Sunday, February 19, 2017

You hurt the whole world

You hurt the whole world
With what you did
Not just me and you
And mum and Nu
And all the bods in the crew.

But all the others
My work would've helped
If my sense of injustice
Wasn't corrupted
By feelings I felt as a whelp.

You hurt the whole world
You did.

Never, ever

What,
Don't you like riding dragons?
Maybe it's poor eyesight
Flagons and moonlight
But I really thought you the type.

Tell me you've got spares
Who'll hang diamond teardrops in your ears
And lace your marble neck with gold.
You look better in silver
And I'd bejewel your soul.

I don't own pets
Don't need you to be any less
And you can guess one thing
That should you fall
You're heart and all
You'll find yourself flying
On a wing.

What,
Don't you like riding dragons?
I thought you would dare
Unlike the others,
Too coy or too scared
Fair, with poor insight
Can't see if you stare.

Love you've had plenty.
Loved you've been for sure.
Suitors list lengthy
But none the type to open doors
And make you realise
You never, ever
Really loved before.

Brambles

At the end of the night
I expect to be hurt
Not by a fight
Or the flight of a skirt

But the pang of the hooks
Pulling on twine
From some backward look
Long lost in time.

In my organs they bite
Zig-zag snagged line
All caught up tight
In the brambles behind.

My kilter all faltering
Taught lines pitch up short
And I find myself baltering
Between barrels of oughts.

Sideways is pain
And back seems ok
But forward I strain
And hooks rip and flay.

Somewhere, someone has scissors
For a dagger carapaced back
To cut lines so they quiver
And fall shung and slack.

Then maybe, just maybe
Berries I'll find
Following lines over my shoulder
To the brambles of mind.

Friday, February 17, 2017

All I can think of is you

I wanted to write a piece about
How free movement of capital
Allows the evasion of national regulations
And political control
Piling up mile high guarded mountains of gold
But all I can think of is you.

I wanted to write a piece about
How the value of networks being a function of their size
Combines with the weightless economy
And digital goods to facilitate global monopolies
That bleed the world dry,
Feeding small pools of leeches
In Seattle offices
But all I can think of is the time
You wore gothic eye makeup with silver studs.

I wanted to write about
How all encompassing property rights
Within a system of profit incentives encourages
Rent extraction of our common heritage
Co-opting distributed pillage
Like a virus defiling the planet
But my mind is filled with the image
Of you in a white bonnet with flowers and beau lace
And all I can think of is you.

I wanted to write
A polemic about how the efficacy and endemic limits
Of bureaucratic administration creates a situation
Where government is buckling under its own weight.
How the width at the base determines
A pyramid's safe height
But my mind
Keeps going back to that fight we had on the stairs.

I wanted to write about
How surpassed nationalism is floundering
Due the decimation of capital cost of broadcast.
The geography of communication fields bequeathed
By Mongolian, North Atlantic and Islamic imperialism
In comparison to our border being a hundred miles
But all I can think of is
You brushing your hair
From your smile, compassionate, confused.

I wanted to write about intellectual property
As a simple conceptual heresy against
The inherent advantages of humanity, GNU
The defence of Academy to protect
The intellectual future of our race as the task
Of the present generation to gift.

About the necessity of using our freedom
To develop new institutions, forms of cooperation
Demonstrative architectures of distribution
And possible uses of blockchain for value inclusion.
I wanted to write about a new Rochdale
But I fail
Cos my mind is locked on the picture
Of coloured string in your pigtails
And all I can think of is you.

I wanted to write about
Transnational communication, the evolution
And creation of new communal identities
The necessary inabilities of global hierarchy
Against mathematically proven efficiency
And resilience of networks meaning
Their dominance is given
And consequent logical implications for feminism.
But all I can think of is your spinning hem
And feet,
A second of silence after when our eyes meet
And your whites, wide, just for moment
Tell me.
All I can think of is you.

Footnotes

Pickle
That tickled me
I could call you obtuse
Am I cheating my duty
To use your peerless beauty
In want of a muse.
Afflicted by vacancy
But that ain't no news
Love in its latency
Doth always amuse.

It's just that I'm inclined
To spend time finding
New ways of describing
Your grace in text.
The curve of your brow
The fall of your neck.
Making up more nice things to say
Really must be the best use of my day.

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Best of SMS

I.

Though you never call me
I know the reason why
And will hear the hills a calling
Calling till I die
And will hear the forest
The heather and the brook
And in them all your timid love
Will never be mistook.

II.

Specialness
I wish you every bliss
Miss you every kiss I waste
On some young wench in tryst.
My compass ever points to true
And all the love that I confess
Just echoes of my love for you.

III.

Sweet pea flower,
Wither do your tendrils spring
Tend what hopelings under wing
Wash what soils from fibre soft
Hold what spoils, high aloft
Sweet pea flower know one thing
I sing warm of you and oft.

Valentine for Cole

They said no to Coal
The heart of England
And oh, oh but Cole
She sets my heart a tingle
How I am not whole
A half when once a single.

And hardened men of grit and earth
Have fought the rock to treasure win
Though true Cole's wit and mirth
Are beyond measure of any men.

Valentine for Maggy

Oh leggy Maggie
Though you're crabby
I long to take you to the Abbey
Though I know I'm way too shabby
To wine and dine in Abu Dhabi.

But your scent I can't resist
Without your love I can't exist
So unrequited must persist
You'll always be my favourite fascist.

Valentine

I don't want to write this
I would rather strike a match
And hold flame to the crisp
Edge till blank paper catch.

Watch black borders advance
Line by line all shaped by chance
Before soft orange silk's short dance
Effaces these diluted words.

I don't want write this
But light fire and let it grow
For without this night's bliss
Then I must just let go.

Valentine for L

Love,
Can I call you that
I ended up unsure
Of what I loved
Or if I was.

Dismissed it all as misplaced fiction
Self-deluding games of youth
And frames we get from stories
That fit poorly on the truth.

I dismissed it all
Till after time so long
I saw you strong
Like a distilled mirror
Of the great gold Buddha
In Battersea park by the Thames
And you faced me smiling
Chest broad, face upturned
Like I wish you would've then.

Valentine for A

Heron,
Graceful by the water
What a smile she has.
You gave her that.
And if she should keep it
What a treasure.
What a treasure.
She will always have jewels.

Next Valentine

Oh surely Shirley you're not too girly
To twirl you by the short and curlies
Whirl you through the hurly burly
Till well early smile pearly.

Oh Shirley don't go all surly
Say that surely you will call me
Or I'll be poorly, wan and mardy
Take me and the glory Shirley.

Valentine for an errant muse

My father went away when I was young
Often, my mum said it affected me
Departure from the archetypes of Jung
Is not something we're born to see.

And few can stand sunbeams all day unblind
Bathe too long rue heatstroke, blistered skin
Warm blooded creatures will seek shade at times
Take some refuge from the orb life giving.

I think of Whitesmiths who make jewels from rocks
Their work coveted by aspiring thieves
Armouring their shops with shutters and locks
The worries wrought on wrights of beauty.

Don't be afraid that they'll leave, let them go
Freed things loved, if loving, return you know.

Valentine for Uplink

Crumpet
I couldn't think of a topping
Jam, honey and cream
Fresh, soft and steaming
The best wake from a dream
Gorgeous gallon waterfall
Of smoothest ice cream
Where you been ?
You must have been close
Cos I see trees looking up
And sprouting all green.

Valentine for S

When I'm at my mum's in France
Where the land still finds some freedom
And chalk oaks twist a living from the hills
There are trees I know
Knot by knot, a braille of youth
All but forgot.
They greet me like the pensioners
Who once were working men
Or the stooping lady with her stick
Who was forever shrinking.
The chalk oaks stand
And grow so slow
They inch unnoticed in decades known
But for branches from the knots
Some freshly grown, some spent and cropped
A path among old and silent friends
Their creviced bark beneath my running hand
Like hope to watch them slowly branch
Constant as the years advance.

Sunday, February 12, 2017

The Times offers subscription

The Times offers me subscription
For £2.33 a week
For £2.33 a week
I can digest Murdoch's shit.

Now of course unwittingly
We're all part of this utility
To process new age sewage
Into opiated rage.

But for £2.33 you get a direct pipe
Of distributed shit digestion
Served to you in type.

You can "get educated" for £2.33
Perspective gaslight medicated
Object to facts to hallucinated
Angrily frustrated in hyper-reality.

And sewage turns to compost
Inside the reader's head
Seeded with Murdoch trees
And on this shite they're fed.

Murdoch trees grow Murdoch fruit
That we will never eat
Bloody juice and bitter rind
Pollute the grounds
The roots beneath our feet.

The Times offers me value
Subscription to opinion for £2.33
So I can be a smacked up minion
Of rank plutocracy.

So I can ponder questions
Such as how many foreigners
Sorry terrorists
It would be good to cull
I can have a septic tank
For Murdoch in my skull.

The Times offers me subscription
Education for £2.33
And I say, not me, no thanks
I would rather stay dull
Than set a distributed septic tank
For Murdoch in my skull.

Tuesday, February 07, 2017

Things not too say on Tinder I.

Sneering, disdain and contempt
Are the road down which lost love is sent
Wind in the sails.
Current for keels.

The attention of some is a blessing
The attention of others a curse
And one love's intention confessing
Can sometimes be roads to the worst.

You should always be sure
When push comes to shove
There is more
More than one kind of love.

Monday, February 06, 2017

Wind haiku

Soft butterfly wings
Cause hurricanes in far realms
What storms a bullet?

Thursday, February 02, 2017

Ducks in a line

The big one is down in the rushes
And the little one is up by the pond
The mother is nesting
And another is resting
I don't know where the speckled one's gone.

Sprinkle spring

Sprinkle me some springtime
A tinkling of thimble bells
A twinkling of sunshine.
Burgeon some root fed bud
Some sureptious shoot that scouts
In doubt of curious March frosts.
Warm a nest of noon kissed moss
To catch each wafting cloud that pass
Sprinkle me some springtime
On my breakfast.