On the Road

Sailing, interlaced in form. The mans body mastered the wheels, calmly positioning. 

Heaving the frame back and forth, everywhere the man went the bicycle followed.

A precise understanding of exactly how long, how much and how quickly they could go together, luck was always wisely pushed. The mans movements knew the measure of flicks, pulls and steers in perfect proportion. 

His muscles belonged to their role.

Too, over time, the bicycles hard body softened, subduing to his shape and strength - neither the man nor his instrument was perfect, but it knew the others quirks and learnt to overcome and adapt. Showing signs of such imperfection - calves too big, scratches too frequent. Each crafted their signature on the other.

Together, they offered the possibility of time and motion, man, an engine, a-top of its machine. 

The Debt We Owe To The Play Of Imagination Is Incalculable

The thunder, blurred the sound of the winds whistle, scorching the streets in a shudder, then drizzle. Lightning slammed the puddles, a muddle, sight and sound a-blur. Hissing in the background the echo rumbled. Chugging its way across the hills, blurring out to sea and slamming sky into a fierce battle, sea and sky a flect of haze, a huddle in doorways caves. Firecrackers erupt, the abyss becomes scorched, a blaze with life, with fury and shatter of matter scorching the planes, or distant rumbles rolling off the mountain range. Out at sea, white tufts crouch angrily over the silent buffeting beneath, slow forces forge through. For a reminder set in, this place is alive, and very much so, a trillion voices accompany your own, echoing through the ages, sharing this sound of thunder, listening to the gods in the skies, feeling the rain and their cries, beating of the sunlit high’s, and the moons rise. And the tremor of thunder, echoing its rumble, and through a blazing summer. Offering a consensus felt through. And this is the tie, whether it generate a similar sigh or a sunlit goodbye. A-by, sweet land, skies and sand, we rejoice in your hands, a sultry stand of companionship, a saintly murmur of a coming season, a tide rolling by, a-by, a-by, and a-by.

Monsters and Madonnas

"You can make A fresh start with your final breath.

But what has happened has happened. And the water
You once poured into the wine cannot be
Drained off again.

What has happened has happened. The water
You once poured into the wine cannot be
Drained off again, but
Everything changes. You can make
A fresh start with your final breath." Brecht

cut, snip, let loose

Parade

The glance put it there,

Such a knowful stare. Purity to be uphold and understood.

An uncertain refrain.

And that stare will remain: touching milk and ball and cane,

The tongue and the times

Picked up and moved forward, a notch

A notch.

To make such a step, one must puncture a hole,

Incision,

Like a tongue and buckle,

A tongue of the times spoken and seen, of a memory being buckled and stowed,

“He had a six-gun with four notches in it for guys he had killed.”

A notch.

A point or degree in scale, up a notch, down a notch,

a hop scotch over the tempestuous.

A notch.

The deep and narrow mountain pass,

The hardness of their impertinent hearts.

Style Eyes

“to write: to try meticulously to retain something, to cause something to survive; to wrest a few precise scraps from the void as it grows, to leave somewhere a furrow, a mark, or a few signs’ (Perec 1973-4: 92)

How We Are

Act I

Part I

Times they are changing 9/11/08

What you may have will soon be gone.

This moments song.

A foreword tremble you’ll hear,

In mind bare this,for futures steer.
O how one could reek!

The point of now, behaviours how?
These people, these times will swap and devote another tear

Coming smiles soon ear to ear.
As the how of now is always here.

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of our exploring
shall be to return where we started
and know the place for the first time






















22 years of Jess

A twenty second tick marks the time, here
You stand, behind your eyes, under belt words containing poetry prose and spirit arose,

Once that girl, eyes wide, blond bob on top
A gawky beauty of high calibre calling, although sometimes separated, standing still,
never more have you shone a groove of your own stunning sultry. Such extensive might.

Back time, moments of sisterhood, glass smashing, stair falling and wheelchair swimming,
scars left to record such poetry.
Fudge, blue and white stripes loose t-shirts on door steps, united in such heady sights.
Through the lines your name means a volume of times, simply sublime.

Like a string theory feat. Quite neat binds our feet,
your step beating, ticks my own pulse,
An enigma beat.
Winding down our genetic street.

Big sis, only rhythm exists,
Each year, ticking, taking it together, you’ll be one up on that.
But I’m right behind, clocking, watching your back.
All I need is to put a hand to my heart and feel your feet clicking,
In ore I stand, smiling.

Life is what happens while your making other plans

Book of shelves: (double meaning description) Book shelf and the amount of layers in a book, its meanings and connotations and how the two interact through content.

Consensuous [adjective]: a communal census, or feeling of a group about a particular matter

Sundanoon: Sunday in the afternoon, a time of relaxation, and kinship relations, family/friend bonding with roasts and catch ups, the typical Sunday.

Miriage: [miriarge] Combination -mirage and mirror; reflecting back an idea or ones own symbology in an activity or task.

Succumbness [surrrcumbeness]: absorbed, given in to a desire or want, overthrown with emotion.

Intentuous [intent-u-ouse]: Intensions and content, the most important piece of content to be highlighted in someone’s intentions.

Labour Organisation

Strikes and labour union backlash,
Scabs of Thatchers miners battle thrash

Metal workers fall dozen dead to safety fights
And General Motors jits it one too many.

Global South rings of sewing machines and plastic trash
Networks and communication so hard to attach

Whilst Thailand wreaks the positives of Nikes tick stash,

A magical realist perspective of nonchalant eyes
A subtle overview of discrete spellbinding lies.
Swimming fish through the windowpanes
Fantasy and likeness of such surreal claims.

Simplicity said or simplicity said badly
One second.. the duration of 9,192,631,770 periods of the radiation corresponding to the transition between the two hyperfine levels of the ground state of the caesium-133 atom.

Holism

Nounena such as this,
Words forked and thrusted, like digging in sticks,
Certain art, thought, the bare part of a feeling, a start,
Wrenching is a verbal art,
O Impossible graph of a feelings aftermarth.

Lines and string

Life Out of Balance

Cosmopolitan shifters, pretentious drifters
Trendy new age eaters, post wedding partners,
Sundays spent recollecting of what went,
Re-charging bourgeois in chrome and leather slather
The eatery catwalk
Modern flash-talk
Fashion done with the papers, tone and guacamole foam
Busy and hectic lives they all live,
London’s sweat and Sundays roam
Soaking on the places which builds their batteries full
Ways of living being ridden
By hordes with such wanted vision.

poetry over prose

Wings 19/09/08

A realisation. Posted, packaged and sent.
O Dear friends, our scenes in silent parallel,
You build my shadow shell, like a string theory feat.
No shock would it be, to see our hearts beat in synchronicity.

hayfight hey fight hey, fight! he ya fight he fights fight him ha! ye! fight? he fights her she fights his fight with hay then takes flight to the highest heights of last summers hay of the day

by two mysterious mistresses

Don't wait for the dust to settle

Something harder to chew on: 13/08/08

Trying to digest this,
A fall in the hope,
This is the credit of empathy; this is the credit of goodwill
Others still, out there fighting for their own to be left, remaining freewill,
Their truth has all gone,
Stronger curses relished on their once sordid bodies
Stronger hate sort in their world, wrought for a passionate deceitful indignation.
What is this we call equality?
Place, dollar, watches or balanced poverty?
Petty. Emotional capacity, this is what I echo with every body of equality fallacy.
Echoed with spit and ferocity.

"Everything you need is already inside"

















Age becomes a bit abstract

Everything is more than fine

Flashbacks 22/07/08

Flashbacks, this invisible memory cache stack, to the highest degree of valuable mass,
Has got me weak kneed and full of sass,

Visions of fitting, a violent black out body shake, hardly one to make a date
But it did create a flashback to add to the cache stack, of your emotion, concerned about my bodies state,

Visions of sitting, spaced out on decking chairs, storing no cares when sharing how my mind used to bare your rapturous snare, calm just having your caste rest there

Visions of lying, electric body dining in the morning, whole bodies flying rhyming to the sound of hearts shining,

This invisible memory cache is permanent, you’ve written on my minds eye with a long lasting dash,

07/08

Library sit-ins with colourful pens,
cycling from, after days of wanting some atmosphere to be won,
revision on grass
and walks into fields of golden sunshine,
with cheesecake.

Kant got delayed that summer,
we never got to continue that sussing out foreplay,
instead foreplay fractured and took one quarter away
thrown at speed into each others vulnerabilities,
weak knees and guilty deeds, quite a heavy situation pleads,

Your steps stopped, but,
your being adapted, we adapt from go, this new rhythm we all flow,
truth laid bare, managing honesty in a stare,
a hidden gift from that quarter you miss,
the play returned with bases beating,
foreplay fractured but our rhythm flows
atmosphere one.

post City of Angels tales

Another famous fatality 22/01/08

Headlines reveal one more down,
Front of Hollywood town is missing a Jack,
Entertainments taken his crown, pills took him to the ground,
The unusual norm of the LA storm blows in,
Cameras focus out for the last, click,
Add another snip to the poor mans dip,
Sticky drip of entertainments sweet popcorn sick,
This moment our breath is quiet – no word uttered in response to this mans own riot,
Instead we droop back,
Defiantly- attempting solution seeking soul searching,
Simultaneously assuming the fact that it must have been crack
Not blitz and showbiz tact
Silently facing his back.


LA 28/02/08

Ubanality calls, rooftops concrete in siren, mapping the sprawl of the LA sphere
Footing of such as feel is enough to warp the figure of nature, understanding and sincerity.
In this we walk, we absorb this sphere contemplating its future, architectural creeping or running fear
Industry mix up, services fixing up the social scraps of iron metal collapse left a lapse, a computer trap?
Not all, hills catch buildings built in batch, hummed by diesels perpetuating their own concrete tracks with no other urban match,
This landscape set in a divided scene, an indulgent mirage of everybody’s mixed up dreams,
A scene, viewing, triumph in design, left to its own device, splurging out of there a ‘scape-come-play’.
Geography no doubt set astray, left away?
Just stand and watch, mind open, see this spatial array.

a step heavier

Bathtub doodlings 22/02/08

White walls in a square room, light mellows on the middle high, cracked mirror refines this view as others see it. Bra hanging from strap watching Cif behind the sink sitting in steam salting. Bottles empty of their cleanly content, missings, strune across a landscape of hygiene clean.
Tap holding its drip for a pivotal scene. Air thick with salty steam, clugging up noses and drouziing the dream, door bolted shut, windows unclean, pristine toes dipped into a stream, froth-au-day-a-la been.
Cars buzz, enjoying midnights sky tonight, chugging up the evening tight, bellowing engines fright old ladies sights.
My jeans are hung, pajamas slung bunged on top of a towel to become soaking wet. Shower curtain tucked outside tubs tight to avoid contamination of its zesty sweat, mangy stench of plastic wet tumbles with the steams respiratory net. Bath lying, deep in a coating of warm slightly frying hot rocks, red soded bod lying vulnerable in a soup of the days grot. Electrofed hair spans out behind as my eyes blink and start to unwind, soothed relaxation takes time.
But underwater my mind turns to mist, gist lost it starts to peak and twist. Overflow hole rusty and dank staring back at blink flicks, sweat lick. Underwater mind crash, ponders dash fear, pipes thrash, surrounded in this hydrosphere a bit too near. Covered and delicate yet mindful danger is app-eoach-ing my unseen rear. Plug glugs and pipes begin to winge, screams and horror, startled fuss a Hollywood in the bathtub, sudden clench a mindful of a moment stench of perhaps-ment, in a panic back taught causing head to abort up through the layers the surface caught.
Only a secondary thought.


The Mad’s 01/04/08

They shunt their tools, her brush, his drill,
Screaming across a surface without sharing their anger-full
Every chime of her call he whacks nail into wall
Every remembrance of his adultery she wakes,
Baring this brunt, an old ballet tissue stunt, she picks up leaves,
Putting the leaf into her hand with a scrunch, knuckles white, sigh, relief,
He builds, not families with another, but a plastic conservatory
Noise generated, calms his thoughts, banging with force
she is the nail he whacks
His hunch accentuates,
Her neuroticism perpetuates.
Autumn brings delight; her fingers ignite leaves in fright
Clearing the lawn of marriage debris’s unvocal storm,
Pale faces and their creased brows mark the 20th year of their vows,
She continues to bind his fingers by ring to the ground,
He spits from his cowardly perch, picking up hammer so she doesn’t get hurt,
They splutter, a couple lost, leaves unallowed to fall on their perfect marriage in the dirt,
Waiting for what was once to return again.