Saturday, 30 April 2011

A Haiku

Throaty smuts muster

bellicose in their high line


Friday, 29 April 2011

The Politics Of Distraction

It was a good day to bury bad news yet again today as it was revealed that the savings needed by the National Health Service will be 50% more than expected. So amidst the pomp, the circumstance and the expense more good people face an uncertain future and the loss of their incomes, not to mention the inevitable reduction in services to the tax paying public.
The British Prime Minister David Cameron spoke of the royal wedding being the "Best of British" but he is blind, deluded and disingenuous. The people affected by these cuts are the best of British not the pampered privileged aristocracy that has been parading around today. What I don't understand is why people just wont wake up. It's not a fairytale it's a tactical distraction.

Hey! Look! There's Elvis!

Thursday, 28 April 2011

A Haiku

Oily darts return
Summer's clarion herald
Vanguard in the blue

Tuesday, 26 April 2011

If Death Comes So Cheap...

...then the same goes for life"

Reprehensible "toy" product for a "family orientated" store in the UK to be selling in the 21st Century

Monday, 25 April 2011

Challenge Time

Who can knit this into a sweater before Friday?
Helpful Link below

Empty Rides

Empty Rides

I sleepwalked through a fair today,

bathed in a numb melancholy and

washed by waves of contrary noise.

It, like me, just going through

it’s own riderless motions.

A drove of carnal ghosts shambled,

noisily but uninterested,

through the daytime lights and unsavoury bites,

in a stuttering waltz

of onion scented ardor

Tuesday, 12 April 2011

Owl From A Stone

My owl from a's art cos I say it is so sod off haters :)

Saturday, 2 April 2011

On The (Cold) Beach

Staring into a graphite sky, pricked with white

feathered comets skimming the wavetops

and a concomitant armada

riding the rolling horses foaming

toward the strand,

I, still and intent, let the wind and salt enjoy

an astringent feast on the flesh that

I leave exposed

as I stand on a primeval carpet

of crushed shells

Besides me lies a skeletal hulk with rusted coat,

draped with weed, fast with limpet buttons,

bow to the waves

proud and trimmed true

even in death.

Tattered rags of humanity flap around the shore,

like all the dead summers frayed flags

wind ravaged

and stripped of any

thermic presage

High above my head the escarpment is crumbling

and its restless ossuary of mortified lees

casts down

a leviathan of

chalky exudate

the downfall from an unremitting disintegration

in our less than dignified retreat from a land

secure underfoot

to ancient seabed


Friday, 1 April 2011

That Old Black Hole Again

Is this still real,

embraced in our entirety?

A scarred lovers seal

to last beyond infinity

Or a wholly less,

misbegotten cold entropy

in that fatal place

where we’ve reached our singularity?