 2011

The Folly Of Wisdom

wisdom

 

The glamour of corruption,

The conceit of men,

The folly of wisdom.

.

.

9 July 2011

The Dark

The Dark

Afraid of the winter dark

The ghost in the window

Was your own reflection

.

7 July 2011

The Dragonfly Hunter




How far to-day in chase, I wonder,
Has gone my hunter of the dragon-fly?

A reinterpretation of a Haiku by Chiyojo (1703-1775)
.

3 July 2011

Storm in a Tea Cup

storm-in-a-teacup
I AM THE BUDDHA
I AM THE BUDDHA
I AM THE BUDDHA
I AM THE BUDDHA
I AM THE BUDDHA
.
I SLAY THE BUDDHA
I SLAY THE BUDDHA
I SLAY THE BUDDHA
.
JUST A LITTLE DROP
IN A CUP OF TEA
CREATES A BUDDHA
IS IT YOU - OR ME
.
I REMEMBER YOUR HAND
SHAKING
THE HAND OF FRIENDSHIP
TREMBLED
.
JUST A LITTLE DROP
IN A CUP OF TEA
REVEALS THE BUDDHA
NONE CAN SEE
.
I REMEMBER YOUR SMILE
FRAGILE
YOUR JUDAS LIPS WERE
KISSED
.
JUST A LITTLE DROP
IN A CUP OF TEA
SLAYS THE BUDDHA
IN YOU AND ME
.
I REMEMBER YOUR LIES
SUBTLE
THE SLIGHT OF HAND
CONCEALED
.
JUST A LITTLE DROP
IN A CUP OF TEA
BETRAYS THE BUDDHA
IN YOU AND ME
.
I AM THE BUDDHA
I AM THE BUDDHA
I AM THE BUDDHA
I AM THE BUDDHA
I AM THE BUDDHA
.
YOU SLAYED THE BUDDHA
YOU SLAYED THE BUDDHA
YOU SLAYED THE BUDDHA
.