Monday, 16 September 2013

kind of like

the lake  
kind of like 
a classic turner
kind of like
a modern palmer
the lake
kind of
kind of like 
talking to her on the phone
kind of like
talking to her on the phone
kind of like
 a modern palmer
kind of almost
feeling calmer
after she called
kind of like
talking to ten people at once
kind of like
waiting for ten thousand months
kind of like that same ice lolly
kind of like
that worn sad looking brolly
kind of like
those big chalk blue skies
duck song
greener than green
weeping willow
autumnal cold
clouds in the water
ripples, that become shorter
than the clouds in the water
kind of like 
the hindi songs
in the chinese and polski
golden empire
halal of course
/no remorse/
kind of like
the z man telling her to
pull the plug
kind of like the r man 
telling her that he has dug
himself into a whole
kind of like the b man 
telling her to leave it out
kind of like the c man
telling her to not talk to witch doctors
kind of like
that time I forgot to lock the door
that time I forgot to settle the score
kind of like the k man
telling me no worries, 
some other time
(no, the gold buddha won't wait)
but never mind
kind of like
 the answer he never gave
kind of like
 the writing on the wall 
kind of like 
forgetting to stand tall
kind of like
the lake
that classic palmer
behind this steel armour
kind of like
waiting waiting waiting
kind of like
hating hating hating
what comes before and after
there's no time to barter
 the art of
kind of like
the smell of sticky toffee pudding
in the streets
like them organic pleats
all ironed out 
and the fluffy acorns on a pine
coloured a gruesome lime
kind of like that time
before the lake
the hail, that came after the sun
kind of like that time
I had almost begun
-to understand-
kind of like, kind of like, kind of like

Sunday, 15 September 2013

otherworldly ernest and the cat man

i saw ernest
         he             /was/
wearing a top hat &
shaking potions 
in tooting market
                   he hardly fit
in, a long time 
                                  he said,                 he said
I barely recognised
you, in that disguise
(I wasn't wearing one)
but the music was there
latin american
no comparison
to the other african
doctor of healing
                               some kind of                     (non)-sense
like oh baby, baby its a wild world
I'll always remember you like a child, girl
                        the cat man, maybe he can....
.... explain it; the smash hit
the broken bit
-of a melody- 
for he made an appearance
in tooting town
this time, he was without crown
                               of course he was      bound
to be so happy

Friday, 13 September 2013

Mr Bean

mr bean on the train
I had to restrain 
from looking
brown cords
funky bunny tie
floppy hair
mannerisms that defy
social convention
I forgot to mention
those mash up brown clogs
them big feet too
wish I had the guts 
to talk to you
mr bean, i know 
i just know
you had something
worthwhile to say
 no matter
maybe we'll cross paths
some other day
-mr bean/ I get you-

tangible glasses

smoke screen
i must clean
ma glasses
but wait
I don't wear any
how come
I lost so many 
in the past,
yeah slowly
I gave up on glass
smoke screen
I must clean
I must wipe
away the condensation
I must
cease to make conversation
with the voices
in the world
(heard and unheard)

Saturday, 7 September 2013

graduation no-show

nah I never went to my graduation
-a year passed-
and I sort of lacked the imagination
to be able to see it
actually see it
for I very nearly didn't 
barely made it through
yeah, screwed over
maybe I deserved it
shrugged it off either way, 
using that same wry wit
yeah nah I didn't go to my graduation
I had yet to reach maturation
I'd yet to give up the separation
kind of just left, yeah I left, 
via the fire exit, age sixteen
I headed to the park and set my un-pristine
uniform on fire
man, sometimes I tire
of living in re-runs of the past
but I completed the task 
I burned it, yeah I burned it
and I shouted then
'free at last, free at last 
thank god almighty we're free at last'
but nah, the freedom it didn't last
yeah nah, the freedom didn't last
-graduation, no-show-
yeah, I didn't go
yeah, I still don't know
much about that


going back to my pine
to spend early mornings 
with the Divine
going back to my pine
to read dusty scriptures
and to find
-true meaning-

this time
I'll make meaning last
this time,
I won't leave
until I complete my task
for there are many questions
I would still like to ask

I would like to bask 
under my pine
I'd like to reclaim what is mine

beneath the early sunrise sky
-for it's too hard there, to deny-
(the real)

in the midst of the coming sublime
I would like to connect to the Divine
-once more-

pink sky / a minaret so high

I was sitting in the mosque 
feeling rather lost
thinking about the pink sky 
against a single rose, it cost
a thousand million billion
drops of water
a thousand million billion
particles of pollen
I was feeling rather solemn
in the rose garden; wandering
against the iridescent sunset sky 
then a single fly
came tumbling 
and landed on my ripped shoe
 that single fly, it knew
and so he found 
his tiny fly feet and flew
oh humble little fly
who can deny
the existence of the Originator
the Creator
the First, the Last
the One
the sum; of Reality

old man and his old train

Santiago de Compostela
the long road, Spain
it was there
an old man and his old train 
it was there
the stone and metal cradled
the dying,
the beat-up train carried
so many crying
human people
an old man and his old train
was he to blame
for the death
of those many human people
for getting
tangled in the metal lines
spines, old train driver
tangled up in an old spider
web of lines, threads and spats
somehow getting off track 
for speeding old eyes 
to get it back
the end of age/ the end of life/ 
to end in this way 
more than tragic
the story of an old man and his old train
all those lives
that will never be the same again
and they ask still, was his age to blame
could he see the same 
as them young Spanish train-men,
would they be alive then
had one taken it,
and that old man sorrow
Van Gogh painted on his face
-solemn disgrace-
old man and his old man train
-what now, to say?-

just another stranger

we all have that one friend
who's now just another stranger
I have a hundred thousand of those
at the end of the day I couldn't blame the
distance, rather I had to blame my inconsistence
and a string of words that went unspoken
of course I was so broken 
but I shouldn't have cut myself off
wholly, when I know 
that you might have needed me
-I know you did-
so now I'm thinking 
before I go away again
I'll need to make amends
a hundred thousand amends
or maybe I can just send 
a whole stack of postcards
from the other side of the world
-on the other side of the world-
that's where we'll meet, you and I
I bought another card and signed it
I sort of hoped that you wouldn't find it
I sort of hoped 
you would change your mind a bit
-and stay-


i had some kind of epiphany
when I was in your car
i remembered everything you said to me
you were right man
i lure people in and shut them out
I'm too protective of myself
and so often I go without
I say a lot
while revealing very little
I pride myself on being non-committal
and now here I am
caught in the middle
-every middle-
and so I scribble
words upon words upon words
all the while imparting- /nothing/

silver beard /moonlight

I remember the night 
your silver beard 
glinted in the moonlight
the evergreen
against a beam 
of pink and grey 
and the sky opened
it's mouth to say
the open expanse 
the candle flickered
and father you spoke 
of the need to look within
to understand a world 
to be meditative 
to be contemplative 
whether or not you made it
who knows


this time last year
I was in midhurst
dallying by a castle, 
without a fear
let me just spare
a moments thought
for this time last year
I thought I would get it
and live by the coast
I thought it would be most
exciting and wonderful
but it never happened
this time last year
I had just one care
to be a dharma bum
yet look how far I've come
yet, I'm still here
listening to babylon
still longing to be far gone
from here and now
everyone and everything
time to bow
nature/and God
you're all I need

Friday, 6 September 2013

dialling code

listen, truly 
I didn't recognise the dialling code
I thought it might be da feds and so
I didn't pick up, I didn't call back
listen this ain't fiction
-this be pure fact-
I weren't da computer hacker, 
I weren't da phone jacker 
I weren't da wikileaks tracker
but you know what I don't get is
that you see it for me
dis whole whacked out future, 
-ain't no one share our sense of humour-
yeah no sooner,
would we cross it all out
listen where was I
oh yeah, dis whole wacked out future
more whacked out den da present
da present, da present, da present
as obscure as the faint crescent
of the moon, the faraway moon
I think I came away too soon
to really see it

Wednesday, 4 September 2013

greta garbo in colour

little kids
talking about 
being film stars
she stays quiet
cos well
she's already there 
bright red lipstick 
a flower in her hair
but she never did care
-movie stardom-
so pardon
for their silly silly dreams

Tuesday, 3 September 2013

secret river steps

sitting on those 
secret steps again
in the gold evening light
low tide
I watch the seagulls ride
the blue river waves
I listen to the busker sing
that old song
by the flaming lips
do you realise
Do You Realize - we're floating in space -
Do You Realize - that happiness makes you cry
Do You Realize - that everyone you know someday will die
And instead of saying all of your goodbyes - let them know
You realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun don'-go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round
so I sit and listen to the muffled lyrics
from afar I barely heard them
but then I looked them up and it was exactly
what I heard in my mind
the tingling feet
a million bugs
the words ringing in my ears
memories plaguing my mind
and St Pauls
looking at me, in sorrow
wondering why I'm always here
he watches, as I cross the silver bridge
and sometimes I swear
he talks to me;
a speck of sand
in the vast desert of time
we were here together 
you and you and you and you and I
you and sy

Monday, 2 September 2013


ma favourite Brazilian
you're one in a million
I don't know where
you came from
but it was truly magnificent
-that beautiful day-
we ate chocolate cake
on Box Hill
the sheer thrill of it,
of being on the road again
and talking deeply madly truly
about things, deep, mad and true
I only wish Marta were here too
-epiphany after epiphany-
I wonder why strangers from the past
keep getting in touch with me
out of the blue
I never even knew
they still existed
-the joy of being disconnected-
so it was all new
everything you said
everything you told me
all those old people 
yes we found ourselves there
bird watching
botching words
A-line, and your green wagon
pink haired lady who asked if I was a dealer
cos she found, my bruk up mobile
I tried to lose it
so many times, so many times 
they find 
me (and I'm so glad)
gosh and that restaurant
that too kind waiter 
my head was throbbing
so many hours later
as I tried to take it all in
every crazy bloody thing 
in the world
bird watching by the lagoons
all too soon
and it brings it all back 
there, then, him
-and everything-
in between, life is so strange
in my own skin
skin that's not mine, I don't know
where I am (ever-)

Sunday, 1 September 2013

live here

/wish I could get out of my head/
and live in the world instead

strange days/ always

strange days
forever unfazed
forever in a a daze
through and through
a pair of soaked shoes
aching bones
fog over the lake
ever alone
ever in another zone
hood over head
waiting for the unknown
to make its appearance
the violent geese
they say
I'm slightly disturbed
but I say
la ilaha illallah
I just look  
to that one dying star
that one fisherman
that one pitched up tent
the sun that never spent
a single moment with him
or me, dawn
a strange time 
in the mi(d)st of the sublime
and when the other morning begins
the real one
it's like it never even existed
the secret one
and in the evenings
with the river
with the green
sharing skittles
and a whole stream
of unvoiced thoughts
I understand, then
/I understand/

pigeon man

pigeon man
a street cleaner from the 1940's
perched on the palm of his hand
grey bird; fly away
pigeon man
with wrinkles on his face
pigeon man
he looked so entirely displaced
in this time
by the steps of the cathedral
a third dimension
-not quite here-

Isle of Grain

the cooling castle
the isle of grain
dear, please refrain
from picture-taking
for here the MOD is making
-strange things happen-