Flickering Flame

The whole world is about
Not being immortal
A measure of barbarism,
thrown in
is what keeps us

Mortality the rub
a tender shy curious fumble
a robin on a rusty iron rod,
his breeze being
the dew of the moment
the only immortality.
the sputtering heart
the girlchild's red flush
in romance alluded to.

Build me a poem
like that shack we built
over a drain between the house

The Docking of the Mad Dog Rupert Murdoch

Now that the most extreme examples of the free press have been docked, their hitherto much-gorged upon excesses of bad taste brought to extreme scrutiny, the mob braying for the tyrant's blood - since the wind of the vox populi is now blowing against them, since they're now effectively busted, now what ? They (the elites, the liberal celebs) have found the perfect excuse to curtail press freedoms and bring about a new order of things whereby the yobs and the chavs (supposedly Rupert's beloved red-top supporters)  can be put out as beyond the pale as possible.
Perhaps a victory for debauched roman empire tyrant lunatics like Berlosconi rather than the contrary.  As usual no-one has thought this through, they've let their slave instincts get the better of them.

(Leveson enquiry, hugh grant, jk rowling, hacking scandal, news of the world)

somnambulist poem

Englands had many ages
shes gentle in a storm
I knocked into her as a woman
in the night.
She said don't come,
the wine will spring forth
like sore cats
Stumbiling back on the
field
you'll
Inherit the rot,
rather than
The van Rijns
no more crossword poetry
the words will spill forth
like an African night
hungry, and doomed.

titanic faves

m

Pachelbel's Canon, Albinoni's Adagio,  Bach's Air, Willy Boskovsky, Mephisto Lizst, Asylum Schumann, Wolfgang Sawallisch, Rhapsodies, Hungarica

..

Deitise

I do like the random firework jerk on the nerves
the clockwork rationale,
the banal and the senile,
Ones and naughts
primary symbols like those of
penile and vulva.

The dignity of man is all we've lost
that well of feeling
the hell of being.

In post modern
there is no present
it isn't regal
it ain't deity
there is only past, future

My piss be digital
my scope narrow, binary
the chastiser's drizzle digitised

Post modern
like post-mortem
also means
afterdead.
In Digital
diffuse
emotional pain,
escape from this blackened ark
Away, away from
Medusa's heart thump

into fractured imagary,

hollow rain,
Zero's and ones
non-accumulative time
reflecting non-continuously
without the continuity of
the silken aisle, serendipity.

Running from the blight of 
the dark and wooden dead
One can choose to be digitised
instead

Milton's Lucifer,

devising debased imitations

of glories,

this scheming understudy

with futile knowledge

this fool needs in perpetuity
the future.

you have to live by your wits everywhere

Everywhere there are beasts, their numbers
Increase, their number is humanity.
They fleece and foul
Befuddle and bejowel
Bejewell and amuse,
stomp and pronounce
unwilling to grace any deference
nor able to swear precedence to
women of the lake,
prickly pair or
gloaming dragon of
green vapours

Rome is
downhill from here 
foreigners, socialism,
demolition
Beat your beasts and flail
all one gains is wisdom
and wisdom is not
music or love.