GOOD TO SEE YOU AGAIN

night ****** the light
out of the sky
until it became the dark

the heart attack
said only one word
"Come!"

and he came
because he couldn't help
but come

the heart attack
smirked
at his obedience

he stepped into
the dark
seeing the world fade

but he thought
of her smile
and

came back
to himself
saying only one word

"No!"
he said with a smile
and again "No!"

the heart attack
left in a rage
furious it should be so

"Well...well...!"
smiled Life
"...good to see you again!"

night ****** the light
out of the sky
until it became the dark



the heart attack
said only one word
"Come!"



and he came
because he couldn't help
but come



the heart attack
smirked
at his obediance



he stepped into
the dark
seeing the world fade



but he thought
of her smile
and



came back
to himself
saying only one word



"No!"
he said with a smile
and again "No!"



the heart attack
left in a rage
furious it should be so



"Well...well...!"
smiled Life
"...good to see you again!"

GOS'POZHO! NE GO'VORYA' BALGARSKI
(Madame! I Don’t Speak Bulgarian!)

( for Onelia )

I stand outside
your world

all voiced & unvoiced
consonants

(& yes I know voiced consonants can become voiceless
but only in certain positions.)

‘mislya...’pisha
(to think...to write)

It’s all Cyrillic
to me.

Only able to enjoy the shape of it!

б
There is an O
with a scarf billowing
over its right shoulder

that really is a b.

(Reminds me of Isadora Duncan driving to her death
her scarf getting caught in the wheel.)

A capital Ɓ that is a v
(Oh yeah? Yeah!)

A large З that looks like a pair of *******
looking down from above from the side.

(And Lord save us
it’s...a z!)

An X that’s a h!
(I see...I see!)


Ф

An apple being cut in two
by a knife
once again
looking down from above

...that’s an f.

(Yes? Yes!)

Something that could be
a starburst
Ж
(zh...zh...zh)
Such a treasure!

Or a strong man
clasping two ladies by the waist
swooning to him in a tango
one on either side.

An Я
looking the wrong way

(Ya? Ya!)

И

Two capital I’s
hanging out together

with the I (i...i...i)  on the right
with its hand on the left one’s ***

(naughty vowel...naughty vowel)


Й

And an other two I’s
up to the same shenanigans
but with half a halo over their heads
as if they only wanted to be half good!

Maybe one day
I’ll learn

A little Bulgarian
(dogo’dina... dogo’dina)
((next year...next year))

But right now
it’s all

pictures
to me

that dash across
my imagination.


Stra’hotna ‘roklya!

Iz’ghezhdash prek rasno!

(Fabulous dress!)

(You look great!)

'GOTT IM HIMMEL!" HERR WEINT SCHRöEDINGER.

Schröedinger's hat
was always never there
when he looked for it

Schröedinger's hat
vanished into thin air
his cat sitting on it

Schröedinger's socks
always one there
always one not

GO WEST YOUNG MAN...!

I’m heading West
(where ever that is) .

I march off
into the distance
of field & sky.

West is where
my Uncle is.

I cut through
the heat haze.

My uncle’s dinner
wrapped up in a scarf
on the end of a stick

as if I am
running away for ever.

Tea slops
in an old milk bottle

with a piece of cloth
as a stopper.

I stare into the empty air
as if suddenly I will discover there

a sign saying:
“West – this way! ”

My Auntie Nellie’s instructions
still stamped on the inside of my stupid skull.

“Go west into the field
with your Uncle Michael’s dinner.

“Tell him...”

Me too terrified to tell her
I don’t know
where West is?

Typical townie!

I search the farm
field by field

‘till I finally find him
sprouting out of a field
with a cloud attached to his head

beside the broken rickety gate
where the tiniest ever wild strawberries grow.

So this is where
West is!

Why didn’t she say so
in the first place!

This I know!

Why send me like a fool
on a child’s errand!

My uncle devours
everything ‘cept
the scarf & the stick.

Tells me
(“Oh no! ”)  

to go South to
where Uncle Seanie is

and...

GRANDAD TENDS HIS DAHLIAS

the fog
walks among the tombs
"I encounter my first ***

he was a man
he looked just like me
as if I were...killing myself!"

stretching back
through space & time
the instant of that moment

the German falls
beside a tomb
like a badly written play

Grandad bayonettes
the German...looks surprised
to be dying

Grandad plunges the bayonette in
twists it about
the German almost grins

then the dance
of the living & the dying
in strict time

the German goes down
on one knee
as if proposing to Death

Granddad stabs the German
through the lifeline
of his left hand

the dying German's
left outstretched hand
like a man about to sing a song

"As he fell
his hand touched my hand
'This...' I thought '...is hell!'"

all his life
the touch...that touch
impossible to shake off

Grandad tends his dahlias
the dying German
still clouding his eyes

GRANDAD TENDS HIS DAHLIAS

the fog
walks among the tombs
"I encounter my first ***

he was a man
he looked just like me
as if I were...killing myself!"

stretching back
through space & time
the instant of that moment

the German falls
beside a tomb
like a badly written play

Grandad bayonettes
the German...looks surprised
to be dying

Grandad plunges the bayonette in
twists it about
the German almost grins

then the dance
of the living & the dying
in strict time

the German goes down
on one knee
as if proposing to Death

Granddad stabs the German
through the lifeline
of his left hand

the dying German's
left outstretched hand
like a man about to sing a song

"As he fell
his hand touched my hand
'This...' I thought '...is hell!'"

all his life
the touch...that touch
impossible to shake off

Grandad tends his dahlias
the dying German
still clouding his eyes

GRANDAD TENDS HIS DAHLIAS

the fog
walks among the tombs
"I encounter my first ***

he was a man
he looked just like me
as if I were...killing myself!"

stretching back
through space & time
the instant of that moment

the German falls
beside a tomb
like a badly written play

Grandad bayonettes
the German...looks surprised
to be dying

Grandad plunges the bayonette in
twists it about
the German almost grins

then the dance
of the living & the dying
in strict time

the German goes down
on one knee
as if proposing to Death

Granddad stabs the German
through the lifeline
of his left hand

the dying German's
left outstretched hand
like a man about to sing a song

"As he fell
his hand touched my hand
'This...' I thought '...is hell!'"

all his life
the touch...that touch
impossible to shake off

Grandad tends his dahlias
the dying German
still clouding his eyes

GRANDDAD TENDS HIS DAHLIAS

the fog
walks among the tombs
"I encounter my first ***

he was a man
he looked just like me
as if I were...killing myself!"

stretching back
through space & time
the instant of that moment

the German falls
beside a tomb
like a badly written play

Granddad bayonettes
the German...looks surprised
to be dying

Granddad plunges the bayonette in
twists it about
the German almost grins

then the dance
of the living & the dying
in strict time

the German goes down
on one knee
as if proposing to Death

Granddad stabs the German
through the lifeline
of his left hand

the dying German's
left outstretched hand
like a man about to sing a song

"As he fell
his hand touched my hand
'This...' I thought '...is hell!'"

all his life
the touch...that touch
impossible to shake off

Granddad tends his dahlias
the dying German
still clouding his eyes

GRANDFATHER CLOCK

"When granda died
he turned into
a clock!"

I was only four or more
so this seemed
an acceptable fact

"Oh we still kept him
in the corner
wound him up every night."

I glanced at the nothing
in the corner
only a slab of sunlight dozing

"Oh we had to pawn him
a long time ago!"
I gasped: "Noooo!"

"Oh he had to go
he had only one hand
and his pendulum was broken."

Sam the dog barks
asks if I am coming
out to play

I of course am
coming out
to play

Auntie Nellie
scolds
Uncle Michael

"For God's sake Mikey
will ya ****** well
stop!"

Mikey sticks
his tongue in cheek
a characteristic tic

"Can't ya see the poor child's
ejeet enough
to believe ya!"

whenever later
I chance to meet
a clock that could be my granda

I touch its face
tenderly stroke
the mottled glass


"Ahhh Granda!" I smile
giving him
a great big hug

"TickTock!"
says granda
"**** ****!"

GRANDFATHER CLOCK

"When granda died
he turned into a clock!"

I was 7 or so, so this seemed
an acceptable fact.

"Oh we still kept him in the corner
wound him up every night."

I glanced at the nothing in the corner.
There was only a slab of sunlight dozing.

"Oh we had to pawn him
a long time ago!"

I gasped: "Noooo!"

"Oh he had to go
he had only one hand

and his pendulum
was broken."

Sam the dog barks
asks if I am coming out to play.

I of course am
coming out to play.

Auntie Nellie scolds
Uncle Michael.

"For God's sake Mikey
will ya ****** well stop!"

Mikey sticks his tongue in cheek
a characteristic tic.

"Can't ya see the poor child is
ejeet enough to believe ya!"

Whenever later I chance to meet
a clock that could be my granda

I touch its face tenderly
stroke the mottled glass

"Ahhh Granda!" I smile
giving him a great big hug.

"TickTock!" says granda
"**** ****!"

GRANDFATHER GORDON

Grandfather Gordon
always scratching his wooden leg
insists "It itches!"

always a different explanation
how he lost the leg
enough to fill a book

Grandfather Gordon
scratching the air
where his leg should be

Grandfather Gordon's
wooden leg now
a tommy gun...a sword...a unicorn's horn

"Give me me leg...
...ya daft wee buggers!"
begging for his leg back

Grandfather Gordon's gone
his wooden leg lives on
dusty in a corner

I stroke his leg
remembering him
it itches in my heart

GRANDFATHER GORDON

Grandfather Gordon
always scratching his wooden leg
insists "It itches!"

always a different explanation
how he lost the leg
enough to fill a book

Grandfather Gordon
scratching the air
where his leg should be

Grandfather Gordon's
wooden leg now
a tommy gun...a sword...a unicorn's horn

"Give me me leg...
...ya daft wee buggers!"
begging for his leg back

Grandfather Gordon's gone
his wooden leg lives on
dusty in a corner

I stroke his leg
remembering him
it itches in my heart

*

And he always dropped his 'aitches! G.G. as they called him lost a leg at Suvla Bay or as he called it "...'ell on earth!"

Another weird thing about this is that he was talking about his father who on returning from the War minus a leg had aged greatly and everyone assumed that he was his grandfather so he was called "Grandfather Gordon" for ever after. His son who was telling me this then went off to fight in the next War that was in the offing and came to understand that a man could return from the War minus a mind as well. The things he told me were what no human being should have to ever undergo and what the reality of being a soldier in wartime actually entails....it's **** or be killed. When asked what he did in the War he would always reply: "I tried not to die!"

The story telling is simply me being prepared to listen and to soak up the story by the process of emotional osmosis. Others actually listened but didn't hear and would simply pass it off as..."Oh gawd the old fellow's off again!"

What I listened to was his great need to tell someone what had happened. He had kept it bottled up all this time and now was the telling time....but how can you tell your daughter that you killed other men just like you in order to return to your daughter.

GRANDFATHER GORDON

Grandfather Gordon
always scratching his wooden leg
insists "It itches!"

always a different explanation
how he lost the leg
enough to fill a book

Grandfather Gordon
scratching the air
where his leg should be

Grandfather Gordon's
wooden leg now
a tommy gun...a sword...a unicorn's horn

"Give me me leg...
...ya daft wee buggers!"
begging for his leg back

Grandfather Gordon's gone
his wooden leg lives on
dusty in a corner

I stroke his leg
remembering him
it itches in my heart

GRANDFATHER GORDON

Grandfather Gordon
always scratching his wooden leg
insists "It itches!"

always a different explanation
how he lost the leg
enough to fill a book

Grandfather Gordon
scratching the air
where his leg should be

Grandfather Gordon's
wooden leg now
a tommy gun...a sword...a unicorn's horn

"Give me me leg...
...ya daft wee buggers!"
begging for his leg back

Grandfather Gordon's gone
his wooden leg lives on
dusty in a corner

I stroke his leg
remembering him
it itches in my heart

GRANDMA TELLS OF MEETING GRANDPA

and there he was
coming up my asphalt path
and my knees going weak

at the sight of him
and his hair
blowing about in the air

and my heart
ablaze with happiness
burning me down to the ground

and I said
to myself
says I

that man is
going to be
my husband

and now
50 years later
he still is

as if death
could never touch
either of us

and my heart breaking
at just
the very sight of him.

*

She had dementia and could not recognise her own kids but would tell the nurses this over and over again or any visitors who happened to pass by. Her husband had been dead ten years by this time but the dementia hid his death from her and she lived forever in the first seeing of him.

GRANDPA AND GRANDMA LOOK BACK AND LAUGH

green bra on grass
the left cup jumps
frog thinks he's a prince

"*** out of it ya little toad!"
"This ain't no
fairy tale!"

that night like magic
she pulls the green bra from her sleeve
his Adam's apple goes up...goes down

the cold touches her
*******
she wishes he would

GRANNY SHOCKS THE GRANDCHILDREN

me I always
wore a yellow pinafore dress
displaying my what-should-not-be-seen

or a Sgt. Pepper's jacket
serving as a dress...showing off
buttocks & knickers to great effect

moved from squat to squat
lived on hash and Mateus Rosé
***?was just...eh...there

I had loads of lads
loads of lads had me
music and *** - the twin gods

forget "I wanna hold your hand"
we were Stones fans mannnnn
sang "Lets spend the night together"

I wanted to be Juliette Gréco
read/re-read THE STORY OF O
De Sade's 120 DAYS OF *****

?morals/
yeah!yeah!yeah!
whatever

we were all of us always
trying to find ourselves
or escape from ourselves

Granda was mad
bad and gorgeous to know
like straying off the path into

the forest of a fairy story
a **** scary beast
my very own big bad wolf

an Mmmmmmmm
kind of man
"Eat me...eat me!" I'd yell at him

*** was that...what
cheered up those forever
endless rainy British afternoon

GRANNY SHOCKS THE GRANDCHILDREN

me I always
wore a yellow pinafore dress
displaying my what-should-not-be-seen

or a Sgt. Pepper's jacket
serving as a dress...showing off
buttocks & knickers to great effect

moved from squat to squat
lived on hash and Mateus Rosé
***?was just...eh...there

I had loads of lads
loads of lads had me
music and *** - the twin gods

forget "I wanna hold your hand"
we were Stones fans mannnnn
sang "Lets spend the night together"

I wanted to be Juliette Gréco
read/re-read THE STORY OF O
De Sade's 120 DAYS OF *****

?morals?
yeah!yeah!yeah!
whatever

we were all of us always
trying to find ourselves
or escape from ourselves

Granda was mad
bad and gorgeous to know
like straying off the path into

the forest of a fairy story
a **** scary beast
my very own big bad wolf

an Mmmmmmmm
kind of man
"Eat me...eat me!" I'd yell at him

*** was that...what
cheered up those forever
endless rainy British afternoon


*

All the young folk saw was an old lady and they couldn't imagine the life she led when young and how the world appeared then to the youth and what they thought they could do. Youth was the new currency and ***...fashion...morals....politics...music were all thrown up in the air. "The '60's..?" she'd smirked in answer to their questions as if she were a history book rather than a real life flesh and blood individual - "...you just had to be there!"

GRANNY SHOCKS THE GRANDCHILDREN

me I always
wore a yellow pinafore dress
displaying my what-should-not-be-seen

or a Sgt. Pepper's jacket
serving as a dress...showing off
buttocks & knickers to great effect

moved from squat to squat
lived on hash and Mateus Rosé
***?was just...eh...there

I had loads of lads
loads of lads had me
music and *** - the twin gods

forget "I wanna hold your hand"
we were Stones fans mannnnn
sang "Lets spend the night together"

I wanted to be Juliette Gréco
read/re-read THE STORY OF O
De Sade's 120 DAYS OF *****

?morals?
yeah!yeah!yeah!
whatever

we were all of us always
trying to find ourselves
or escape from ourselves

Granda was mad
bad and gorgeous to know
like straying off the path into

the forest of a fairy story
a **** scary beast
my very own big bad wolf

an Mmmmmmmm
kind of man
"Eat me...eat me!" I'd yell at him

*** was that...what
cheered up those forever
endless rainy British afternoon

GRAN'S FIRST FLIGHT...


the bird appears to ooops
stumble & tumble
from cloud to cloud

"If that's what you call flying
I could do better myself!"
affirms Gran

and flapping her arms
takes to the skies

"You won't be needing the wheelchair then?"

GRAN'S FIRST FLIGHT...

the bird appears to ooops
stumble & tumble from
cloud to cloud

"If that's what you call flying
I could do better myself!"
affirms Gran

and flapping her arms
takes to the skies
"You won't be needing the wheelchair then?"

GREANN MO CHROÍ

Ullastráth...do ghrá
gan fhios dom ach ‘nois do ghrá
gach aon rud...gach áit!

*

MY HEART’S LOVE

The day before the day before yesterday...your love
unknown to me...but now
your love...everything...everywhere!

GREEN ALLIGATOR

her green alligator
handbag gapes wildly red
a single white Polo mint

these the only things
she owns
they don't find her for a month

the neighbours shocked
Mrs. M has become
officially a corpse

the room is clean now
hard to imagine
such ordinary horror

death by hunger
death by loneliness
the spring day is innocent

she sped down Jealousy St.,
ran through a red light
crashed the relationship

crow perched upon
traffic lights
waiting for a green light

GREEN SILENCE

Dust settles
on the ladybird.

She sits on the window sill
dead to the world

pretty
as paste jewelry

courted by a terra cotta
Priapus

chatting her up
unaware that she is

dead.

She remains deeply
unimpressed

by his ability
to keep it up.

A fly lands on the very
tip top of his tumescence.

It's enough to make
a dead ladybird laugh.

The dance of net curtains
animates the moment.

Outside the silence
is stained green

by chestnut leaves
flirting with the sun.

GRIEF HAD ROBBED ME

I had( somehow )
lost my self.

Looked in all
the usual places.

The mind
( empty as bedamned ).

The heart
( a hollow laugh ).

Even memory
( not the merest sign ).

Grief had robbed me
of who I knew as me.

Left me nothing but
a full sized cardboard cut-out

of who I
used to be.

I felt like a movie set
house you know all

front & no
back.

Unreally I
appeared real.

"Hope it don't rain..."
my cardboard self

said to
itself.

I would haunt
the Yeats'

hunger for the nearness
of their paint

lose myself
in their ooze

the colours squirming
as if they could crawl

off the canvas

slither into my senses
until they inhabited

the teenager
who would visit them

again &
again

stand in front of
GRIEF

(because he knew what it meant)

always always
the paint

deserting the canvas
attaching itself to the ends

of his
nerves

so that he
became

NO FLOWERS

walking out of the National Gallery
into the stolen sunshine

composed of nothing
but

their Jack B. Yeats
collection

my footprints dripping paint.

***

JACK B. YEATS
(1871-1957)

PAINTER AND YOUNGER BROTHER OF WILLIAM.

GRIEF WAS PAINTED IN 1951.
NO FLOWERS WAS PAINTED IN 1945

HAIR! HAIR!

HAIR! HAIR!

de Ma
couldn't bear to part
with any of me

not allowing circumcision
or indeed
the cutting of hair

and so my curls
cascade over
my tiny shoulders

until one day
de Da kidnapped  me
for my first haircut

the cut curls
falling at my feet
"There now!" said me Da

he made me swear
I wouldn't tell
me Ma

I kept my word
yet somehow she
knew

locked herself
in her room
for a week

refusing to
even speak
with me poor auld Da

and yet I survived
the shearing
and lived to tell

the tale
lost now
in time

I now an auld fella
curls cascading over
my elderly shoulders

(はっけよい)
HAKKEYOI !


two stout armchairs squat
like Sumo wrestlers
the room holds its breath

  "PUT SOME SPIRIT IN IT!"

The phrase shouted by a sumo referee during a bout, specifically when the action has stalled and the wrestlers have reached a stand-off.

HALF A POUND OF INSOMNIA WITH A LARGE DOLLOP OF TIREDNESS ON TOP

Sleep lies languidly
upon the chaise longue.

I sit uncomfortably in
an old wicker chair.

We stare at each other.
Say - nothing.

Neither of us
blinks.

I have counted  exactly
two thousand and 2....3. . .

sheep.
They fill up the room

with a loud baaing.
There is no grass in the room.

But I am more awake
than ever.

Sleep and I
do not see eye to eye.

Sleep annoyed by now
goes to the window

where even the moon is
dreaming.

A  hill
long gone.

Trees snore
their breath rustling their leaves.

"Why do I always
have this trouble with you?"

Sleep snaps
without looking at me.

I try to change
the subject.

"I didn't know you
could manifest like this?"

I venture for the sake
of the argument.

"Oh no...now you've gone
and trapped me in a poem!"

In the early hours
of the coming day

even Sleep
falls asleep.

I yawn
exaggeratedly .

Hum KLF's
"It's three am eternal!"

Each of the now 2000 and 4...5
join in

with a tuneless
baaing.

HALF SICK WITH SHADOWS



The Lady of Shallot
sat on my sofa and sobbed

begging me for
poetical asylum

despite Patel's crackdown
on poetry refugees.

I made her a nice
cup of Earl Grey tea

slice of lemon
no sugar.

I enquired of her
"But why me?"

"You have loved me
all your life

letting me live
inside your head

free to roam
around your mind

any old time
no questions asked.

I thought of you as
you thought of me.

We are of one mind now
...are we not?"

She explained her name was Elaine
and had been a time traveller and that

when her 'mirror' cracked
(as she called her machine)

Tennyson trapped her
in that poem of his

words to the left of her
words to the right of her

into the volume
of his verse

she found herself
all of a sudden.

God how she hated
dead Victorian poets.

And it was all a pack of lies
and Lance a Lot was a ****.

She had constantly turned down
his incessant facebook friend requests.

And as for facebook
that was just a big yuk.

Oh and she hated shallots
( and green onions )

although she thought
Booker T. and the MG's

groovy and such fun
to dance to.

"Tennyson was so morose
and such a class 1 bore."

But now she had broken free
and had come to me.

No more teens made at me
for having to learn me off by heart.

I fixed her 'mirror.
It was only cracked.

She could have escaped
at any time but I hadn't

the heart
to tell her that.

Fixed her up with a new
facebook page LoS777.

And in a twinkling she
had vanished into where ever?

"I'll leave a door open
always in my mind!"

I shouted to the shadows
and the nothingness.

The willows whitened.
The aspens quivered.

HALF SICK WITH SHADOWS

The Lady of Shallot
sat on my sofa and sobbed

begging me for
poetical asylum

despite Patel's crackdown
on poetry refugees.

I made her a nice
cup of Earl Grey tea

slice of lemon
no sugar.

I enquired of her
"But why me?"

"You have loved me
all your life

letting me live
inside your head

free to roam
around your mind

any old time
no questions asked.

I thought of you as
you thought of me.

We are of one mind now
...are we not?"

She explained her name was Elaine
and had been a time traveller and that

when her 'mirror' cracked
(as she called her machine)

Tennyson trapped her
in that poem of his

words to the left of her
words to the right of her

into the volume
of his verse

she found herself
all of a sudden.

God how she hated
dead Victorian poets.

And it was all a pack of lies
and Lance a Lot was a ****.

She had constantly turned down
his incessant facebook friend requests.

And as for facebook
that was just a big yuk.

Oh and she hated shallots
( and green onions )

although she thought
Booker T. and the MG's

groovy and such fun
to dance to.

"Tennyson was so morose
and such a class 1 bore."

But now she had broken free
and had come to me.

No more teens mad at  me
for having to learn me off by heart.

I fixed her 'mirror.
It was only cracked.

She could have escaped
at any time but I hadn't

the heart
to tell her that.

Fixed her up with a new
facebook page LoS777.

And in a twinkling she
had vanished into where ever?

"I'll leave a door open
always in my mind!"

I shouted to the shadows
and the nothingness.

The willows whitened.
The aspens quivered.

HALF SICK WITH SHADOWS

The Lady of Shallot
sat on my sofa and sobbed

begging me for
poetical asylum

despite Patel's crackdown
on poetry refugees.

I made her a nice
cup of Earl Grey tea

slice of lemon
no sugar.

I enquired of her
"But why me?"

"You have loved me
all your life

letting me live
inside your head

free to roam
around your mind

any old time
no questions asked.

I thought of you as
you thought of me.

We are of one mind now
...are we not?"

She explained her name was Elaine
and had been a time traveller and that

when her 'mirror' cracked
(as she called her machine)

Tennyson trapped her
in that poem of his

words to the left of her
words to the right of her

into the volume
of his verse

she found herself
all of a sudden.

God how she hated
dead Victorian poets.

And it was all a pack of lies
and Lance a Lot was a ****.

She had constantly turned down
his incessant facebook friend requests.

And as for facebook
that was just a big yuk.

Oh and she hated shallots
( and green onions )

although she thought
Booker T. and the MG's

groovy and such fun
to dance to.

"Tennyson was so morose
and such a class 1 bore."

But now she had broken free
and had come to me.

No more teens mad at me
for having to learn me off by heart.

I fixed her 'mirror.
It was only cracked.

She could have escaped
at any time but I hadn't

the heart
to tell her that.

Fixed her up with a new
facebook page LoS777.

And in a twinkling she
had vanished into where ever?

"I'll leave a door open
always in my mind!"

I shouted to the shadows
and the nothingness.

The willows whitened.
The aspens quivered.

HAMLET AT THE WORLD CUP

It goes( as it
always goes, to )
: ! PENALTIES !

A chorus of "Oh Noooos'!"
rises from the fans like
winter breath from cattle

Hamlet, places it:
...steps back to take it
&. . .

"Do it England!"
the fanatic fans chant
"Dooooo....Itttt...Angle...la...and!"

Hamlet thinks
( No...nOOOO Hamlet don't
.     .     .think! )

But it is alas -too late
he has
already thunked!

"If it be now, 'tis not
to come; if it be not to come
it will be now!"

"Duh!" the fans think
"Agggghh...just
do it!"

The thoughts sprout
from his great big noggin like
a cartoon speech bubble.

"...if it be not now
yet
it will come!"

"The readiness is all!"
Hamlet runs up to
the waiting ball.

Hamlet hushes his
thought process
strikes the ball with his right foot &.     .     .

"To be or, aggggghhhh noooooo!"
After that comma  that
negative sentence.

'NOT TO BE!"
jeer the rival fans
'*** THEEEE...TOA...NONE...ER...EEE!"

Hamlet ends it all
with a bare bodkin.
"O, O, O, O." Dies

"Football is not...."
as Shankly so succinctly
put it

"...a matter of life and death.
It's. . .
much much more important than that!"

The rest.

Is.

silence.

It goes( as it
always goes, to )
: ! PENALTIES !

A chorus of "Oh Noooos'!"
rises from the fans like
winter breath from cattle

Hamlet, places it:
...steps back to take it
&. . .

"Do it England!"
the fanatic fans chant
"Dooooo....Itttt...Angle...la...and!"

Hamlet thinks
( No...nOOOO Hamlet don't
.     .     .think! )

But it is alas -too late
he has
already thunked!

"If it be now, 'tis not
to come; if it be not to come
it will be now!"

"Duh!" the fans think
"Agggghh...just
do it!"

The thoughts sprout
from his great big noggin like
a cartoon speech bubble.

"...if it be now now
yet
it will come!"

"The readiness is all!"
Hamlet runs up to
the waiting ball.

Hamlet hushes his
thought process
strikes the ball with his right foot &.     .     .

"To be or, aggggghhhh noooooo!"
After that comma  that
negative sentence.

'NOT TO BE!"
jeer the rival fans
'*** THEEEE...TOA...NONE...ER...EEE!"

Hamlet ends it all
with a bare bodkin.
"O, O, O, O." Dies

"Football is not...."
as Shankly so succinctly
put it

"...a matter of life and death.
It's. . .
much much more important than that!"

The rest.

Is.

silence.

Hamlet texts:
"2B r..."

Ophelia texts back"
"...NOT 2B babe!"

Then a text following on
her just sent text

"G'd nite sweety prince!"
she minces irony with sarcasm

"Yo, *****...get thee to a nunnery!"
Hamlet always direct and cruder.

'SOMETHING'S ROTTEN IN THE STATE OF
THEIR RELATIONSHIP!"

THE NEWS OF THE WORLD
proclaims the next day.

HAMLET HACKED

Hamlet texts:
"2B r..."

Ophelia texts back"
"...NOT 2B babe!"

Then a text following on
her just sent text

"G'd nite sweety prince!"
she minces irony with sarcasm

"Yo, *****...get thee to a nunnery!"
Hamlet always direct and cruder.

'SOMETHING'S ROTTEN IN THE STATE OF
THEIR RELATIONSHIP!"

THE NEWS OF THE WORLD
proclaims the next day.

HAMLET TRIES TO GET HIS ACT TOGETHER

Hamlet is about to
**** his uncle

when suddenly
a commentator

tells him what he is
doing

only for a critic
to violently disagree

with this theory.

"...eh...excuse me....'scuse me..!"
Hamlet tries to interject

politely
but

the debate
over what's what

is becoming heated
overheated.

"EXCUSE ME, BUT..."
Hamlet almost close to tears

"...I'M TRYING TO **** MY UNCLE HERE!"

But they pay no heed to him
in the least.

Hamlet and Claudius
pause and noisily

share a bag of popcorn
watch with avid glee

as commentator kills
critic just as

critic kills
commentator.

The rest, is...
. . .silence.

HANGING WITH WORDS

I don’t know how
they found out

( my old poems )

about my seeing some
new words.

“We’re just good friends
me and the words

we like to
hang out together.”

“You know...
just doin’ stuff!”

StuffstuffWellgiveyoustuff!
they screamed without any punctuation.

My old poems
went back to their books

in a huff
and slammed the covers.

Refused to
even talk to me.

Wanted nothing more
to do with me.

They’d packed their pages.

Left me
with nothing but

blankness.

“We’re going home
to the big thought in the sky!”

“Goodf?@*ingbye!”

The new words
came out from where

they were hiding
behind the wainscot .

“Phew they sure was mad
as hell!”

“Ok!”
I sighed

“Which one of you guys
wants to be a haiku?

HANGING WITH WORDS

I don’t know how
they found out

( my old poems )

about my seeing some
new words.

“We’re just good friends
me and the words

we like to
hang out together.”

“You know...
just doin’ stuff!”

StuffstuffWellgiveyoustuff!
they screamed without any punctuation.

My old poems
went back to their books

in a huff
and slammed the covers.

Refused to
even talk to me.

Wanted nothing more
to do with me.

They’d packed their pages.

Left me
with nothing but

blankness.

“We’re going home
to the big thought in the sky!”

“Goodf?@*ingbye!”

The new words
came out from where

they were hiding
behind the wainscot .

“Phew they sure was mad
as hell!”

“Ok!”
I sighed

“Which one of you guys
wants to be a haiku?

HANKERING

"Honey and mmmmm
mustard!"

The sun glares down
upon such a diet.

She balances the bowl
on her pregnant belly.

Her body not her own.
"My baby boy's hijacking me!"

At least with her last girl
it was non-stop ice cream.

Ice cream and pickles
Oh and blue crayons.

She knows now it is
pica.

But that knowledge
doesn't stop the craving.

A cloud too
pregnant with a moon.

Stars tremble
in a puddle.

A car's headlight
travels across the ceiling.

"Mmmmm mustard
and honey!"

HANKERING

"Honey and mmmmm
mustard!"

The sun glares down
upon such a diet.

She balances the bowl
on her pregnant belly.

Her body not her own.
"My baby boy's hijacking me!"

At least with her last girl
it was non-stop ice cream.

Ice cream and pickles
Oh and blue crayons.

She knows now it is
called pica.

But that knowledge
doesn't stop the craving.

A cloud too
pregnant with a moon.

Stars tremble
in a puddle.

A car's headlight
travels across the ceiling.

"Mmmmm mustard
and honey!"

HANKERING

"Honey and mmmmm
mustard!"

The sun glares down
upon such a diet.

She balances the bowl
on her pregnant belly.

Her body not her own.
"My baby boy's hijacking me!"

At least with her last girl
it was non-stop ice cream.

Ice cream and pickles
Oh and blue crayons.

She knows now it is
pica.

But that knowledge
doesn't stop the craving.

A cloud too
pregnant with a moon.

Stars tremble
in a puddle.

A car's headlight
travels across the ceiling.

"Mmmmm mustard
and honey!"

HAPPY NEW...WHAT?

the day
was standing
in the world

not knowing
just what
to do with itself

I was standing
outside
the world

not exactly eager
to be part of
the New Year

somehow I
had escaped
both time and space

but knew there was
no way out of it and
would have to return

a bird
sang
creation into being

and I had to step back
into the ways of the world
hoping against hope

that things would be
could be
better

but of course it was
more of
the same old same old


*


And now we welcome the new year. Full of things that have never been.

Rainer Maria Rilke

HAS ANYONE SEEN THEM **** CHICKENS!

Outside

the window

is

a

William Carlos Williams

poem

coming

into being.

There...is

the red wheelbarrow

glazed

with rainwater

minus

the chickens

who

have wandered

off

as if not knowing

they are needed

to fulfil

the poem

upon which

so much

depends

(gone to lay an egg

as chickens do)

& as I turn away

they march back into view

taking up

their poetical positions.

The living poem

even has its seasons

appearing

to me

covered in snow

dazzling

in bright bright

sunshine.

Sometimes

(for my own

surreal reasons)

I paint the wheel barrow

a yellow or blue

or

blue

with yellow spots

or...

My wife

laughs at me

& says: 'Oh...you! '

The wheelbarrow

long gone

to seed

now

sleeps quietly

upside down

beside the hen house.

Flowers

growing up

between its broken

wheel

covered

in fallen leaves

it dreams

of being a real

poem.

I smile.

'Now, where's

those **** chickens

...gone? '

HAUNTING MY OWN GHOST

My ghost hung around
waiting for me to kick

the bucket so it could
take my place.

I shouted: "Now, just hold on
a moment I am

not dead...gasp....gasp
-  yet."

"Oh hurry up and get on
with it!"

it screamed back.

Well...I never.

"It's hard being here but
not all there

if you know what I
mean...a ghost's gotta do

what a ghost's gotta do!"

Anytime anyone
came into the sickroom

my ghost crawled
up the wall or

hid behind the curtains
blending un-successfully into

the dreadful wallpaper.

But somehow
the kicked bucket

stabilised itself and
regained an equilibrium.

My ghost
assuming the worst

had now being
caught out

of its comfort zone
and had to pretend

to be my shadow
or my reflection

and learn to smile
at me through gritted teeth.

Me now the picture
of health.

I haunting my own ghost
with my continued living.

"I'ill get you for this!"
it snarls from the mirror.

"Oh go rattle your chains!"
I yell and flounce out of the room.

It hopes I die
...soonish.

HAVING HIS SHOES SHINED

Outside, it is
:1835.

A man is having
his shoes shined

at the last tree
before the corner of

Rue de Temple.

He's there at least
a good 15 minutes.

He can see his face
reflected in the toe tip

of his right foot
looking back up at him.

All the other humans
have vanished into smoke

become ghosts
of ghosts.

Anything that moves is lost
in the long exposure.

Daguerre holds
his breath.

Time has a habit of
disappearing.

Daguerre seizes the light
arrests it in its flight.

Nearly 200 years later
the man is still

having his shoes shined.

HAVING MISTAKEN YOU PERHAPS FOR YESTERDAY?

"Am I supposed to be dying. . ?"

Death
that person from Porlock

answers
quietly ". . .yes."

"gently gently gentleness ...
...the dark was talking to the dead"

Louis I loved
your "drunkenness

of things being
various"

you so "incorrigibly plural"

with your rather curious
Englished Irishness.

Me when I was
the me of 12 and a day

walking 30 miles
home from Dublin

with the record
of your voice

clutched in my hand

not noticing the miles
"Time was away

...and somewhere else."