Archive for June, 2014

My Mandrake Mind

Posted: June 30, 2014 in poetry
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My mandrake mind is peeling through the moments,
That whip to frenzy penguins of despair,
And keep me in pursuit of inconsequential dust-stuff.
The will to live is captain now of dying,
But only for a moment then desperation,
So middle thoughts still keep my brain a’frying:
What if, what will be, and what might occur.

The hobo sun is soaring through the sky,
And everything seems possible for an instant,
All is simple as a pin in the eye of madness.
The parts fit cleanly to the life contraption.

Bend not the fingernails of the harpie filled with humus,
Love not the suffering of little furry creatures,
Keep not the company of those who love to make pain,
Go to sleep at night and then do it again.


Posted: June 25, 2014 in poetry
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Bend not the root of the twice kissed eel,
Always put the drama of the moment on display,
Betray the dreams of the ghosts who suck your soul,
Make mischief with the concept of a day.

Never weasel words of compassion.
Never beat a wookie with a bat.
Never make love with an alien from above,
Be friendly to those who want to chew the fat.

Blather the priest who shrouds you with a veil,
Bother the person who is meant to be in charge,
Take every instinct and turn it into fairy floss,
Always fathom thoughts you may enlarge.

Crumble the expression that you’ve made quite an impression,
Never dance the rhumba with a goat,
Keep your hands to yourself my friend,
Please don’t put them on my throat.

Embarrass the haughty and the mighty and the great,
Laugh at pictures of guinea pigs in hats,
Life’s a smoke and then it’s on fire,
Never try to build a dam with cats.

Brandish your contempt for mediocrity,
Don’t be a sell-out for a pocket full of stars,
Don’t soak yourself in suburban sentiment,
It’s probably wise never to steal cars.

My Vandal Heart

Posted: June 25, 2014 in poetry
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My vandal heart heaves for the broken sky,
That thunders my deficiencies to the earth,
That sky that hides a heaven in its circle,
Obscures God’s throne from my unyielding eye.

My pilgrim soul is eager for the way,
That winnows the dreams of the drunken saints,
And appreciates that we are made of dust.
My spirit aches to know of blazing days.

And when I’m drunk or stoned or lost in love,
That prodigal God is still a near companion,
For a lost and ragamuffin mob of shiftless souls,
Who will meet He who comes down from above.


Posted: June 24, 2014 in poetry
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The fire that lights the cone sets the world aglow
And fire inside will warp the bottomless psyche.
The acrid smoke of tobacco, the sweet smoke of Mary Jane,
A cocktail of cannabinoids, opening up new cartographies of consciousness.
Smoke fills the bottle and rises to the lungs,
Which flinch and shake in a paroxysm of coughing.
A weird oxygen-deprived lightness in the head,
Then the descent of a warm blanket of stonedness:
Over the brain and underneath the soul,
Over the heart and underneath the mind,
A fuzzy feeling, warm and comforted,
Suppressing thought of mediocre things,
And opening the head to poesy,
By squaring the soul’s circle round the grave.


Posted: June 24, 2014 in poetry
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A fever simmers down below the scalp
That bends the brain and breaks the spurious mind,
And shatters bonds of sinew and white matter.
Oh pain! Oh cursed pain that stabs like forks
Of lightning in between the festering lobes.
The prurient brain is wizened for all time.

The web of nerves will shimmer and pang with pointless pain
Oh disco of lights and multi-coloured fractals!
Hallucinations hypnotize my skull,
And tumours in the eyeball of the mind,
Are pestilence to the braid of sanity.

A mysterious malady contaminates my soul,
The senses are aflame with poison blood,
And pus is pulsing to the aching ears,
As the limbs putrefy and drop off.
It’s a worry.


Posted: June 19, 2014 in poetry
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Poison paranoia eating up the febrile mind-brain,
Random seizures like lightning strikes pummel the body,
Disconnected neurons torture in multiple sclerosis- a lottery of accidental suffering,
Paralysis pounds at the base of the spine, rendering legs useless,
Ataxia, ataxia, a fierce epidemic of ataxia,
Drool, drool from uncontrolled lips which twist words,
Cancer drags the tumour filled bodies to death,
Old bodies bent with a hump from the weight of the years,
And festering with decay and age,
Are crippled with bloating obesity, and choking arteries.
We are ephemeral like flowers in spring: we are gone in a month and broken in a moment.

For Dylan Thomas

Posted: June 19, 2014 in poetry
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If I were emboldened by the velvet voice of the rutting fawn,
Who leaves the land-locked maidens in his wake,
And breaks the spring-time grasses without care,
I too would be excited by the rub of love,

And run outside to fellow-friend the girls.
So dazzled by their grace and pulchritude,
As wondrous are their bones to my desire,
I fenced the smoke and overcame my fear.

Within the groves that once were my home streets,
I with careless footsteps was restored,
As I spent myself among the wind-swept girls,
And fruitlessly meditated on the shattering of a maiden.

As all of noble nature cries out for sentiment,
And each trifling creature longs to stretch its line.
Each will populate the kindling earth,
To make an ending to perpetual time.


Posted: June 16, 2014 in poetry
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The plates have all been used twice or more,
The cigarette butts are piling up towards the sky and the ones on the floor are all neatly emptied of tobacco,
The kitchen is a spectacular nightmare of oozing textures,
There are piles of detritus mixed with cutlery and plates,
And the sink is full of coffee grounds.
Somewhere under there is my kettle, maybe even a lighter.
The floor is covered in empty bumpers, guinea pig poo and empty beer bottles,
My mate is sleeping on the floor on the couch cushions,
The guitar has a broken tuning knob,
There are little plastic bags everywhere,
My brain is dead from too much pot,
I can’t find my bloody keys,
The guinea pigs are piggies and I’m a piggie.

The Yes-men

Posted: June 16, 2014 in poetry
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The projectile sunrise is breaking before us.
We are the yes-men, the suck-ups, the scum-bags,
We’ll screw up the world until it squeals like our bitch.
We are the festering dirt under your fingernails,
We are the leprosy locked up in each moment of time,
We are the living embodiment of total depravity.
If anything’s broken we probably broke it,
It’ll keep breaking down and it will never be fixed.
If anything’s twisted, it’s probably our influence,
We’ll tear at the flesh like sharks and poison the mind,
And we leave very little behind.

The serious moonlight silvers the illuminated surfaces, leaving the shadows where I lurk, and watch the lovers,
Shades of grey, shades of blue, images of a darker hue, much is concealed, little revealed.
Lovers meet in the oscillating night-time luminescence, words of love are spoken to the infinite dark, passion seethes in the absence of the sun.
Meeting at corners, and under pergolas, at parks and at the doorstep.
Oh to be close, to have lovers’ secrets and a realm all our own which we create with our words and gestures.
What bliss to be joined together for what seems at the moment an eternity, feeling happy and complete, dancing to the same tune!
To exist as an entity with an ‘and’ in the middle, a couple, a pairing, a dyad, a twosome.
And yet it can all decompose so easily, leaving me broken apart again, destitute and lonely because I have an actual experience to compare my present state to.
Pictures and images of time together shutter by my mind’s eye and confuse me in a delicious reverie, pictures of us together are like songs that stick in your mind so you can’t get rid of them.
Lonely again and howling at the memory of making love, overcome with the emptiness at the base of my soul, with mortality sucking my bones for marrow.
But things are looking up. It’s ladies night.