Month: February 2018

The Knot Keepers Guest

Minds at war, in a universe of opinion. I think of onions in a pickle jar. The misery of man with ego expectancy, in the dead man’s dump of democracy’s three-card trick. Total failure, disguised as patriotic victories, caressing earthly labyrinths in wonderland, not aware of being naked. Take it as high as this universes power can reach, and you…

From Fairy Dyke to Nightingale Farm.  

Dust on the wind, malevolent sorrow in the ice-cold gutter of a dead heart, down the dirt road tracks to Nightingale farm.  Where once we knew days of belonging. I see now that immense Suffolk sunset, and the leaf mould path that led from chrickle wood down to that Stour valley wonder landscape, where shadows still tell out, we are…

The Clown of all glory

(A eulogy for Herbert Moonslot) Some people in St Ives don’t believe Moondust existed I wrote this for them. Chris As a dense evening sunset looms out on my generation, and an ensign flag is lowered by flower child soldiers, singing, “all you need is love,” I go to a strange dark railway station that once existed on a ancient…

The clowns of Pengelton woods.

The leafy path of yesterday that took us to the woods, Where at the gate of Pengelton, the orphans once stood. In wondrous walks, where dreams came true, against the odds of time. Now The Clowns of Pengelton, have gone to yesterday, and rhyme. From Sawdust hill to Sandpit lane, the moon portrayed its yellows. The glories of the heavens…

Standing Still

Is motion something overrated? The watcher sees all but does not move,  home skies caress the tramp, content in the hayloft, warmed by newspaper clothes and the dirt of roads. He has learned to ignore the paths ahead that call him to wander to the lines beyond vision, where unknown valleys and county boundaries meet the doom of the day.…

Damnations seed

I, I, I, loving self-illusions, confusions, introduced to myself reunions. The one thing that I hate above all, is ‘Self Knowledge.’ The ‘I in Me’ and my helplessness to control this supercharged ego, going Ninety miles an hour down a dead end street. This ocean of complexity called man has all the ability programmed within him, to change the world;…

Just Carrying Out Orders

The china doll falls from the shelf and smashes, The child on the assembly line broken by design, Gang master’s smile flashes! Just a capitalist dream, stirred in the cream of profit In the thunder of power, young sweat turning sour But don’t knock it! Someone’s just carrying out orders… In the dread Hell, of Alzheimer’s shell, a human heart…

The Old Man of Time

Time alive and burning with adrenalin, with life’s power in our feet, I will remember even now in this aging defeat. Now rhyme and time are analyzed by fools from cerebral kingdoms, where plastic people trace with foolish fingers, a world that has become habitual, and utterly boring. We once had wonder, and that vast expanse of summertime lasted long…

The secrets of sunset

‘What is left of the sweet wine of youth?’ said the grey almost invisible man seated in the long stay psycho–geriatric ward, reduced to something less than human, poorer than stone. Those words uttered in a lucid moment in cruel time, only for the agony of that brief moment, did he realized that something far worse than, ‘God’s waiting room’…

Gunner Heath

Many years ago I worked in a large psychiatric hospital. On one of the wards I encountered a man nicknamed, ‘Gunner Heath’. Gunner was a casualty of the 2nd world war, he had dreadful shell shock, back then it was called, ‘Going bomb happy’. Apparently, (According to his hospital notes) he lost all self-­‐control when he boarded the boat to…