Me friend he say

My friend, he enquire 
I say “Fire. Wired. Less tired” 
We converse 
And in some flippancy 
I drop discursive verse 
Upon family 
Him a see me 
Him a say 
“Do you have a problem with intimacy” 

Me a say 
“If I have learnt one thing today 
It's easier when they run away 
It might not please, might bring dismay 
What's easier when they run away” 

And him a say “The struggle to stay may pay” 

And me a say 
“In sunshine we must make hay 
To store to feed a winter's day 
The work we love is not all play
When may all the struggle pay” 

What him a say next 
What me a say next 
Don't go down in text.

The Camel and the Swallow

You know the mound out the back door

There was a Camel under all that straw

And a broken Swallow too
How long for, no one knew

The Camel sat submerged and chewed

The Swallow ate ticks galore

They chewed and chewed until they saw

The world anew, a bit like before.

A breeze came, then a wind

And lightened the Camel's leaden limbs

And twitched the weakened Swallow's wings.

Day by day, summer jets

Lifted golden blades away

Like invisible majorettes

The Swallow began to hop and flap

The Camel stretched its legs and back

And turned his dusty head and said

“No matter what the doctor thinks

There's a million straws gone o'er the brink

And I'm still here and need a drink

How many summers Swallow?”

The Swallow said “more than one

I've lost count, I've seen no sun

Sallow, under all that straw restrained

But you will play piano again.”

And the Camel said “and you will sing”

And that small breath took the Swallow's frame.

In the zephyrs and gusts that summer brings

Came the breath that lifts the Swallow's wings.

Letter to a 4am fan

Given your pride's so clearly in safe hands

What should I read of your shyness

Coy lioness?

To analysis I shan't digress

For all that way is silliness, unless

A rustle in the grass, a scent

I can but wish

In innocence and jest I ask.

What causes you to slink

I wish you'd come confess.

It must be changing metres

Or where I put the stress.

You must have fixed on Cheetahs

Or be vulnerable I guess.

This verse is always yours,

Use it for whatever purpose

If you would that there be more be

Close, come, make others

Superlative, make others

Superfluous

This verse is always yours.

A rustle in the grass

No teeth or claws, I can but muse

Excuse me this
Many souls walk the streets of London
Wishing that they'd played their trumps

Does Carnival, oh mind altering insubstantial

Oh seam of muse

Oh rich vein 

Unmined

Does Carnival and the throbbing street

Touch you only skin deep

Were you once touched deeper

Once touched deeper

Oh and that time flew

Call it shallow

Call me shallow

I know that's not enough for you. ;-)

What was that

I don't know whether it was
Oxytocin or Beta-endorphin
I been spending more time laughin.

I don't know whether it was
3,4-methylenedioxy-methamphetamine or Psilocybin
I been spending more time vibesin.

I don't know whether it was
What's only skin-deep
That touched me like a suture in the amygdala
I been getting better sleep.

I don't know whether it was
Sun-shine or music
But that really did improve shit.

I don't know what to blame
Whether it was all or none
Or one and not the other
Sketched out in rough
Seems enough.

Offerings

They offered me diamonds
I said I had no need
They offered me roast meat
I said I had no need
They offered me sugar
Sweet, honeyed mead
Offered feather beds, flags and jewellery,
Syrups, swords and grails.
Offer me a violin
I will take it without fail.

Trophy hunting

I.

Sometimes, summer dusk promises no rain
Sky like blistered fire in a whitesmith's forge
Eyes become giddy with riches and flame
With all that glides your mesmered gaze ignored.

II.

Brush dip the sky-line and colour the night
Running where eyes do not help, the woods, caves
Where only ears and fingertips give sight
Mice in the grass sound like leopards at play.

Sunset led me into blindness.

To this cathedral, where eyes are no aid
Dark decorates dark, laticed and yawning
All solid darkles
Ornament is silouhette and scratches
Saved for morning.

In this black abyss came a beast so vast
Its stone haunches shifted trees like dancers
Its vermeil ivory rich outshone the moon
Each deft step cast, a giant earthquake passed
Night falling in night. Darkness bright as noon.

Sunset led me into ink.

In silouhette decorated cathedrals
I stumbled
Where swelling fear holds your face from truth
Till my soles broke brambles to sweet dark juice
Morticed brush to paths, that for others lay
To the horizon, hillls, the holloway
I stumbled
From the sweet dank stench of wet earth at night
To the pale, nervous scorn of morning light.

III.

In peeley-walley day's advance
When cold braves slept and field mice crept
And all that's left is detritus
Feathers slipped silent from the branch.

As shepherds watch rams that fight
And fisher seeks the fish to bite
After blind, warm, embroidered night
My sore eyes caught a final flight.

In false first light's nervous scorn
I saw Minerva's owl at dawn.

Ouch

I.

Sometimes, when summer dusk comes and the sun
Lights sky, like a fire in a whitesmith's forge
Eyes become giddy with riches and flame
And what glides across your gaze is missed.

II.

Brush dip the sky-line and colour the night
Running where eyes do not help, the woods, the caves
Where only ears and fingertips may aid you
Hoots, mice sound like giants stirred in the brush.

Fears eats your shadow, grow on your shoulder
Pushing your cheek, holding your face from truth
Face them
Face them, as you would children
Face them well, and they will become guards and pets.

III.

Sunset led me into blindness
Where eyes do not help
Into this cathedral, where dark decorates dark
And all ornament is silouhette and scratches
Are saved for morning.

I stumbled amid lice and rotten wood
Till my shoes broke brambles.
I stumbled in the blast of guns
And warfare for ivories.

IV.

Sunset led me into darkness
With but one silk length
Where eyes do not help
Where fears eat your shadow
There came a beast so vast its haunches
Shifted trees like dancers
And its ivory outshone the moon
Each step an earthquake of night falling within night.

With but one length of silk
I stumbled
Amid lice and rotten wood, the scent of earth at night
Till my soles broke brambles like grapes
Morticed brush to paths that lay
To the holloway, to the rising horizon and hills
To the pale nervous scorn of morning light.

V.

Sunset led me into ink
In silouhette decorated cathedrals
I stumbled, the scent of earth at night
Where fear holds your face from truth
Would I cage the moon, would you
Take it from the sky,
Stuffed with straw
Hold it in some room in fear
Of tides, of earthquakes, of night falling
Within night.

With but one length of silk
I hunted earthquakes
And sought to feed them from my hand.
I stumbled.

VI.

In the pale, nervous scorn of morning
When braves slept and mice crept
Feathers slipped silent from the bough.
I sought to call a beast so vast
To my wrist and feed it
From my palm.
I command no other way.

Feathers slipped silent from the bough
After blind, warm, embroidered night
My sore eyes caught a final flight
In false first light's nervous scorn
I saw Minerva's owl at dawn.

Like dancing to D&B

I've been dancing to pop songs too long
In four four
Side to side steps on the dance floor
A little shimmy or a shake
But nothing so complicated
You have to concentrate.

But there's the odd track that's Goldie
Hip shake palpitations makes a break sweat
Feet sweet confused, ankle, passes ankle
New fangled angles, half spangled
As the drop lets your fingers dangle.

Shifts lift, kick infiltesimal gifts,tuck adjustments
From just where the cusp of balance tips
Boated lips spit time, butt grinds
All other limbs celebrate like panic.

I can't live in country, I need city
Syncopation, smoking jazz or frustration hints
Every missed chance the artist omits
Trying to add the extras, I admit
Be committed and quit
Be committed and quit
Rather than subsist on off the peg regular popular dirges
Purge dregs
My feet greet jazz, greet breaks
Like new found lovers
I've been dancing to pop songs
For too long.

Letter to W.H. Auden cc: Foreigner

I don't feel you need no teaching
You know what love is now
Not for weather or for bacon
Or strangers in a crowd.
The kind that plays on Steinway grands
The kind that really sings
Not that which leads to suicide
That isn't really loving.

It looks as clear as ground and polished glass
Lenses light to crystal points of focus
It stinks unto high heaven, since you ask
That reek speaks sweet like the scent of crocus.

Touch a pile of small particles like sand

Dive the water of the river

With a little luck you will understand

That's what it'll give you.

Others often talk about it

Like it is something new

Love speaks of all the particles

Your body's sliding through

There are versions told in stories

That make the heroes tick

But stories have their editors

I doubt you're quite that thick.

And you hear it when you can hear

The lark or blackbird sing

There are times that you can hear it

Above all other things.

You can hear it in the questions

The echoes and replies

And when it speaks you hear it clearly

It does not bear disguise.

Go look at how the waiter feels

Watch the eyes of their pets

Go look when your telephone rings

And look on further yet

And if you can't see it clearly

Don't get it twisted bruv'

If you've searched and haven't found it

First look inside for love.

It doesn't just do party tricks

It works white magic too

It will feed the finest lunches

On only scraps of food

It has opinions on investments

For when the times get rough

And is the finest company

The odd truth about love.

Love's all the water in the sea

And oh the rose has thorns

Love's look out post sways tipsy high

Don't say you've not been warned

If it comes when you're unready

Then it may pass you by

But it is sure to come again

As dawn is in the sky.

You can try blind it, force it, shout it down

Love will be heard

And it ain't shit to be flippant about

Not a careless word

And though it's more abundant still

It's worth much more than gold

That's another truth about love

That's very, very old.


W.H.Auden. O Tell me the truth about love