ONE FLESH v2

I look at the Internet
For the first time
My gentle eyes
Are shattered
My senses aroused

I have clicked
Into a strange Eden
View intimacy from
Numerous angles.
Is this real? I watch
Like a covert god

Every type of human shape
Is viewed, listed and
At my control.
A library of need

The girls wear false names –
It is done so quickly,
Joining souls together is
So easy and appealing
These bodies come and go
Like ghosts - How many care?

***

The wise said
In a previous age,
We should know that
Our bodies are holy temples

How we use them
Is our own choice –
There are consequences...

Many are used
For pure entertainment
For our eyes only
A sensational
Cash cow -

Nothing is symbolic
Or meaningful.
In this country
Churches and temples are now
Carpet warehouses
Bingo halls or derelict shells
We are just the same.

***

I heard once,
The ancient peoples had
Simple rituals for the great
Turning points
In our lives

Where are the markers today?
There should be guidance,
Knowledge of our hearts

Our great personal gift of sexual power
Is symbolic and not just fleshy
Its built on the gateway
Of word and wand.

A ritual gives us meaning
Circling around each other
Our elders measured, waited awhile
For the best moment
(Yes, sometimes repressed)
And built Love to strong levels.

Their fire for the Other
Was the mystery of the Other
And was made to seem everything

***

Now men crouch before
A cull of images
They watch the beautiful
And the crude

Eyes are a conflagration
The beautiful forms glow
Innocence is naked

We can't join together very long
Flesh is unreachable
Unless you love - In its deepest sense
It will be switched off

It is made of film

It is you and I -
There can be only one flesh

ONE FLESH v1

I look at the Internet
For the first time
My gentle eyes watch
My windows of the soul
Are shattered

I have clicked
Into a strange Eden
Intimacy known from
All angles. I watch like a god
I daren't breathe.

Every type of human shape
Is listed and at my control, a library
Of basic needs glows in technicolour

Lust wears false names - it is done quickly
With efficiency
Joining together is so easy

Because nothing is holy

***

The wise have said
We should know that
Our bodies are holy temples

Our temples are used
For pure entertainment, without mercy -
In this country in the North
Our churches are now carpet warehouses
Bingo halls
Or just derelict shells

We once had
Great rituals for
The turning points

In our lives
There should be guidance
Our power
Our great personal gift of sexual power
Is built on a gateway of word and wand.

Circling around each other
In our dances
We measure, wait
(Yes, sometimes repressed)
And take it to new levels.

The fire is only lit
If you really mean it

***

Now men crouch before images
Culled from the beautiful
Around the world
And eyes are a conflagration
And the beautiful forms glow
And Innocence goes out

We can't join together for very long

This flesh is unreachable
Unless you love. In its deepest sense
It will be switched off

It is made of film

It can never be made with you

CHAIN v.2

I eat purely
For enjoyment
For contentment

My teeth meet – they
Destroy a personality
A character

***

I consume
On the plate
Every organ
A particular heaven
With its peculiar flavour

***

I enjoy grasses
But equally enjoy flesh

***

I try to be
Careful what
I pack
Into my mouth

This chain of living is heavy
With a thousand souls
Full of light.

OUR HOLIDAY

Im ensconced in bunk bed
And board at Boggle Hole,
Reading Creation's print,
I judge my soul.

The sea eats the shoreline
The sky darkens like ink
While a poet thinks about
Our previous day's walk

We have been to Armathwaite,
Cycled beyond a Rennaissance Peel
Watched the Carlisle express train
Seen a Buzzard over a field

I've looked in vain
For stepping stones and ford
Salivated at menus
I could barely afford

And after imbibing the majestic
Bulk of Ingleborough peak
At Chapel-in-the-dale
I became so peaceful
I couldn't speak

At 'Joggle pot-hole' our eyes drank
From the darknes of that well
And inside White Scar Cavern
We descended down to Hell

And tommorrow it will be
Scarborough Castle approached
Along the coast, and we'll invade
Arcades, amusements, and goggle
At the boats

Until fortified with sea and sand
And clutching rock and fudge
We'll leave this Northern playground
With dirty postcard, and a tearful nudge.

CHAIN

I eat purely
For enjoyment;
Contentment

My teeth destroy
A personality
With its character

I consume
And every organ
Is a heaven
With its own wild flavour

I enjoy grasses
I equally enjoy the flesh

I try to be
Careful what
I take inside -

This chain of living
Is either heavy
Or full of light.

THE POWER

At night - silence
You gave me that

A sure feeling -
Turning slowly
Like a pefect key
In an oiled lock

Your dark glove
Pressed against my knee
And then my back -
I didn't look

Feeling overcame
Your aggression

I felt the wind
Talking loudly
About us beyond the door

Voices witnessing
The dungeon of
Our friendship;

Your feet pressing into white neck
Hands stroking throat
Your words
An opportune ghost
Saying that you loved me

IN THE DRINKS TENT

I've got lettuce in my cola
And the drink tents underwater
Im at the marriage of a biker
To the vicar's only daughter

And the Guiness and the Britvic
Mixing in the Doulton
Vase is a really tall order

Oh the cleric is defrocking
Urinating in the border of
Those zig zag azealia and
I've got lettuce in my cola

The alcohol is getting older
And Im leaning on the Pole
Whose supportive Mother
Is crying in my corner

THE DISCIPLINE OF SILENCE

Speech
Is holy

Colour
Is holy

Man is
Fundamentally
A maker...

***

To recap...

***

George sang loud
To his jailer
At Carlisle Gaol
Beating time
On his leather
Skin

Solomon Eccles
Flexed his muscles -
Broke his musical
Instruments
In his spiritual pain.

Quakers
Grouped under plain
Raiment, black and white
Like no earthly creature
Delaying their flowering
In the Kingdom

***

I cry

This lack of colour, this silence
Was enforced by Discipline

For hundreds of years
No frivolous expression
Planned entertainment,
Except the Inner Light
Revealed in plain speech.

***

peg hat peg hat peg
Sit down

Yet anarchic
This unplanned love,
Its daily template printed
Like unruly vine-leaves

I discover
My own single mud path
Walking through Winter, Summer,
Autumn, step after step, scenes
Overflow

Tumbling through gates
Of sensuality, fragrance, death
Is my light on loan.
Is it Quakerly to hunt
For expression to match this?

My tongue worships,
It tries pronouncing wisdom,
But slips weighing mortal words
Ever formulating the precise colour
Of Love

***

I am nearly all lumpen
Clay malleable biology -
My temple juggles news.
I constantly need to sweep out
Ads, jingles, discussions, politics...

If I relied on sunday peace
I would go insane!

My human dark
River sewerage needs another outlet
The uncontaminated
Place of peace

I have lots to say, need
To let go of the seams of
My rag-bag of impressions

***

Alone with my soul
I privately raise
A tall towers of words,
Utilising the original power
Of my pride,
Miniature temples
Of polished Poetry

So that I can lean over
Like a god
Assess their worth and
Knock each one over.

THE WELL

I want to join
But you will not have me
I want to create life
You want to make love

I stand in the light
And let the creature reside
You hide in the night
Naked and preen

I want to join you
But you will not have me
My religion is a well I
Polluted at the mouth

ART OF LOVE

I'll paint you
With the love I hold

As Time grows dry
And Life grows old

I'll paint you with
The love I hold

SMALL CRACK

This is the wise smile
A war-machine always oiled,
Always ready for love

This is not a vagina topped
By a red touchpaper of hair
Beauties ornament applied
To rude animal parts

But an evolution
Into something more
Deadly, remote, and
As yet, completely unborn

LARGER CRACK

You smile lazy
Your clit-eye
Red lidded -
Shy and asleep

At the end of your room
We stare secretly
From our knot-hole
(You sometimes rub
When you awake)

On cold Winter nights
You start a fire
In our communal grate
Which only a maid
Of honour can quench

THE JURASSIC CRACK

Below those monster hips
The big lips part
So slow - she starts up
An ancient conversation
Of push and pull of
Need and want - stirring
Deep - like a prehistoric sea

(Indeed, she always talks
With her mouth full)

And not too fussy as
To what she puts in -
Omniviorous - Eats everything alive.

FULFILMENT

This is how gods do it;
Lightning entering the
Full length of the bole
(spurting fire) and a split
Second llumination
From the tap root to twig -
Nature getting off on it...

Or rather, another example -
A glassy sea wave building up
Architecturally from its single
Root, then slamming through
A wee granite blow-hole
Creating exotic jagged flowers
On secret walls and stone cervix

THE AFTERMATH

Forests
Send up flimsy sheets
Of mists after a night
Of root fornication

Beaches stroke their sands
To sleep in dunes while
Thr river continues
To play with itself

MY NATIVE BODY v2

My armour is redder
Blood fiercer, more true.
Radar more coagulated
Than the enemy

I am a flag
A tattered flag
My design bruised
My stars & stripes are
Whippings, anti-tank holes

I stand
Rooted in excrement
Feelings in my surroundings
Excitement printed on my brow

I feel every growing plant,
Yearn for the native sun
To rise to its Panther zenith.
Warm sensation touches these nerves
Of my glorious white trainers -

My leather skin blends
Unidentified in the flora
(I am native
I am almost invisible)

The trees bend over
Cool me - they line up to
Give milk to this mother's shade

***

Attentive birds screech, hear
A hummed human song
Of the story of the dam we built
With the UN, this is the
Magic called Progress
As our ten strong village goes
Over the new hill to the bower hill

And they study us
And send our curious Gnat-insect
Dances abroad, to improve their crops,
Sent through metal to the
Ancient village of America

A place where people fly sideways
And the Bush warriors, armed,
Mean big business, holding
A Nation of corn-wives

MY NATIVE BODY

My armour is redder
Blood fierecer, more true.
Radar more coagulated
Than the enemy

I am a flag
A tattered flag
My design bruised
My stars & stripes are
Whippings, anti-tank holes

I stand
Rooted in excrement
Feeling my surroundings
Excitement printed on my brow

I feel every growing plant,
Yearn for the native sun
To rise to its Panther zenith.
Warm sensation touches these nerves
In my glorious white trainers -

My leather skin blends
Unidentified in the flora
(I am native
I am almost invisible)

The trees bend over
Cool me - they line up to
Give milk to this mother's shade

***

Attentive birds screech
Hear a hummed human song
Of the story of the dam we built
With the UN, this is
Progress
As our ten strong village goes
Over the new hill to the bower hill

And they study us
And send our curious Gnat-insect
Dances abroad, to improve their crops,
Transmitted through steel to the
Ancient village of America

A place where people fly sideways
And the Bush warriors, armed,
Mean big business, holding onto
A Nation of corn-wives

MY BODY YOUR BODY

My armour is redder
Blood fierecer, more true.
Radar more coagulated
Than the enemy

I am a flag
A tattered flag
My design bruised
My stars & stripes are
Whippings, anti-tank holes

I stand
Rooted in excrement
Feeling my surroundings
Excitement printed on my brow

I feel every growing native plant,
Yearn for the native sun
Rising to its Panther zenith.
Warm sensation touches the nerve endings
In these glorious white soles -
This is the Panther way...

My leather skin blends
Unidentified in the flora
(I am native
I am almost invisible)

The trees bend over
Cool me - they line up to
Give our mothers shade

Attentive birds screech
Hear a hummed human song
The story of the dam we built
With the UN, this
Progress
Along with our ten strong village
Next to the hall and bower hill

And we send curious
Dances abroad, transmitted
Through steel to the village
America, where everyone flies
And the Bush warriors, armed,
Hold a nation of wives

PERFECT

I love the scribbled melody
On this ceramic blue sky

Everything colourful here -
Except Council towerblocks
(Which remember the Cold War)

The municipal fountain
Juggles it's jets of spray

Girls set sail from Primark
In trendy cotton pants
Men show off their muscles
And Beckham tattoos

And I lazily loop
The loop, writing words
On this park-bench, barely
Controlling this pen

THE BLOGGER

If I didn't have this portal
Where would all these strangers
and friends discharge their sharp
Thoughts - hovering then sending
Words halfway across the globe
(Or at least from another English County)

Should I trust a matrix of pseudonymns
And nom-de-plumes? They could be residing
In Timbuktoo for all I know, sipping
From cocktails, swinging
In a luxurious hammock

Is it naieve to trust strangers?
Merely going off what Im told, assuming
This confessional encourages truth.

Anyway its something to do -

There's something thrilling
And chillingly Medieval
In leaving this portal ajar,
Staring at my desk
Seeing the glowing light,
Chatting to demons and friends
Hoping to receive word from afar.

DID HOMER'S LONGED FOR
IMMORTALITY MEAN THIS?

Living in the electronic world
Where the literary is colourful,
Animated, and never lost -
Translated into every tongue
Viewed by Profs of linguistics;

Where Romeo and Juliet
And Shakespeare's 'Canon'
Is burned then fortified on
A million hard discs
Transferable in a blink of the eye

And I stop there -

Having sped along
The M1 playing Metallica's
Hits, I look at the sunset

And realise
I can't download its peace;
I'm too busy waiting for the next
Soap - death - gunshot.

DISH OF THE DAY

My face is cold -
Lack lustre, shy
Like a bowl of
Week old Tagliatelli

I should warm it up
Give it shape and colour
Sprinkle on a cheesy smile

ETHEROW COUNTRY PARK

The path herds to the edge
The river is creative
Full of silt, exposes
Small humpbacked rocks
Arranged symmetrically on a
Perfect slate-bed for billiards
(But no corner holes)

Each tree holds its quota
Of species eating each other

The forest on the other bank
Hides from tourists;
Its dying in deep shock
Most of the needles fallen

While hundreds of feet
People in a rage gorge
In a restaurant serving
Every cultivated meat
Leaf, shoot, from
Around the world in
Its three star meals

HOW TO?

How to speak for the eroded mountain
How to spaek for the closing
Russian train door?

The race is run - who will win?

You speak for rivers underground
And a contingent of rusted tears

SONG OF SLAVES

Working for the populace
Who never make mistakes
Never early, Never late

The Pyramids must rise
The market must thrive
To glorify the State

We are supportive members
In a concrete hive, wearing
Cotton shirt and tie, while
Other workers wear leather
(writhing for our pleasure)

Were chained to an invisible wall.
I don't know the width or height.
I dig up roads at night - a great honour
To wear the flourescent woolen jacket
(Sometimes we forget the weather)

My friends run with spies
My neighbours love the police

I'm part of the great silent machine
That turns, nests, builds; sometimes
We glimpse our future - and it is great.
They need muscle, and sometimes brains.
We proudly list our personal details
And give our resources to serve the elite.

TO BJORK

You started with
Simple wind whistle

Your dark eye a tiny
Geyser of love but hushed
Oh so quiet

Then you morphed perpendicular and shy
Playing in the slipstream of
Drum and bass -
A steam-train lap-dancing scenario cum

Bouncy treble larynx attack
Took you to London
Where you experimented awhile
Jumped, flitted those shores,
To find your unexpected
Home (blip) home in
Electronic body and soul

***

Your aural highlights polish
Haunting rhythms, carcasses of tin.
I spin the disc, spot animals
In the human beat-box.
Relaxed, the knob reveals
Drops of sound, a sickening extreme
Of mountain witch air
Where your apotheosis begins;

Threads weave a basket
Of gossamer sound -
Tentacles extruded from larynx
Creates a white storm
A fabulous Fimbulvinter on MTV.

THE HISTORY OF LOST SOULS v5

Wearing overcoats
As if we owned them
Shuffling in pairs, losing
Wrap-around glasses - losing
The glow of our golden skin

Though we all shine from within,
Were obsessed with the warp
And weft of our beauty.

Relax, look up
Unplug your white I-Pod,
Put on designer rainment
Stretch, smear, test
Your Original Sin.

THE HISTORY OF LOST SOULS v4

Wearing overcoats
As if we owned them
Shuffling in pairs,
Striking poses in the rain

Take off your Raybanns,lose
The glow of your golden skin

Though we all shine from within,
Were obsessed with the warp
And weft of our intricate skin.

Relax, look up
Take off your white fashionable
I-Pod, put away rainment,
Let the sunshine touch your Sin.

SCIENTIFIC FACT?

Being kind
Its only the placebo effect
And lucky genes

THE HISTORY OF LOST SOULS v3

Wearing overcoats
As if we owned them
Shuffling in pairs,
Striking poses in the rain

Take off your Raybanns
Put away your layers, lose
The glow of your golden skin

Though we all shine from within,
Were obsessed with the warp
And weft of our Sin.

Relax;
Take off your white fashionable
I-Pod, put away rainment,
Let the sunshine touch your skin.

THE HISTORY OF LOST SOULS

Wearing overcoats
As if we owned them
Shuffling in pairs,
Striking poses in the rain

Take off your glasses
Put away rainment and gloom
Let warm shadows wrap your skin

Though we all shine from within,
Were obsessed with the warp
And weft of our mistakes, of Sin.

Relax;
Take off your dark fashionable glasses
Put away rainment, become open.
Let sun wrap your skin.

ONCE UPON A TIME...

Sun bursts
Into a latitude flower
Its blue heart quivers

Muscle
Defibralates on
The operating table
Your dream-mind yearns
For family

Moon water
Is stagnant
In a Yew graveyard

A nuclear land of
Barren sustenance,
Flexes and shatters
Your eyes full of rainbow tears

The wound is pulled
And sewn up -
You come to reality

As stars cry their
Battle cries - distant
In an elemental family

PEEK-A-BOO!

Exercise
Your metal mind
Oil its parts
With puzzles

Remain supple
Supported on
Energies you can't see

THE MIST

Obscure mystical
Hard-lipped woman
With a structure
Organised tight as mist

No-one knows
The secret
Of your cherry lips

No-one sees
The passageways below

THE SPINNER

This belly button
My hidden panic button
Source of life
And death

Once pressed by mother
(Who art close to in heaven)
It throbs gently, aching
Reminding of home

Too soon, quite
Unprepared, I am tied to
A gossamer string;

I will remember origins
And spool back the terror
To that field of dreams