i)

how sensitive
is the with
or without?

(no-one knows..)
to have or not-
to be

tetchy or
easy
to live or

so..

ii)
should we thrive
with less
or

an ultimate
sacrifice
our

hate
consummate
to

ours
(what is)
or

go-
i´m sure
i don´t need all

this-
it just
accumulates..

iii)

or what is
ceasers
render unto..

he
she
still

it keeps the
economy
going-

but creating
the seeds of
it´s own

destruction
(like lead
in the casket)

everything
is some one´s
personnel

own hell
i regard my
closet

with rueful
expression
the cup half full..

how very our existence
do differentiate
but how similar
we would have it..

how universally random
and exciting
of infinite possibilities
and yet

the same old ****..
so  say yea
to poetry
and yea to creation

in general
and nay to boredom
and pht to death
different

in everything
wit
or beauty
or love..

hunger to war
war to hunger
more to less
less to more
critical mass
massed critical-
to be soon..
soon to be
gone alone
alone gone
to the moon
moon to
what to
do?

i

lily are you a
witch?
not sure?

probably are..
many are unware..
a shadow woman..

you are kin
to the cats
umbra feline..

and you know
what i´m thinking..
your aura a flittering bat

in a long forgotten
or bats..
cornish cove

where dwell stange
nymph
and what not..

sun and moon
happy and fair
size 10 airware..

ii

it is easy to flex
my cosmic doo-da
and low hex

or spell-(let me
consult thesaurus..)
and abracadabra..

just a question of
discovery
there is magic

in nature-it is undeniable
power in beauty
and beauty into power

cats and bats
and hedgehogs
ears of the devil

can it be transmited
from one heart
in a circular

fashion to another?
there is healing
love and rebirth..?

iii

in perfection her
reflections
in the mirror

where they see
past and future
omni-presence

do you think
she says-will it rain
should i take

an umbrella
the twain meet
the clouds break..

i

the people i met later
said they never really
knew me..

that is because they
were not interested
i spoke

and the tumbling weeds
blew
the birds sang

sometimes i would say
i am an alien and
as we waited

in the silence and for them
to talk about themselves..
(which turned out to be

not far from the truth)
but in solitude
i found myself..

ii

maybe,lily says
archly-you were boring..
they were no more

interesting-believe me
one story-
i knew better than they..

i


i became interested in poetry
through bukowski
basically

i thought poetry was about
love and daffodils
literally

but can be about boozing
and ******, fighting
cats and dogs..

ii

why not drop
food and medical
aid?

from airplanes
(or helicopter)
clearly marked

bottles of water
and so..
¨from god..¨!?!

(A ripple of
applause
cod..?)(-cash on delivery..)

iii

lily says
thankyou..
this is called-

the universe-
(my mum went to
school with you!?)

iv

i feel ancient
like the light
that travels from
furthest depth

it is twisted and
bent
still lit

but hopeful..
like luggage lost
in transit

i await..
i have a number
and pretty colour

soul intact
can the can
computer enhanced..

v

what is wrong with
man?
well,it is the difference

(in silence)
between a power tool
screaming kids

yappy dogs
desparate dans
and a circle..

not any ones fault
not yours
but not mine..

(a stifled laugh
a cough
a truthful shuffle)

vi

she pauses for
to imbibe..
o momentarily entranced
by the H2o
-any questions?yes-
do you exist?
do you exist?
-on more than a purely
perfunctory basis-
(my mum went to school
with you..)

vii

existence

composed to resistance
-rene said,
i think therefore i am..

i prefer-
all i  i know is
i know nothing..

(one of the old greek boys..)
what if i can´t think..
what if it hurts..


(silence-the furtive rustle
of
a sweet wrapper
a no 23 goes by..
for some a ball
for i-music was the answer..)

viii

music

bob marley says,
music is a godly thing
y´know..?

the theme from tales
of the river bank
filled my

heart with love
and my head with
ambition..

silence is a kind
of music
the older i am

the more i love
that
too..

(love-karma
comrades
kind folk
strangers and
acquaintance-
indistinguishable
unavoidable
inevitable
pay the bill
eternal
officer dibble
no wibble
no wobble
a glass full
a charging bull
eternal again
chuff chuff
cosmic train
what i am giving
is what i am
getting-
simple but endlessly
complex..)

ix

complex

i don´t really like this word
i don´t use words i don´t like
but there it is
my mind is a blank
my leg itches
what about this world?
(bless my britches..!)
does the heart sink
does despair abound
do we desire closure
is it suffice
has it got a bit
too much
are we done?
no, there is space..
(space, the bit
between)
free and tedious
we consider the void
the gaps
between us..
(the no 23 goes past
and in a seat
some one waves
and blows a kiss..)
for want of a better
word..

a happy quiet
some positive
thoughts
what it is to
live-
i thought i might
try something different
lily says..


i have always admired
the art of the story teller and regret
their demise from popular culture..

x

once when after a successful ****
and apetites sated amid the crackle of
flame in a silence a moon  sighing
made to the front by the fire
between hunter and blood baptised
moved the medicine man
ju-ju and seer
with pipe and bone to bless
the warrior shadow and women
laughter admonishing small children
the cave grew hushed and stilled..

his first cry the prey´s last
a victory and a blessing
hiss and rattle

to the earth to the heavens
the second the sun
and moons

survival and fruitful
ness
-to the rain

he tokes his kit
and passes to the left
anoints the head

kisses the dead
and the refrain
for today and

tomorrow
-together
-together..

(celebration and commune
gone before the f or fight
of the nomad

the birth of possession..
order in might
the land

our own
black and white
o tribe of man!)



so the **** was the
inspiration and unification
a stone recollection

a moment of daring
the fired dancing of
imagination

searing rytham
on and on and
in

the bloodied sing
stone to bone
stone to bone

great the hunter
the victors song
one and on..

and so we learned to read and write
and tell tales..

i

poetry is food and food
is poetry-the soul will shrivel
if it is terrible then so

throw a silver piece dude
into a bottomless well
and go no..

no..without it..universal
love and time so
genius and the fool

hand in hand
shared-crude tool
why, say people

o subtle little stand
some twaddle
death and renewel

the loving land
a quick cuddle-
her or his hand

try and keep track
like a diary book
like a distant f

dinner in front of
the computer
carrot soup and

quiche
poor or rich
does n´t matter..

kidnapped by aliens?
on you go..
tell us you woke up

with a sore ***-hole..
and more power to you
make it good though

don´t rush..don´t they say
god is in the detail
(i say and too often

i know..)and i go on
i know..finnishing is tricky
motion is my thing..

ii

travel i liked travel
now,i am frightened to put
my head out..

memory will do that
i realize now -but with all
the ***** cognac i imbibed

tis´wonder i can remember
but with the computer and a
nice cup of tea..

i was death and now i am life
well change baby..
viva la differences

the bat cat and rat
the chinese i admire
don´t you

i felt universal love
to strangers but now
i want to **** them-

such is life change baby
old and grumpy..lol..
i was so dumb

i thought got to do
something baby
apart from drinking..

i was going from alcoholic to
chronic..a book by..it is called the grass
arena..

john something-i have to move..john
healy..how a drinking man became
a chess champion..

saved me bacon..i picked up my
guitar and said right..
and then i thought what about painting

and so on..i thought i was good  but..
therapy..penny whistle followed
violin and mandolin

heal me..save it..baby..
reading..i think i have covered crime
and punisment quite extensively-

in other poems i know
my girl friend hit me with it-bam..
it hurt but i read it..

and dostoyevski..what a guy..
from their i got into the russians
when i think of a book

some memory is attatched
and love and redemption
sonia and rodney..

his lovely mother and dunya..
mr luhzin
and my sore head..siberia..

i

i have a new book lily
i got it at the flea market
it is a compilation of patients
with strange psychosis-entitled,
the man who mistook his wife for a hat-i read the preface, and i thnk it is too complex for me..he is banging on about the
left and right of the brain..some rudimentary understanding
of neurology is called for..i don´ t have it..but i will try,i enjoy
a challenge..

ii

she says what would you do if
you only had a short time to live
i would n´t change a thing-is
that a some kind of happy man..?