Doppler

with the moon, once more, taking a chance on the ocean,
I feel the shift as we converge
pitched on the crest of such fluid a motion
but observe your arrival only after you are heard

I Can Do Anything You Can Do…

at the sub-atomic level
I’m just as good as you
its when we zoom out further
that it tends to go askew

Man Flew, If You Only Knew

with a dense fog of phlegm in my head
I know I’m swimming against the tide
about as well as a cormorant sings,
despite the slippery fish he may bring,
so my words have decided to snivel and hide
crumpled and curbed in this crusty bed

On The First Day Of (British) Summer Time…

£30 down

70 miles to run

east

eastward

urged by the shiny beats from the grimy patois street
through a condensing sea that
molecular bonds can’t quite complete
towards a Castle Rising
though those I see have largely fallen
and past purple scented fields of bees
until finally I stand full east on gritty strand
with drying pollyped fingers, feather fanned
escapees from the molloscular grasp
of breaker frosted bull nosed rings
while under the sun and over tide
fulmars ride Arial’s warm spirited spire
but pockets full of stones weigh me down
beneath the fractured pressage of blood blistered rocks,
the rusty witnesses to a hundred suicides

Blue Clues

the childfaced strangler
has the keys to the piggy bank
for his chinless and rapacious friends

springs loose his plans of destitution
to the north to the east and to the west,
but never to the south

and walks in the shoes of those
who condemned the children
of hardy, black dusted faces
to a living death of flea powdered veins

Castaway

this tension, polythene over my face,
delivers the N O2 Ar CO2 sis of a
catalysed drowning
one that washes the sleaze of
my peripatetic fervour clean beyond
the meandered way and grants
the stainless haven I would wish for you

I Breathe Through My Eyes And I See

the bouncing soles of the air I wear cushion me
over the orange, herring bone street
but cannot resist the insecticidal compulsion
of the green and white purgatory
where the neatly stacked wash of fluorescence
makes oven ready your heaven
amid the threnodial thrum of
a hundred syncopated Siemens

but today the doctor digs in his heels
and I invoke my sanity clause,
that get the fuck out of Dodge joker,
my salvation from the bourgeois diversion
we’ve come to call living
thus withdrawn I wait to emerge
into the moist blanket of a fresher dawn
that bears a promise of littoral warmth

Right now....

...I really hate these words

The Pig Society

all selling, or telling
forgot about the gelling together
of aught that matters

till we tipped past the point
of diminished returns to ruminate
on what a rich man earns

and caponised the germ
of all that once promised
in a swinish lust to fill our own pockets

A Spring In The Step

within a yawning rise he marches,
my long black twin, in the vicinity of a vernal sun
behind, beside and up front
as I wander through an aria electric with sex
where the happily played beg
“can we nest in your beard, as the trees are still bare?”
and my umbral brother offers all free lodging
and they chirrup and chide till I bid them
show patience for today the air is gorged
with expectancy and every bud seems to drip
of the latest vintage delicacy
so I whistle the branches and they shiver
and stoop and collect their dropped vestments
while offering green shoots
which declare “open for new residents”

Swallowed Up

I hear them
but will never know them

swamped amidst the miasma,
that rushes through my daily thoughts,
is every word I have not spoken

most will drown before their birth

Homo-P

my name is Pall
and eye am homophonic

their, aye said it
its a saw point two many
butt knot won witch
eye am willing two address
weather yew are worried
buy it’s affect ore knot

I yam the same inn barmy
climbs among a meadow full of flours
ore inn fowl whether
wear eye sale atop the raging seize
until the final bell is wrung

the maw yew tell mi
the less aye will care
caul me awl the names yew like
eye am aloud my principals
and yew will knot lesson them

Web Slinger

a single white feather,
ensnared in the orb
of a dew polished weft ,
bears startling cruor freckles

was it’s owner lassoed from the sky
and dragged to a grisly ruin?

Mortal Steps

what shall I leave?

the weight of my footfall
upon this earth cast
solid in a memory of something
more sound than fury?

or will it’s print diminish,
amidst the breadth of a single wave,
washed clean away by the lowest tide?

Platanus I

achenial planets, yet unspawned,
suspended, seemingly strangled,
by an indurate umbilical bind

sway in the breath of this nascent spring
like the forsaken fossilised baubles,
of a Christmas you chose to forget

Twine

we could talk about this all night long
but when it all becomes unravelled
in a buttery vanilla rope
and you rhapsodize in bubbles
as my face is flushed
by your success
it is soonest time for viscid sleep
that limpet locked requited rest

It Happened

after the deposit
what wonder explains
the chaotic symmetry of the direct hit
that poetic delivery
sluiced prose lit upwards
in a cold shivered split
of exposed anatomy

Fukushima

staggered by a blow
six hundred million times more
fierce than the first time

a delivered sun
bloomed upon and scorched her loam
with untold shadows

no wave of fire though
now as then so many souls
vanished from the earth

and the swallowed star
made by man extracts the same
deadly half-life toll

How It Was Can It Ever Be

stubbed out Friday nights
renewed in a golden rush
of fermented light

So What?

it is said that class doesn't matter
but I have class
and it works for a living
so it matters a lot
to me

Today Was A Good Day

tonight my grown up little girl came home
just for the weekend
and we
as a family of five have sat
and we have drunk
and we have eaten
and we have laughed together
but we have not argued
though between us we have
plenty of reasons to be angry
we have kicked back
and flicked a collective fuck you to the world
and that makes today one of the best days

Venez Avec Moi

smooth as oysters lips
your barraged ocean falls on
salted fingertips

Mountebank

my innards
laid out, divined,
bloodless cold tripe
that cast no insight
on your or my plight
these maladroit
broadcasts naught
but considered shite

drama of the here and now
in as many acts
as you can swallow
just breathless gasping
in the vacuum-packed plastic
of this necrotic head

Cicada

I remember you
such peaceful neighbours
through three
skin peeling summers of
day-singing whistling leaves
though you never gave us anything to see
but almond flavoured husks

Schism

you see god
in each shaft of light arcing between the clouds
I see physics
burning through superstition's cloying shroud

It Never Rains

as you drown in the kerbside mere
heart spiking as you watch
your lover float away
so each raindrop that rebounds
in vain effort to reconvene with the sky
must remain ditchbound

My Life, My Water

have three fingers
ever been put to better use
than to gauge the earthy
honeyed measure of you?

I was nearly lost
to your deep southern cousin
as I counted the years
to the longest full dozen

twelve summers apart
as your spirit imbued
but now rest on my tongue
your glen born dew

A Question for Mr Grahame

when the ducks in the brook
do their “up tails all”
is there ever an occasion where
they simply forward roll?

Red Rocked The Greenery

upon this small envelope,
ankle deep in loam finery
beneath the quietly distracted smile
of a sky well versed in the art of
the brush off,
clockwork commuter bullets rattle
the air amidst a ruinous karma
of bloodied leek robber’s form and fur
llwynog’s surrogate retribution,
my foxy proxy,
brought down on this Tyddewi bore
here I crossed paths with mediæval toad,
as I travailed in a sea of worm and broken crocks,
I could tell he was because of the hat he wore
but he didn’t have much to say…
so rude

Your Honour

tonight I bleed a deviant intramural
spring wash along ten brittle channels
jammed into veiny eyes shocked wide
at pulsing cinnabar spread on the script
where I draw the foul ledger of charges laid
squarely against me though I answer yet
every one singularly in third person text
as witness to my own prosecution
but at every objection I perjure myself
so must stomach the sentence and practice the tense