Conchord Dawn

She wakes up
And it's over

An Old One

I think I lost myself
In a pocket of the past
Or in my other pants.

To Smile and to Cry

Happiness

The smile that tugs
At the tired corners
Of your night time face

The warmth inside your ribs
Like a hot water bottle
Next to your heart.

The silent music that sends
Your limbs to trembling dance
And sitting still is holding
An arm full of ginnie pigs.


Sadness

The gravity that tugs
A rinsing waterfall
From hiding eyes.

The chill inside your soul
That wraps your limbs like a cradle
Around your aching heart.

The silent voice that echoes
Down dimly lit corridors
The tear that lets the pain
Wash slowly away.

A Gentle Plea

Hello there anyone who may/may not read my blog.

Hi.

How are ya?


Anyhoo onto business.

(I know I know, you are thinking "This poem is RUBBISH!" Well. It's not a poem. So yeh.)

Umm.

Yeh.

What I mean to say, is if you happen to peruse my back catalogue - anything before say April-May of this Year the 2000 of 8.

And you find something that you really like, or something that you think has lots of potential.

Please lemme know which ones.

Cause I'm looking to assemble a bit of a book for print (I know, Jack and the Beanstalk but there you have it), so I'm trying to pick out the goodies. Only I don't really know half the time.

So you'd be doing me a huge favour.

Any ones you really like.

Just like email me. Or post a comment to tell me which ones or sommink

I would be most gratefull.

Have a nice day.

An Emotional Response to "Karma Police"

Tie your thoughts polite together
And pile them up in storm clouds
I know you like to let it rain now and then

The government took all your toys
And threw them in a iron box
You can't be trusted to play it safe
Hold hands with the other children
And forget about your loss.

They have civil servants to feel your pain,
now and again
Post the envelope, have your say
Pick a tyrant on the day
Tongue tied and dignified,
Sign your rights away.

By all means carry signs in to heaven
Paint your black words
Against the bleached white of their success
Shaking fists and raising lungs
Rain on their parade
You've got a straw man's chance in hell
They wish you all the best.

Princess

Cinderella
How's your fella
Does he treat you well? Are
You loving your life
As the pumpkin princess,
In a fleeting ball dress
And a fleeing pale mess.
I hope it's working out
And he sees what you're about.
Not just some discarded glass shoes
Orphaned on the steps.

I don't build on sticks
Or stack wooden bones high to the sky
I was once caught afire
But now I'm running dry.
I stack up well
When the numbers are being crunched.

Rude things your eyes never said
You store them up inside your head
And feed, all butter and bread
Cut the roll, cut them down
No one listens, no one wants you dead.

Eventime Musings on a Camp Evening

Come sister let us ride These vagrant twilight mists
Where light springs unbidden from the glee of a hanging moon
Flitting like winter quickened sparrows
From bastion to bastion, between overhanging sky.
Cell coverage stretches perilously thin,
Bleeding out to the white signal of nature.
Were you and I to share one single clouded breath
Were us two to be linked as warm air flees to freezing death
What strange encumberance these feeble phones,
Collections of plastic, gold, and whirring life, compared
To the moonlit splendour of faces real;
Stealing no more moments as they arc into damp unknown
Perhaps to be gathered in like lost sheep
When the sun drives reality back beneath our eyelids.

Reach out

No arm so long
No dark so deep
No heart so black
No face so deformed

That He doesn't want to hold you tight
And never let you go

Attitude, black carrots
Sandwiched in a bleak weekend
The willow falls or bends
When winter winds whistle through
Attitude, hell's angels
Whistling a different tune
Devils advocates
Noone says anything of any use.

Messenging

Potential
One word, three easy syllables
A world of weighted, dragging pulls
Sitting on my shoulder and shaking its head

Consequences
The harsh grip of a cheese grater
Cutting healing wounds ever raw
As I clutch the paltry glittering prize.

Cages of the imperfect
Potential hanging ominously above
Consequences hemming in on all sides
So much room to stand,
and none to rest.

Final Thoughts From an AGM


You want to mess with me?
I can take you down a notch
Spill the beans I’ll spill your blood
Tooth for tooth, splotch for splotch
Scream your death threats little man
Come and catch me if you can
Uzis strapped to both my hands

Gun you down boy
Gun you down

I’ll flipping waste the lot of you
Fat dumb stupid dumb fat dumb
Stupid. If you listened when you glistened
Spittle precipitating on your quivering chins
I’ll lay you down boy
I’ll smoke you bad
Sooner or later the gun always wins.

I can feel thick winter chill
Oozing up through floorboards
Are we locked in a timewarp
With cold-and-broken clocks?
Grim resplendent lush
Sends a shiver up my spine
Staring at the pulpit’s sad face
I am forced to the back of the room
Where I can lord over everyone
In relative safety.

Who is sleep?

Look
Batteries tick down.
That’s how life works
One moment a clown
The next a drunken jerk.
I can see you glazing over
A pot in life’s oven
A man with salt in his eye
And it tears me up.

If my thoughts make sense to me
I sense the taste of victory
Haste! Haste!

Tear the heavens in two
And spit at the sun
Scream into the sky
And you.

I can’t see you crossing x and y

Undercry slaspstick dog

And smoke us all away

Sibilance in a trance

Hours wearing on

Sheep dog’s on the lawn

Reach out to the horison
And put the sun back
To rest.

You will brn up
In just a moment
Fingers crossed
Hands outstretched.

A Majority

Crumple bits of dead paper

Your ticks are arcane scrawlings

Abraided by the sands of time

Your crosses fireflies trying

To outshine the sun

A meeting, a raising of voice

But a fleeting kiss of time

An unkempt whisper

A point of order

Diffuse chaotic

Season words with sage and thyme

Yes dear sir you have the choice

Tick yes for no and no for pass

We’ll swap directions if you ask

Finger to your pocket BANG

Rubber gloved, plastic loved

You shatter at the birthing pangs

Our doors are always open

Come in, go out

Just leave the light on

For those who care.

Under the Tentative Title of AGM

Shallow words cut swathes

Cross futures unfurrowed

No minds smile at tomorrow’s dawn

I wallow in the mire of stubborn thought

Track through treacle

Frozen eagle

Chosen people

My mind slowly jumbles

Rugged ragged clothes

Raging through the drier

Steam the sin, thought and intelligence

Flog your feeble bitter body

Leave humility one step higher

Way too late.
Simply put.
Cranky tomorrow.
Appologies in advance.

Slick
The slap of mud on a clean suit
Rain sliding off a tin roof
You dodging a bullet.

I can feel seconds ticking by
Passed from a castle in the sky
Piling up minute by minute
Taste sweet freedom, you're stuck in it

He hated the sound of indrawn breath
Despised air rattling through fleshy tubes
He was only ever at his best
When the heat was on
When the cards were down
With oxygen in short supply.

Trace the pattern
Line by line
You tool! You moron!
Wrong all this time

Paint a portrait of honesty
But leave me out
I can't fake the smile
I don't get what it's about

Every star shines brighest
In the middle of the darkness

I string these thoughts
Yo tell the time
Go sell yourself something useless
Line by line
Eat it up till you are full
Just leave me what is mine.

(Let me fob you off with excuses
You tumble from the cloth, and the use is
Me standing there with the cutlery unmoved
The kiss of gravity departs unloved.)

The fourth of the month
Falls like every other day
Straight down the line
Only it chases me away
It's strange to hide from time

You wobbly innocent child
I could hold your hand
But sooner or later
You fall to walk.

Music

Me and my flatmates just got into a big argument over what constitutes good music.
I was vocally analysing the hip-hop and rap they were listening to.

Classic example - Dr Dre 

-lyrics show little creativity or poetry or rhythme. The 'song' is entirely about how everyone is wrong when they say he is no good at music.
-rhythme is super basic and entirely identical throughout.
-the backing music etc is also super basic and unvarying.
-the clip was trashy and boring. More or less entirely scantily clad women shaking butt cheeks.

I was of the oppinion that if he wanted to silence his critics he should go out and make an actual good song (about whatever) and say "There is my reply" rather than pulling out a load of basic, artless whining rubbish.



But then again I tend to have strong reservation about rap and hip-hop in general. Although some of the artists are very good with words, they generally fritter their talent away with the banal and base. Furthermore I like music to be musical. Reading poetry with a basic riff and beat in the background will never to me be quality music. Because where is the music?

Dinner Forgetly.

Don’t forget these last regrets
A widow’s black and final look back
You stack up straight like a Lego tower
All those colours bleeding, blending
Hold hands like the world is ending.

Samson on his rickety bridge
Pushing towers far apart
Strains his arms to push back time
I wonder if he wrote his wife
Shifts his feet when cracks arrive.

Onwards into the rear view mirror
Blow the headlights a farewell kiss
You topple like an ancient tree
All those thoughts went to your head
And your head went to the ground.

Tomorrow smells like the aftertaste of a burnt straw.

Those lush gaping caverns were a nostrel miner's paradise.

His hair was parted like the Red Sea, revealing lice like Pharoh's drowning chariots.

He applied the breaks as though he thought they were meant to be used on the car in front of him.

The movie was as gripping as the climactic finish of a particularly close potato race.

OR

The movie was as gripping and climactic as this other movie that I once saw that was also gripping and climactic. Only I saw the other one first so I didn't get the two confused.


The phrase "Rome wasn't built in a day" is in fact the earliest known reference to night-shift work.

Sort it Out

I try but straight lines
Seem to vear away
Concentration
Seems to tear away
Behind the brightness
All lights turned on me
A ship sailing with no rudder
Till everything is utter
Cacophony.

What was there to say? The man wore trousers larger than he was, by a conciderable margin! To be sure, the pantaloons themselves were exquizite pieces of craftsmanship. Balanced like a prize horse on a podium, glittering like a diamond wedged up a sun-facing nostrel, these contraptions of epic stitchery blew my mind from its calciated prison. I was dumbfounded. If I had a flabber, it would have been thoroughly ghasted.

What was there to say? Nice trousers I said.

Thanks, he said.

We went our seperate ways.


Meh.

Councel

Did you paint your smile on?
Porcelain child
Meek and mild
and empty
Shed a tear like brokenness
Or like hiding from the mess
No one frowns like you

Fear the gopher fear the gopher fear the gopher fear the gopher


I never saw such pretty music
Was it an angel played for me?
No angel ever sung so sweet
No person ever played so free
You are morning on the piano
A sunrise on my ears
You tingle down my spine and so
I can’t bring words to bear
Are my eyes now sweating?
Sorrows are for forgetting
When it’s you I hear

Open me up. These veins
They still bleed true
I'm not so lost that I can
No longer find You.
I see me In the mirror
So I turn away
Come rain come sunshine
Come Jesus and wash
Old me away.

Under Ground

She brings
Life to the end of the tunnel
A torch to hide from shadows
Feet to frollick in the rain
Softest musics to my tired brain.

Bell rings
In a house made of velvet and oak
All dressed up but now she is broke
Like my heart as I stare through the rain
Saddest musings in my tired brain.

Dirt sings
Hollow and dark like a tunnel
She's hiding in the shadows
And grass dancing in the rain
Softest musics, I visit her again.