Midnight Garden Song

driftin' onto the high plains of life
with my face beamnin'
how can i not have a cheeky grin
with a little bit o' twinkle
when me ticker throbs with da
solar evanescence
bringin' on visions of immortality
an' astounding climbs into the
hidden mountains of the mind
yeh mon, 'ow can i not be grinnin'?

driftin' onto the high plains of life
sun beautiful sun falls lower in the sky
an' leaves that are picked up by the wind
get thrust up into the empty space of air,
above the cars and above the people
with their conglomerate confusions
that have all but annexed the cherishing o' da soucxe
- the empty incredible.

jus' me then, a ghost eternal
talkin' to ghosts an'
walkin' through it all with,
if i have ta be honest,
not much to offer those who
really need help
at any given point in space an' time;
only this intoxication
pushin' me to write down any ole'
stream of words that come to me
like cherry pickin' in the midnight garden

Life Trails

bendin' down to pick up
a piece o' thought the
mornin' sun blazin'
over my left shoulder
sun light, star light
twinkles bright
food for my lungs
an' inner longings...

we all go, you know
we all go,
men women standing as one
tryin' to make sense
of the tracks we make
on this unknowable planet,
rockin' in the depths of space
miles away from anyone.

we drink on down our
mortality
whether we like it or not
whether we embrace
those fate wheels,
awaken to our karmic
puffa puffa,
or struggle like nine pins
waitin' for the last shot

in the end none of it matters
no, really not, when the body lies
straight as a plate
and the eyes are open
in paramount wonder of
the extinguishment

London Spirits

walkin' along the road
with a head full o' merry
so easy to see a sight
that simply takes my breath away
who thought of doing that
and where did they get the
skills to accomplish it from?
ever circling mysteries
o' speculation that burrow into
the ground till they hit the
foundations of structures that
lived an' breathed an' reached
to the sky so many years ago
it is difficult to appreciate
and fully understand the dawns
those people must have seen when
it was a fine day and the flags
were flyin' in the sweet air,
their expectations that for some
must have transfromed into expediations
and the mighty risks of sailing out
onto the great seas an' not returnin',
all those contemplations of navigation
must have been born an' grown here
at some place in time,
an' now, like an idiot drunk on
apples, I walk in their half-glimpse
shadows, tastin' their elevation.

Poem for the Moon Power of London

moon shines
blue light over
shadowed buildings,
turnin' the corner
an' I see the river.
winkin' in the moonlight -
the past,
like a 1000 yrs in the cup o' my hand,
how can it not be funny?
how can it not make me think of stars
and the impossible to trace tracks
I've taken to have arrived where I am?

palms clasped together
in awe of the silent majesty,
the sacred indistinguishable,
all wrapped in supersonic light
time rolls on, we all roll on,
an' me with an 'ead full o' da gunk
of an 'opeless imaginary,
life don't get much better
if ya really wanna know.

that unfathomable incredible
turnin' on the tender spot
of earth crust that is London -
all praises to the ghosts eternal
who made this city.

Love the London Light of Late November

love the London dark light in late November,
I go creepin' round the ancient Roman ways of town
- east o' Lundenwic, always the best place to be,
I stand in shadow alleys an' empty squares
full of beautiful saturday emptiness,
like breathin' in the best o' life.

Walk down the main streets
gazing up at towers an' cranes lost in the mist,
the ever present kickin' space of never endin' building
like better gods risin' up from out o' the ground;
love the light, love the atmosphere,
the faint blue band o' sky to the east
fills me 'ead with earth crust sensations.

that taste of ozone after a brush of rain
has me crouchin' down on the pavement,
lookin' up at the sky again;
hopeless dreamer of the realm -
monsieur ghost eternal.

Work Blues: Part 562

Looks like we could be in for hard times at work, no business at the moment when business should be strong an' keepin' us all busy. Funny how people don't want to hear when you say that things are tough, unless that is, they are the people who are quite happy to see you fall from where you are and end up in the gutter. Anyway, sittin' in the office an' not much to do now. Sit tight I guess and see what the new year brings...well that and do our best to get as much as we can through the system beforehand. Am i scared? Not really. After 20 years of this kinda life, scrapin' around for the better part of my workin' day, trying to think of ways to get people to buy our books and all the other stuff we sell, I am quite lookin' forward to possibility of it all getting busted up an' broken in a big smash against the walls of Bankrupt Avenue. There will be grief that is for sure but I guess I am as ready as I ever will be to face it an' get this whole goddam sorry business over with once and for all. Compensation will come in the knowledge that all those shit times in the course of a working day, month, year when things didn't quite pan out the way you wanted them to are now at last over...and I can be free to stumble into the next big box of tricks that life will bring, where once and yet again I know I will come up short, badly wanting, bleeding from the inside with terrible guts.

Asteroid

Funny how you can sometimes be sittin' around kinda hopin' for the end of the world, like ya get to the pioint where ya look around an' feel so sick and tired of everything you see that ya jus' want something to come along and bring on the big pop. Like a timely asteroid washing in from outta space...

Guess I have those kinda thoughts because there is an emptiness in my life, not the emptiness realised of the big empty which would be kinda good to know an' realise, no, more like the emptiness of tombstone failure, of havin' spent way too long in the weed gardens o' my mind, mind weed back alleys down roads of low skulking sunsets where daylight shivers of bright nothingness bring on the fear an' loathin'.

Result of all these destructive thoughts? Immense personal weariness over what I have allowed my inner life to become...a weariness that evolves into these pojecetions where I'm kinda sittin' happpy waitin' on the end of the world, faces hittin' the concrete dust in the big crush, the crazy powder puff stuff caused by deadly acts either from man or nature...

Guess I just gotta live with these kinda thoughts. Don't judge 'em, havin' them don't mean that all my years of tryin' to be a better kinda punk are gonna be flushed down the pan. No sir, these thoughts are just the thoughts that fly dependin' on which way the wind is blowin'...an' all i have to do is not stoke 'em, jus' watch 'em.