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  • LOST ENVOYS

    LOST ENVOYS (song)

    Bust open the clock
    Think of a rhyme
    Tick Tock lock stock
    And six Gatling barrels

    The Viet Kong practice
    Shooting the messenger
    Flown in by Kissinger

    *

    Ring ring
    Who's there
    I don't care - yes
    I'm the envoy sent in
    There years ago by Mr Blair
    Do you have any Playboy
    Juggs or Mayfair?

    *

    Hail Mary Mother of God
    I'm floating down a stream
    Holding a briefcase
    Blowing bubbles of red

    My dream was to be elected
    To the College of Cardinals

    It's just not fair...
    The Communacado's in my hair

  • TRAVELLING WITH BARE CHESTED GOETHE

    EXPRESSIONS CATCH - 1

    There is a tap-root pushing in the
    Dark -White, ironic and insistent;
    There is a splendid melodic line at
    High altitude (I think it is
    A splash of jazz - a lark)

    There is fallen Viennese souffle,
    Diplomacy, war - the bravery
    Of writing for a blog in a war.

    There is volcanic rain, scoured plains
    Gnarled North-Rennaissance fingers
    Sketching heroic burned marble.
    Fleshy fireworks ignite the stolen
    Herculaneum kiss....

    EXPRESSIONS CATCH - 2

    There is love - and the strange
    Double beat of new harmony at night.
    There is intelligence, the round of stars,
    A galloping horse in it's
    Narrow field, unseen - alone.

    We are more than the Sun-heart tethered
    In our petty kingdoms. Men catch the World
    And are imprisoned inside rainbows.

    SERMON 1

    Mummified computers and senses
    Fall away - People need a safer place.
    A permanent store of perfection
    For good and evil, for invention
    (For the heart of God is very old
    And very strange).

  • THE POETRY EMPORIUM

    TREE OF POETRY

    This poetry will be empty;
    A sphere of possibilities
    A receptive negative, before

    The click of realisation.
    The lightning tearing down
    A human tree of nerves

    THE POETRY EMPORIUM

    At my store there's nothing
    Visual, all is a-b-c-d-e, things
    For the mind, a pulsing fork,
    A super highway of words.

    You must add instincts
    Colour, 4 elements, a few clouds
    To set your preferred scene - then
    Just sit back, relax and dream.

  • TRUE GRIST , FALSE GRIT

    SHE SEES CLAIRVOYENTLY...

    To where waves in his muscles
    Store the peaks and troughs of
    Seven crashed relationships,
    Employee shouting matches, the
    Sensitive arabesques and curlycues
    Of lumbar regional sex
    (which almost hit the spot)

    And reaches out to provide the
    Sure and knowing grip of the Amazonian
    Goddess, guessing the tense history in
    Each shoulder knot, tracing solemn
    Bumps in a rotund torso -

    To reach his deeper archaeology of pain ....
    Factory redundancy, stolen kisses, evil
    Saturday night suppers, and a 2nd division
    1970's blizzard wrecked football match.

  • THE PERFUMER

    THE PERFUMER

    Distilling pearly vials of red
    Into a bucket, spitting daffs
    Out of his mouth, he tastes
    Meat and two veg in mashed petals

    Then turns up the bunsen
    To max, to hear fields sing;

    His aim is an apococalypse of needs
    In pippette, a captured feeling of
    Procreation, reducing a world
    Of thought, willpower, emotion
    To patented smell.

    RED PERFUME

    The rose is a whirlpool
    That opens layer by layer
    To give out fragrance even

    Though it's beauty will die
    And the fate of loveliness
    Is to be crucified

  • DEMOLITION JOB

    STANDING TALL

    March by, clench fists
    Reveal patriotism -
    Heavy duty thoughts

    Salute this chimney, busted
    Door - A ghost of a warehouse
    With leather-clad workers...

    The whole ensemble stood
    Proudly intact through
    Two World Wars.

    DEMOLITION v.2

    Raised slowly in 1904
    Given a date-stone, and a team
    Of skilled men and labourers
    It will all be over in a day.

    The machine is round the back
    Playing hide and seek, packing muscle
    It's elongated limb and pincer extracting
    Dirty wood from the second story -

    The front is still open for business,
    but it's being eaten up inside. Soon there
    Is a shower of wood and slate and brick;
    I'm in Normandy circa 1944 – I retreat

    From a great cloud of dust as
    Another piece of industry and commerce
    Falls away - and I think about
    Bradford Town, Time, Ecclesiastes.

  • COASTAL JUMBLE SALE

    MY LOVE AFFAIR WITH THE SEA

    I want to live still beside
    The manic ocean, unburden
    These fazed emotions and
    In that broil and tumble
    Join arms around the world.

  • A BRADFORD SUMMER IN A GONDOLA

    BEAUTIFUL CLICK

    Your wonderful camera
    Has a poet's eye
    You point it up
    It drinks the sky.

    LOST

    Every falling flake
    From a wildflower

    Each swirling snowstorm
    In which men are lost

    The twist of
    Scewered lover's hands
    Each thing reveals the cost.

    LAST NIGHT IN THE BAR

    My nerve is dying -
    Can't seem to hold
    This fractured glass

    My friends are flames...

    Blood is dyed
    Whiskey, there's a smoky
    Idealism on my breath

    And I love you sweet
    Like a chess player
    Needs an exciting game,
    Like a mouth needs a kiss.

    SAILING AWAY

    (A Tribute To Cole Porter)

    To define myself
    By a whole bunch of words
    How ridiculous, my tongue
    Wet and rigid as a tombstone.

    Oh I can talk and emote -
    I can smile and erode the
    Distinctions we smudged
    So easily in conversations

    But I can sail away in a
    Broad white cotton shirt
    And land on your doorstep -
    To drink your smile...

    ***

    Charm is my singular name
    My tongue covered in caviar
    Wit on my tongue -
    We dance in bathrobes
    Newly monogrammed stars

    So will you take me in -
    Take me to your room and
    Tie me to your breath -
    To keep me completely free?

  • CHILDHOOD IS A GREAT BUCKET OF FUN

    THE SECRET TRUNK

    Mum and dad
    Never explained creation -
    The fission at the centre

    So I learnt it from a tree trunk
    Hollow with criminals,
    Venus eyes, and fantasy

    A BODY WITH NO SCARS

    Childhood is a bucket of fun,
    A place to get real dirty
    Then wash if off white bodies
    In memories with no scars.

    SPLIT OPEN

    Were all beautiful
    In our innards

    In the yards
    Of place we know;
    Like the open countryside
    That calls to our heart
    With love and tranquility

    We ache inside
    When truly split open -
    In those moments
    Some people overflow

  • CORRESPONDING TO DARKNESS

    POEM CHAPEL

    Cliche as it sounds and
    Contrary to expectation,
    This poem is a chapel
    Where criminals may beat
    On the door - seeking sanctuary

    WRITING IN THE DARK

    Writing to friends
    In the dark hoping
    The slopes of my letters
    Join up good and that when
    I wake up it's not

    Just some comedy loop the loop.
    I don't know any of you -
    Is that why were close?

    Yes don't know you folks...

    Yet I believe a stranger
    Will never kill,
    Hurt, or cancel out
    These bright hopes.

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