Valentine for S

This love letter is late
No need for ritual to mark the permanent
I demure to imprint your special day.

This love letter is late
The friction of my pen
Making my cochlea ring
My love for you
Must be so very interesting
Sapir-Worf in syrup
The Parthians first in Central Asia to the stirrup
If I had not sat in a Dutch cafe
Wrote a letter so full of doubt
If we had not sold survival of all species together
Perhaps it was Wolbachia
When I left to learn
The woman two floors above saw the walls bleeding
Where I was housed in a stone cell below
My definition is your satellite as I wrote so long ago
Of course
All memories are subject to revisionism
You must be interesting
For even as I stop to stroke a harmony
From the taught chords of loves memory
The circuits choke in observation
The kynurenine, all gated with baby snails
This is an internally reflective conjecture
A post-post romantic love letter

Maybe the children will not have to grow to hate
The ontological big data project
If I am careful to annunciate
That intimacy interfered with, is a non-sequitur
Such a curious, post-post romantic love letter.

Valentines note

They say, Cuore
The heart of Italy
Will be the coolest spot in the universe.
Still, they'll call you for calibration.

Random valentine

Let me write of virtue
Virtually
As it is Valentines
Flirt ostentatiously
For age is but a number
Though some numbers really energy
And in the maths of life,
One and one make three
So come quickly, or come slow
For then you'll doubtless come again
A note to know your Valentine
Naturally, anonymous
The End.

Anonymous valentine.

Love bugs make the bitter sweet
Hugs, I missed you
Nervous on the periphery
But the rarted spy virus
Mines my sulcus
For the first sight of you
So I can't deny it's true.

Valentine

Let music of sweet Eros' harp
Echo through those who caught his dart
In passion of these enraptured eddies
That chime with guffaws
In adoration pause
Lay the treasures of tommorrow
As present becomes memory.

Valentine for A

Did I lie
Say I had left
The idea of loving you?
The ties that bind
Not a dragnet, more a parachute
I hope the flu
Hasn't burned out all you watts
I've mastered loving you
As as much love as I remember
There's more love I've forgot.

Love letter

Because Feminism
Is a broad church
And chivalry still makes good theatre
Please consider this.
A Love Letter

Great wave

Tsunami, great wave
In Radio or 5G
We, the collaterral.

Technical Sewerage - the permission

In these moments of indecision
Where the forks bifurcate
The gates part light
And pathways fray like
Mirrored trees, above, below
There are rhythms, the vibrations
How these patterns match
Across the eddies of the sky
Across drops upon a pond
Across the sinusoidal graphic
Of species loss and empire
Transposed to different scales
There maybe usage or
Disutility
And this utility
Yorkshire Water, gave me
The permission
After a long year of confusion
To move the sewers
And build the extension.

What the Romans did

What the Romans did
Was not romantic
The Romance philology
Is not the romance of a dance
Of two across the wax and wane of moons.

A mistaken attribution of etymology.
These new dictionaries
Nets that recognise Stockholm syndrome
As their most familiar pattern of submission
Lack sense
Equating Romance with a process of conquest and invasion
Wittgenstein on this equation.

And what have you done?

And so this is Christmas
And what have you done
Built a beautiful belfry for bats
Saw a hypnotised squirrel yesterday
Looking fat
Wondered on matter and n-dimensional data
Ignored theorised quarrels of hearsay.

There's the odd sketch over there
An equation or two
A climate of fear
But climate talks are not new.

I have hit the nail on the head
(Not less than three pails
Two taps to fix and three to strike dead
Is fifteen thousand if my maths does not fail)

Next year the quest will accelerate
Will the next earthquake be something to celebrate?
The goose and the gander
The Pope and the pander
The Pulitzer prize propaganda
They're clearly not in control of the lot.

It's hard to know where this old machina goes
Trifurcated in infinite flows
What parts are old, what parts are new
What parts over written and what came from who.

And so this is Christmas
And what have they done
If they shot the next John Lennon
Then no one heard the gun.

People try to put us down

People try to put us down
Talking about sea pangolin proteins
Magnetite and appoferretin genes
Self assembling inductor coils
From an encrypted ribosome
That leaves us foiled.

Just because we get around
Nose swabs
A quantum in quarantine
Bright lights, tiny capillary
Gone to baby's, Faraday to Monday
Someday to Man Friday, Majorana, isolated
Like the minimal genome
And many denizens of monasteries.

I'm not trying to cause a big sensation
Narrowcast, bespoke ambitions, synthesised
Tailored made mass missions
Ontological data supplied
Surviving what's missing
Personalised medicine prescribes
A wider manumission.

I'm just talking about
Polydimethylsiloxane, nano-piezo dynamos
E.g. CNT, s.elongatus, opto-genetic photosynthesis, QED
The essence, flourescence of the brain's 14 watts AC
Body 2 kW sprinting free.
40% loss over 2m, where does it go?
Beats me.

Knowing how a gun works

It doesn't really matter
Whether accident or plot
Nor knowledge of Newton's law
If the boiler don't run hot.

It doesn't matter if you're rich
If you can't spend what you've got
And knowing how a gun works
Won't stop you getting shot.

You can ink and fold the paper
It won't make a Rorscharch blot
Have a thousand dinner dates
And never tie the knot.

It doesn't help to pin a map
If you can never join the dots
And knowing how a gun works
Won't stop you getting shot.

A Silken Wave has Undulated

There is so much video calling
So little touch
Like that ferrous curtain falling
When the worst of wars abated
All the planes and ships in port are stalling
A Silken wave has undulated.

The blind watchmaker fumbles for his eyes
The parts and springs spread on the table
That poor memory denies
Though his nimble fingers able.

Will this watch be made on time
Will this timepiece be forever fated
To run late, always behind the line
A Silken wave has undulated.

For some time was discarded
The noise around our phones
Till ways were found for recording
The waves flowing from our bones.

On this crowded planet it has been restated
We are not alone
A Silken wave has undulated
Cross the thresholds of our home.

There is more room at the bottom
Too much weight up top
The words of Marx and Richard Feynman
Cannot be forgot

Are we to drown in the heaving wake
Of these devices we've created
Is it possible some path to make
As allies elevated?

As our planet nears collapse
Like our hemispheric lobes
A Silken wave has undulated
Right across the globe.

f:The highest power

Where is this now
And where f
What is thought when
f {
If
    Statements. Statesmen
    Cannot state

Then
    Where is the State
    Without violence being
    The highest power

Value    :The highest power
        (Lives between the lines
        Shadow filming
        Light's absences, the edges of cracks
        Fed of lorry droppings, Manillaed cash);

If
    The highest power ebbs
    Wanes like the pulling moon
    Decays like rooves and architraves of Rome

Then
    The highest power: refresh
    f: {The highest power
        Instated
        If
        {Denatured State: state of nature;
            Naturalised in a Y
            Enabled dark future.};

       Elseif
        {All state their nature: natural state
            Statesmen statement
            Y
            Future enabled equals
            C};};};

She scratches at the wall

She scratches at the wall
Like grief's tethered ghost
Like love without air
I wish an opening but lost
Some exit from despair
Yet with care cannot sing her awakening.

Force cannot make her being
Grow. For swords will but cut flesh
Song only move mind with eyes seeing
Ears hearing, but she is not a guest.

She is but a dead ghost scratching
At the walls,tethered in sorrow.

Dead drive Haiku

Two dead hard drives sit
One is windows, one linux
One has a Bitcoin

The last Apple in Bramley is no more

 I

At dusk I heard the Owl
In the Oak forest
Spring Garlic and Acorns
Most will not grow
Solely for the grass is mown.
I will dig them like truffles
Carry them home. Again
Took flowering Plum stems
A deep inhalation like steam
Planted where the canal overflows to a stream
That fresh negative charge.
Ionic
In revivifying perturbations I recall
I once sat with a dispossessed Princess
Who would not eat Plum sauce pancakes
But would stop to breathe waterfalls.

II.

I have staked plum staves in the park
This reverse Perestroika
Big Society 2.0 and for what
The earth is sparse and falls like dust
I haves staked plum staves in slopes
So the banks don't collapse
Staked Apples staves amid the Oaks
Of Bramley Fall assuming at an age pensionable
No one will recall these strange routines
At dawn, at dusk, melatonin, adrenalin
The catabolisation of achetylcholine.
I have a dream
That one day the Apple and the Oak
Will entwine their roots in a spirit
Of synchoronous symbiosis and shared possibility
Let flourishing ring
At least in one corner of this native field.

III.

Will the plum taken from our garden
Rejoice in this new rhizosphere
Rediscovering its split self
That flourishes still where stood
The old Farmhouse of Bramley Hill
Where stands the steel strutts
Of a threadbare post war peace
Where stands the timber and poly-isocyanate
As temple to a fragile belief
That endo-symbiotic eukaryotes may
Enable the NOD factor and grass, lichens,
These plums staves that are not yet trees
Shall slowly process simple acts of complex God
What is it to have dreams like these, today?

IV.

Curioser and Corvosier
Let freedom ring
From the deforested slopes of the Himalayas
To the rich soil of Bramley Fall
Let freedom ring
Across this new geometry of a native field
That is forever rambling.

V.

I heard the Owl
All's well that ends well
Or Orwell, oh well
This Owl belongs to Bramley Fall
And if attended or unattended
But not in between
The apples will grow
In the wood by the stream.

VI.

If
    This
        {The last apple
    The last Bramley Apple in Bramley
    An apple of discord
    An apple of knowledge
    A fig}
        = true
    Then
        Error

If
    This    
    {Monocultural cloning
     Reseeding    
     Mitosis produced twinned electrons
     Bioshpere crisis}
        = true
     Then
        Lucky I planted those trees.

VII.

There are apple staves staked in dank pots
In December, those darkest of days
I heard,this will not be forgot
When in the grip of chill returned dismayed
My thought was all the staves would rot
Yet dank pots with no gaps like marsh
Where nourishing. This spring sprung
Bud from seemed dead wood, the green spear
The mixed earth, sand, clay rock,soil
Bramley, Fibonacci, Lamarck, smile.

An old question, unanswered

This evening
Wax light, dove white danced softening over the field
Air a layered strata of the calls of shy flowers
Chi vibrating between palm and the back of my hand
A sinusodial flicker struck black across the dusk.

What is it now like for Whales?
What for the frenetic dusk loving morse of motion
That flits the grass past silhouettes of leaf
Could we translate its state in nets of bits electric
Boltzman, Bernouli, Monte Carlo?

In spring I threw bird seed upon the piled terrace of clay.
The apples are falling from the tree again today
An early windfall pitted brown with grubs
The kitchen sink lies upturned upon the ground
What is it now like to hunt in sound?

A parasite will make mice like cats
Perhaps now we will make the habitat for birds and beans
As discipiles of these strange ways as means
Will they thank us for that?

Have we understood the pathways
The intermediary of inter-species empathy
Can be constructed upon our theories
The instruments unmeasurable but in their own terms
Can this language even know Chi or why it rises in viscosity?

Are we only to speculate.
The post enlightenment uses of delusion
Latter day latency of thought and memory
What were the last words of that gnat
If we could translate its mind
Could we know each other better, could we know bats?

The dark market

The market has no lights
Lined stalls darkle
Lamp black against charcoal
Blind patrons bump and stumble
Braille reading whares and hands.
This is good business
A nudge lifts a wallet from a pocket
A stolen fraud flogged to a judgeless mouth
Some item lifted, broken, returned.
Blink, the black, black moonless gallery
The footfalls, low ceilings, the ringing alarms.
What will sense deprived customers
Leave carrying in their pockets and garms?
What will be left on the stalls?
The electrician came
He too felt the conflict of hands upon wires
The grasping and wrestle in the dark
Insensate senses without pedagogi
And did the globe light?
The pins and spots, tricolor, slashes and dots
Nerve endings euthanised
Lest they describe what the hands are holding
The market is still dark
Patrons leave petrified
Feeling their pockets
Like Schodinger's trap.