Wednesday, 30 December 2015


Finally the orgy over
with macabre fiefdoms
to come;
A dark age rises,
civilisation breaks brittle as a biscuit,
crumb by crumb
Marching to militias
amid gloomy plastic meltdowns
the wires trailing nowhere
The sun has shone, the day
has come and gone
the evening was sweet and elegiac,
now the darkness soars
and the leaves fall
in resignation and despair,
wilting to damp and dissolute mud
Minor notes are struck,
the major has long faded.

Sunday, 27 December 2015

Oh Fox, feline hound
saline foe, serpentine member 

over a weary grey season 
the last dance of 
twinned redcoats
pert part prance

Unlike that adored 
rodent, the rabbit
You've earned your guise in the 
weft and wattle of this land

Would you see off 
the hoof smiths
horn blowers
horse chargers
Or is the hunter
as much in your heart as
you in his ?

Red flame-breasted brothers
the hounds, horns, thunder of claws
in each others'
imperceptible dream
Last free master of
mythical wiles,
and pitiless fate.

Will your embrace be ended,
your chronicle discontinued ?

Unknown muse 
of this land,
Scrutinized by
frivolous and benign bosoms,
extraneous mothers
Altogether a far-away steel gaze
pitifully projected upon fate

For it's a strange dance
on your pasture 
Beguiled, we remain with
your unwritten saga
Blinded by your bounty of wit 
Bound by your passion 
of war

Monday, 21 December 2015

I am a backdoor Mantis,
the people I know,
don't give a damn
and eat their lovers heads

He's a Wilberforce man
signed his own death warrant,
such is the gage of death, or
the devil's metaphysic.

hot trumps, hot suites, hot turnips, hot roots
hot sheets, hot toots, hot teats, hog rats

Im a back door mannequin, the
big whorehouses don't understand
but the the little girls prance 
after Mantis 

Thursday, 19 November 2015

Because your father's love
eats you
because you drown your misery
in wine and french fries
We are all skeletons
and our flesh suddenly
gets tired of hugging the bone
Their heads follow their hearts &
their hearts are frequently misled.
their hearts..
follow their heads
and their heads..
are frequently misled.

Predators will put you out of
your misery,
humans will want to enslave you

She may wish to talk about
she don't know about religion,
God knows if shes heard of the
Cuban revolution

Disbelieving is for people
who fear death:
It is the expression of that fear.
Because the atheist is
looking to be free of the fear;
atheism is a faith that fear could be
overcome, but never feeling
it is overcome.
The fear of death is fear of nature;
fear is due to the separation from nature.

Chess is the will of the universe,
Unlike bland half-hearted  
sacramentalism in politics.
Greed is a freedom,
free-will to do wrong.
The moon is not a lie and
is not dead.
It is all we live for, spiritually
and materially.
The moon is a mercurial
striding upon silver clouds
Mocking all clear thought
and achievement. 

Wednesday, 11 November 2015

New Man Rotten hat

I met a desultory daydreamer,
Explicitly said out loud
he wasn't a fake
With an internet hotspot 
Bigger than a great lake
They took me to a new church
And baptized me with gibberish
She told me, "liquorice"
I am a new man.

Wednesday, 4 November 2015

Pleistocene Breakout

God does not exist !

you hear them crying

and they are not wrong.
But, as we suspected all along,

We do.

To Be

is different than
To Exist

in the Latin etymology

Exist comes from
the thing that gets out of

The (one who) is

/the one who sits (literal)

We emerge

from some
womb immanent

like a

Vastness that is

Like a skyline viewed

from the middle of the sea

or off the top of a mountain,


to those in the valley

Monday, 28 September 2015

Thorns and manure

Old tree trunks in the desert
barefoot on the heath
Bleeding claret
on the clean cut
moody mouldy melodies,
resonant and groovy
Napoleon stands,
with unwashed hands
road full of
detritus and corngold
warriors and geniuses
amphetamine bulldog

Thursday, 23 July 2015

God is old fashioned.  
Grief is old fashioned.  
The world is old fashioned. 
Cosmic laws, whatever they are, 
don't do whatever they want.
disasters happen.  
What we do here matters somewhere else.

Ezra, Eliza & Euclid

Aubrey moos in blind drunk darkness
in violent perambulations
cobblestone reveries
Missed the daily service
attendance by pretty girls hath fallen
maids supply mouldy button 
sponges and 
hot english dirt water
construction sore tea

Puritan long shadows
windfarm nouvelle clutter,
The land of Jute
Beer, gin hophouse distilleries
Gabled farm yawns
whiskyplate famine harmony
One is sure Wycliff 
wanted to be a viking.

Monday, 1 June 2015

the false resurrection of the flesh

( ongoing merry dance...)

First world war was only
symbolic death
merely outward corruption

the carnage on the soul
was later
souls stolen 
from death
between and after 
For if identity is 
an illusion
then death is nothing
to be afraid of.


Follow by Email


Search This Blog