on a friday night i
might go to the hari krishna
for kindliness and a good dinner..

and when the tables and chairs
and plates had been cleared away
they fought it out-say!?

with all their love could muster!
yellow and safron a mad blur!
for a while til the last one standing

bowed and offered his love
should have seem them go?!
that was something..

on a stone:
i was bored..
t´was time!
(of two-four..)

but i waltzed around*-
head a cloud and
now i´ve gone..
-too a bone..

i

on christmas day it was
a tradition in our family
for my father to give us
each a box of chocolates..

in between the layers
he d secretly secreted
money (though seemi-
ngly still sealed..)

how he did this
was mystery ?
a ten shilling note!
and strawberry delight..

alright..

ii

in the christmas pudding
was a silver sixpence
or two..
(hey we were rich)

watch your teeth children
mother would admonish
woo!
i got one..!

a bag of chips
from the chip shop
cost sixpence..
walking home

the stars were free..

one of your angry ones´
lily-?
i like to let rip occasionally

creation can be release..
like what to
could be hit by a bus..

one given to utopian predilection miss
one who sees the stars-
my mum says my dad
lives in a
dream and he should get off
his-
-yes-one who sees potential-
you all have potential, children!
so, why should someone be ostracised
or victimised
because they believe..?
someone like vincent van gogh
who was he?
someone else...?

i)

one of the great challenges in
this world is to know enough
about a subject to know your right-
BUT NOT ENOUGH TO KNOW
YOUR WRONG..?!

what is that ******* asks lily
marking a page
i dunno, its sunday morning..
you got it wrong-no..

it´s lost now anyhow..
confuse them with the truth
there is now information unbounded
yet we are still dumbfounded..

once, we never left the village
we knew more then
he no-doubt went on to explain
while we were thinking, right-wrong

never enough-this world *****
anyway you look at it-
(i smelled money in the cosmic breeze)
put some pink floyd on..
what are you reading..?

the marsh arabs by, wait-wilfred
theisger..it´s a *******?!
(if you like travel books-)
only chapter two-now
hospitality is the name..

on line two-there is
a caller?!hey?!
what would you do
if you were attacked by
a big dog, lily-well,i would run
i suposse..

though sometimes there is
no where to run..
i don´t know-something
unexpected-offer love and
friendship
a kiss-and what is your
favourite poem..?

i don´t really have one
the next or the last
walter de la mare..
or when confronted by
a predator-punch it on
the nose..prey for divine
intervention..

ii

can you make up something
now?

-i don´t know-there is
a little bird that bothers me
white wings perhaps a portend
of death-twigs shiver..
the sky howling whence
it has been-seeing through my
window-what may it be..
through one eye and frozen expression
he considers ..is it past future
or now, i don´t know..

iii

thanks, bye!..o good luck!
(i don´t believe in luck-)
my mum went to school with you
now i am ancient..

and sometimes a child..
between assorted hex
between a twix at four
and no hell..

you know that no-how
hiker-death in the eye
all roads lead
a lost log blues..

or youth
or power
eternal life or

an easy death
truth and honour
or perhaps a cruise..

or i might not bother,
i mean,i am everything
and nothing..

all that is to come
all that has been
a daisy and a star..

all that hate over
nada..
when we are the same..

or i will chat from
the heart-what is important
what should be learnt
are you hurt

is the pain such
you can not think..
no touch..
if only you concentrated

if only..
where should i start?
when i drift away
a fractured heart..

into some dark den
of the forgotten
some belated fortune-
the next level..

i am old and yet a child
i am young and yet an effing
old man..and i no longer smile
angel and devil..

so i dream of the wild scapes
with the jolly tent on my back
(god bless the cider tent..)
my life spent..

ramble on..you can get to
the end my hairy friend..
just because and why..
a small debt to pay..

other people´s faults
appall me-
says lily-

(or is it the word?)
mine however pale
into trivia..

impatience
pathological meaness
cowardice..

in the great scheme of
things-
those tiny sweet cymbals

(going ding...ding..)
eg spelling
another thing..

ii

my old man was a
generous sort
he walked into his local
and bought everyone a drink..

and he gave me what he
promised
i touched his dead hand
it was very cold..

paul,tea or coffee?
water,please, in which life began
and our destiny-
do you think our lives have
improved with the advancement
of technology?

(or were we better off with
fantastic superstition
dying old at forty
imagination..
the peace of god..)

(have we lost or
won
how angry to wait
a second?!
how blase we have
become..)

(still,it is enough cliche
to be
or not-a luddite
poet-let him speak,lily..
gods sake..)

peach cobbler?
o ?
to share o

impossible so..
i suppose or
greed is any

different from
jealousy
inverted..

that we know
zero but insist
any-how..

hypocrisy is
the way..
poverty is necessary-

so on-
ice cream, paul,
why not..

i

phoebe said
kindness is cool-
but what does she
mean (by that..?)

ii

when you spill tea
on the desk
do not heap scorn
upon the cat..?

iii

do not blame others
for your faults
and wonder-lover
why you were born.?

iv

tolerate!
do not hate,
are not we all,
riders on the storm..?(the doors)

v

there is no conspiracy
against you!
your poetry is
lame..?

vi

who cares?
there are seven billion
of us-give up your seat
on a bus..?

vii

a sandwich too many?
tongue and jelly?
give a-way!
(without being assaulted..)

viii

phoebe said!
kindness is cool and
adopt a donkey
this yule..?

ix

what did jesus say?
he said the same
love-he
phoebe

x

and finally
you don´t have to be
a genius to see..
yes...monkey...?

playing music joins
the dots
or fills the void
(an ink blot blown..)

i imagine it the same
mind set as meditation..
unifys the self..
(a smile for a frown..)

poe looks on cynically
pausing in his ablutions-
so,we should have some
kind of moral conscience

we should  care for others..?
has nt it all been done-
every revolution is betrayed
lilly touches an ear and

droplets decorate her crown
an ancient beauty
stars are stray and gone
in love by comparison..

i figured i was being ripped off
first by low wages and secondly
by high prices-a lost elf..

not much to be done about
that..but i tried to educate myself
for all that
see thinking is free..

at this rate i thought
i might be of interest perhaps
not to others but to my self

a lost elf..a creel and a rod
not much but the less you want
the happier you are..?

poems from the basement-
i stayed with a couple in the attic
once-

the police led him away in handcuffs
there were state of the art cameras
lights and dogs..

there were plain clothes and soldiers
bright lights and a thin divide
there, was his woman unsuprised..

followed, i left town
i took a bus for the country side
the air was sweet..

poems should conceal
rather than illuminate
it´s not personal
only business-

cause no-one cares!
love or hate
not now but
eternal..obvious..

poems from the basement:
she looks over my shoulder
how we remember it (or
paranoid nonsense..)

i know hardly original is
it-hanging in the balance
(walk that way-)
a single or return..?

there, the ticket master
not normally
so emotional..
will he cry-

let us see-
how much is a single?
and how much is..
a vestige of hope

behind an insect eye..
how long is an open valid
for-what about peak times
ever had any fun..

long times..well, i ceased
listening long ago but
considering his demeanor
(only doing his job..)

we regard each other
outside, trains and rain
now, he is smiling..
in this town of grey pain..

poems from the basement:
a fake knife in the pocket
a marble egg thrown
through the television
sniff the air and returned
go abroad..
a look from a man
a single or return
a bird warning
a look of compassion
off of a waiter
thieves at the bedside table
beautiful women
dead beggars and so on..

i

poems from the basement:
..and who is to say what or whom
is beautiful..***..
well, moving on-

dead beggars and so on
(mostly, my poetry is an exercise
in memory-use it or..
i am not apologising..)

i was the last to see him alive
and we argued
living with the russians
around the fire and songs

from the gulag..he  was
found on the beach
by a friend who had his guitar
stolen by a hunch back dwarf from albania

i warned him-last time i saw him
he was on the bins..trying to get a stake together
(for a new guitar)so he could again play in the street,
he was pretty good..

ii

i was sat outside my tent
(amid the rubble)
when the police come  around

with his photograph-
you know him-he was purple
they were going to slap me

but laughed-i said i was going on
holiday, so might not be around
they wanted me to drop a dime,

as our american cousins say..
(do i look like a rat..)so i walked
for the border line..

iii

t, who knew everything,
said they got him-
he was the educated one-

(surprised me..)
it was a hairy old walk to
the border..

****** is not funny
anything can happen
no good running

casual like
i will be off then
a black sedan

followed
a few yards behind
i was not laughing..

silence can be ominous
but a marble egg thrown through
the television
speaks volumes

(blasphemy, says lily)
and the colours by golly
they stood dead
only a threat..

in the counsellers house
i was a boy
and remained so
chicken ****..

poems from the basement-
the past comes back to haunt
(you-me..)
i´ll get my paint box..

a look from a man-something
surreal-says lily thoughtfully..
it is death with a moustache..
it is surety-

it is a void
it has lasted 44 years..
the human visage is capable of
an astonishing variety of emotions
and communication..

what is that?
that is some act of wickedness
and the blue?
waves..
a complete lack of humanity
rides forever outward..
what´s that say?
plain clothes..

that star there is
still hope and the green
is the fresh down on
some innocent morn
we will say single or
return..

poems from the basement:
i liked to live in a tent
i would move from one beautiful

place to the next..
learn a musical instrument
by a stream

and go play in the town
get some money
meet somebody..

go to the library
go to the museum
live on the beach..

man can not be isolated
(covid was a timely reminder)
and yet we are to live on
another planet..

there are some who already do-
lily says, look at this-what is that?
a pk 42 with the latest do-da
for killing and maiming..

a bargain..no more re-loading..
lazer sights..so where are we
in the dark-wait,wait..
a marble egg thrown through

the television-o no-
ah, these demons are to be
exorcised-get that rainbow
at the ready so..

poms from the basement:
what happened next?
i had a rather dramatic bowel movement

passing the guard with my
bottle of johnny walker-(black label),
(traded for some fine squidgy, lily..)

i took an old decrepid bus for
the coast to a sweet little bay..
(let me get my paints..)

the palm trees sway..
what is that..?bedouin tents,
and children running with little

billy-goats..the tourists lying
in the sun
****** and covered in flies-

ugh..i thought..yet three weeks
later there lay i
****** and covered in flies..in the sun..

ii

what is that?
it is called the donkey
that kicked itself..

is it relevant?
you see it laughs
as the pains diminish

in the basement
things are getting a
little strange..