Friday, 14 October 2016

Bleeding-Edge Prophet

And Lo
So let it be said
And let it also be written thus
And let it be passed down through the generations
Like rare unicorn musk..

There was once a man so wise
And this wise man was a very wise man
And he did offer me deeply learned counsel
And he did point to a very far away place
Way over there betwixt the yonder high rises
Past the melded concrete ravines
The budgerigar dressage glass-encased whirlpool trip-wired meadows
Humanity redux recast remoulded deep-fried and stilettoed
A hive-mind meshed in a debt collector universe
Smashed over our heads with cellos..

And yet and yet
For all that
There beyond the marauding marque shellac 

And the disinterred fluorescing plastered grass
A mysterious plain of rapturous abandon and ascension was mapped
Glittering and shimmering so silken diffuse and vast..

Yes of course his eyes flashed as the eyes of a zoom lensed visionary
Fathomless and flaming
Yet calm and all-seeing
There I tell you
It lieth there 

He flourished a magical divining instrument
Pointing and tilting it so
His hallowed dowser elevating us symbiotically
A deft sceptic-frying debunkers Valhalla soul communion 
of elevated spirit and esoteric Vimana-style technology
The wise man had no doubt 
For his instrument had no doubt
For where there is synergy there is symmetry
The flowing a flowering liminal...

So what incredible wonders lieth there I enquired
He only nodded cryptically murmuring
Sagely confiding delicately whispering
Know is The Gift 
Right there 
Just as fixed on the earth

as the canopy of stars is hanging up high I tell you..

So you must go now to that very place
Make haste
For what you must seek post-rock poetry man

 - this veiled Nirvana municipality
Shall surely be revealed with tidings gladly

To shine gloriously before you in all its munificent majesty
So roll now chosen one
I shall meet you there verily before sundown

No time to fetch your man-mittens..

And so let it be written

For my man-mittens I did not tarry journeying 'neath this engineered sky
The strips of tripping Komodo breath of barium halo slime
Enveloped the cascading Wormwood lodestone 

on its eccentric Sumerian inscribed melt-and-go timeline..

And know this..
As Space Deception Technology cloaked
I walked amongst the hordes of sonic feedback clones
A strange delirium a gnostic probably foretold

For the undeliverable people seemed as fevered lost sheep 
Eyes forever cast low on Pokémon GO!
Volunteer mole-spies banging into one another privacy laundering..

And when this sacred land I at last reached
All around me was but bleak barrenness babbling electronic speech..

And an upturned shopping trolley lay here
And some non-biodegradable carrier bags
shape-shifted a desultory tumble-weed banshee swirl over there

The heat waves steam-rolled the unforgiving arid asphalt air
And I feeling weary and confused at this desperate scene
Awaited for the return of the wise man
My elemental bleeding-edge guide
As drone vultures above hummed swooped tormented and dived
We the people team-tagged the deep state's outlandish ants or flies..

After not one sundown but two
The wise man stumbled at last into view
Bedraggled and windswept and blistered
This locust land of philistine bling 

Gang-banging the medicated ever more bewildered..

So I held out my arms askance..
And what dwells here wise man
For I observe here but ten kinds of miserable wrong 
No heavenly gyrating maidens
No starlight
No feast

No nymphs banging golden leaf gongs
Where are my welcoming dancing throngs
Come on..

And gentle reader know this
The fierce gusts did whip harshly around us
And the magnified darkening sun stung us 
Burning as lasers through the mysterious lenses square
Earth projecting an imposter moon layer as deep as a disc
Our ragged souls shredding us through the hedgerows of despair..

The wise man shook his head with deep sorrow
I confess I am so lost
 More lost than ever

And he gazed up to the bubbling scarlet cotton
Then wiping away tears of frustration
Glared down at his device
He concluded after a silence
Philosophically gonzo-Zen

My Celestial Promised Land Sat-Nav App fucked up again..

So I must say this unto you
Whatever you need to discover is not here
Or there...or there..
And even if it be here..or there..or there..
Surely I would not know..

He trailed off..
..for I have no gleaning of astronomy..or astrology..or astrometry
Nary a hope..

His tormented soul was as the debris field
Swirling the anciently-fangled constellation Ophiuchus..
If only I had paid more attention at Wise Man College
Alas I did not heed my teachers knowledge
Thus I confess I know not one lentil sausage

I download this app
A short-cut to the etheric unworldly bridge

You see I was tempted
Alas I am not a very learned wise man
I hope you will find it within yourself to forgive..

And we wept

For we were as idiots self-annointed
And were as the Sam Allardyce recently proclaimed
Obviously massively disappointed..

Tuesday, 27 September 2016

The Transcendentalist

So the scents of pre cornflake sex
And post energy drink breath

Pervades the carriage like a squid squadron infusion..

Acrid lemon bleach musk cologne
Tinkly-plink-thud beats effervesce from earphones
She leans arching on the glass pane knackered
Eye-liner Rothko remastered
Her groin marine satyr
Not so lucky a bastard
She receives a sext from another torpedo piece of spam with pecs
Night riders of the triple-xxx scuba app. pipelines
Anticipating the lying
Looking forward to her beau's spying..

Free newspaper time
Good deeds and lonely bee-lines
Fleeting eye-contact frieze a la carte
Doves flee shark Bonapartes
Amorous darts
You looking at me
You better be
This empty cup of coffee
Would murder for a cup of tea..

Egg sandwich Nazi
An olfactory nuclear catastrophe
Two parts sulphur
To one part ego cadaver of hoax-to-fade celebrity
Outreach egg sandwich Nazi..

Egg sandwich Nazi
A committed hater of commuter humanity
The clown at a Fred West house-warming party
And apropos of nothing
I met the scribe who outed an inspector
Later suicided in some woods
But that is another poem
And I never would..

The Zen master invites us all to mind the gap
I always sit cross-legged in the aisle when she chants
..mind the gap..mind the gap..Which gap
My chakras haven't activated sufficiently to decode this mantra
My codon helix still only binary matter
Although the descendants of Enki now spin peeling our ionised sun 
..mind the gap..mind the gap..
The commuters file through me
I'm a phantom rocking the 3d stun gunned..

Well she could be referring to the gap between this one and the next..
The gap between our fantasy and the grim reality..
The gap between our vulnerability and our armour..
The gap between illusion and dharma..
The gap between us surface dwellers and Agarthans..

I content myself that on the subconscious plain my third eye apprehends
Like a cherry blossom tree the haiku
An elusive state of bliss sudoku
..mind the gap..mind the gap...
..and the bends..I add 
Arising I clap one hand
Breathe in and hold on..
And hold on to hold on and in-breathe again - 
Intoning - 
...mind the gap..avoid the bends..mind the gap..

I know I will breathe out some day..

Tuesday, 13 September 2016

Monday, 29 August 2016

Tycho (Deviationist Astronaut And The Zany Karmic Architect)

I'm rushing below the firmament in a submarine
Pulled up by balloons
Rocket thrusters won't work in a vacuum
The torrid plasma liquid washes over the viewing screen
And the Hubble telescope cannot anywhere be seen
This periscope doesn't recognise the space handed to us it seems..

Am I floating beneath the epidermis of a prison planet scheme
I fear this is way beyond my theosophical steam
So how to define the omniscient dream
And space isn't so black
Its spectrum spans luminescent green to cream..

So what animates the animation
Is our reality externally generated and framed
Perhaps our earth is only a splash of an atomic spark
inside a vast stellar game
Are we merely holographic entrapped imaginings
Programmed by the zany karmic architect with cosmogryal game
Or maybe I have too much non linear time on my hands again
Deja vu circles around as once again
Time spirals on the helter skelter curves
Snakes and ladders arc on zig-zags..
And whatever..

A tractor beam from the moon pulls and parks me in
The indigo oceans crash and swirl below the glassy domes
For some lucky souls this is home
The helium-3 propellant firing down sloshes through the fins
The crazy nightclubs below flash and sparkle
A typical Saturday night then..
                                                  in the downtown crater Tycho..

Will I meet a moonmaid offering an immersive beer
I'm a lonesome deviationist space astronaut submariner
Touching down with a smile and a tear
And if it's five hundred lunars for a praying mantis lap dance
Sorry but I'm outta here..

Who built the moon
Optics present crescent spaghettify
Absinthe cigars Ganymede elves and rye
I float when I float and flop as I fly
Soon in the groove you'll be fine
So promise me you'll try it sometime..

The gravity chambers slishslosh beguiling hues of bottle sea blue
The bar chairs are of the nymph empath's euphoric crystal
I sup and wind down

Take in the view..

What is that

I'm stopped dead in my tracks..

I spy other moonmaids weeping in a distant pool viewing their news
And I feel I'm about to somersault into..into..
Because I can never..
I conceive I am about to know
I never knew...

So what would you do
If you happen upon umpteen moonmaids weeping at their news
Would you just carry on drinking an immersive beer
So I will slip away
Well I have to
I must intrepidly peer inside their limpid galley
Carefully foot-fall-floating quietly near..

Some moonmaids gazing inwardly seem hushed
Others shed tears
One somehow sensing my presence turns around
Churning over goodness knows what thoughts profound
Instilling transference into my mind
How did you arrive here
Oh by typical balloon spaceship submarine
How did you appear here
I turn to point to the bar behind me now gone disappeared
I can't even find the entrance slipped through only moments before
Behind me now is a gossamer silken turquoise shimmering waterfall
Yeah okay hmm
The weekend starts here I guess..

From here on in things I fear
will veer ever looping vectors of weird..

Swimming over this moonmaid now steers me to her viewing dock
Floating 4d immersive screens enveloping us all
She is explaining how each screen is a human soul
I myself am utterly goggle-transfixed
Depth charged into the shimmering truth arranged
The moonmaids are gazing through souls
Then tens of thousands more..

The screens within screens within screens
Almost as if every soul...

The root of the every water drop
Every incarnate consciousness
The The
As threading through the you of you
She plunges me through the screens
Trip wired
The minds fling a torrential heart-rending choir
A multitude of beings simultaneous per second per second
Imploding I cannot breathe..

As the tree
Through every vein of every leaf
Coursing through the living screens
I a crash test dummy colliding with Dream..

She pulls my head away
I gasp for air
Have you eaten
Well I had an immersive beer..
With that she slams my head back into the 4d..

Where am I
I am a..
A terrified child
I'm experiencing the life
and thoughts of a terrified and sobbing child

I'm bleeding against a wall
Something fell inside me hurts

A man a few feet away from me is firing a machine gun
He is shouting something at me
But I don't understand..

Booms bangs smoke
                        Above I see a drone
                                      I cannot move..

The city around me is rubble and burning
I feel my head I see blood
Where's my mother
I don't understand..

My eyes..I cannot see
I cannot see..

Where's my mother
Why has she left me..
Where is she...

Can't she hear me..

Where is my mother..
Please let her be okay..

I am thrown into the air
I am really scared now

I feel strange
I I am sleeping now..

The moonmaid pulls me out the screen
Just as this child folds over
Thus this one screen within the others folds over
Folding over just broken I blank out..

Silence in the galley
Arias of silence
Delivered by moon sirens..

I come to
But I now see no longer
And I am no longer an I
Bereft in a veiled vast space
Some kind of another place
Ultra dimensional nothing
Night teems off night
Peeling layers slip outside of time in full eclipse

A drop of light sense infuses
Flashing a beam through this glimmering fabric
Waves waves and pulsation waves
The hum-drum totality
Of a different octave..
 - Am I experiencing a dead imagination

And a fresh new raindrop splashes
Vibrates on an orchid leaf..then gone..
 - No

I'm back..
Floating on the gentle waves
Of the shimmering waterfall
The moonmaid is sitting on a rock above me
Gazing intently through the screens
The screens within screens within screens within screens..

I will lie here still for a very long while.....

She turns her gaze toward me
More elusive than ever another lifetime...she whispers..
I have no time to ask

She is leaning over now
And now she is pressing a finger through the middle of my forehead...

The heart of all matter
The sand flow of neutron stars
A birth..

I see myself now walking against the flow of the waterfall
Held in her rapt trillion light year eyes..

Now I see myself

Floating above myself in the bar
Yet I'm still prone
Held in her gaze
As she floats above me.. 
I'm  floating above me..
Oh man..

Now on a slow dive landing
I turn around
And the waterfall is pulling away
And she is now fading into air with the other moonmaids

Slowly turning away from me
She is whispering
Don't return....until we meet again..

             until we meet again..never return..
    ..until we return..we will never meet again..


Monday, 1 August 2016

The Empath

You're scared of the dark
You love the night
You easily empathise with another in pain
For yours you pay little mind
Your ghosts awaken
As you fitfully sleep
You have self respect save the self esteem..

The things you feel
The steel you no longer feel
The healer healed only with the hurt so sealed..

Tuesday, 28 June 2016

An Extreme Case Of Pareidolia

A friend of mine said this to me once
It was quite a while ago
So I'm paraphrasing..

Here's what he said..

Oh I wrote this poem once too
It was a long time ago

He brandished a piece of air
And I asked at the air 

Only once

He nodded sagely

Only once
It didn't do anything for offence but
it just wasn't me..
A bit pointless poems..
Although to be got me laid.. funnily enough..yeah yeah
She loved me for what I read out to her
I genuinely felt all of that..
all of that stuff for her..
And all those feelings just gushed right out
Almost like it wasn't me
I still think of her
You would have loved her too if you met her..
I hope wherever she is she is having a great life..
Those few weeks we spent together
They were just bliss
And the thing was
I'm sure at the time I knew it..

He trailed off wistfully
And I probably nodded
And replied


And he probably affirmed

Yeah she really loved me for what I read out to her that day
Now..looking back..I wish..maybe..
Oh I know I can't now..
Long time ago..

His memories seemed to drift around us
Like a let-go balloon
Waiting for someone
To clutch its string
And pull it through golden fields..

But as I say poetry is like a time-waste for me..

So I tried to lightly console him

Oh but it got you a lovely girlfriend..

Yeah you're right you know
And it got me a holiday too
She invited me to stay at her dad's place in Saint Tropez
He had a casino and a yacht..
It was a bit embarrassing..

How so

Well she made me read my poem out to her dad
And I remember I said to him but I don't really write poems
And he said no don't worry I don't really either..He was a really cool guy..

He gazed at the window
Or maybe out the window
And I'm trying to recall for you which
But so sorry I can't remember
So I gaze at my mobile phone
Where this poem is gazing back at me
And it doesn't seem to know either..

So I read my poem out
And he shouted bravo in some
French words
And we all laughed
Just all laughed
And he gave me three-hundred euro-quid
to bet down at his casino
Where I won my year's travelling money
And I bought that evil motorbike..
Never again..
I'll never write a poem again..
Not sure what you see in it all..

He looked again at his empty hand of poem
So did I probably
And then
He said

The nineteen-nineties were mad weren't they
Looking back now they feel destined..
I dunno..

Probably a few moments of silence..

And they were so pre-9/11 in every way..

I probably nodded an hmmn yeah I think I know what you mean
Before asking

In the past did any of your paintings ever land you a girlfriend

And he replied

..Hmm that's a good one..
Oh I suppose so
But only in an indirect free kick kind of way..
But painting
It's just me..
I just love it
You should try it sometime..

And I probably said something like

I know what you mean
Poetry for me is painting
I paint through my thought-shapes pictures of words.
It's also something I just have to do sometimes
It isn't for anything..
He concluded..

And that's our problem
There's no hope for either of us then mate
We should have grown up by now
The fact that we don't do this for anything is the scary bit..

And I'm sure we both laughed
And one of us probably looked out the window
While the other probably gazed at their empty hand of poem
And I can't recall which one of us did which..

And we lost touch with each other shortly afterwards..

Tuesday, 21 June 2016

Poets Should Be Teachers Like Submariners Should Be Bricklayers

Izny the Zepoleene
Wasn't very good rhyming words
But was very good rhyming clouds
Now how many poets can beat that

Mimzy the Triximeme
Wasn't too au fait tilling fields
But was very good tilling cows
So how many farmers have seeded that

Please note
Mizmy could also tile cows
And the cows graciously enjoyed grazing mosaically
 their untilled fields
Mooing gentle shimmering chessboards..
    ..Only to be check-mated later
      By the abattoir gentleman
His first pre-dawn task
Happy-finishing the milkmaid
 Clasping her buttocks 
  with his clammy
       thrumming tactical bingo-numbed mugwump fingers
beneath the Ben-Day Dot reversing twilight..

Morphing now rapidly into a kinetic
Hulk killing-machine post-Heathcliff

 Deployed James Blunt secrets still echo-throe her
inside her post-coital ears

A delicate sunrise
       A circular-saw screeching

      Cow eyes silently beseeching
         Squares polka-dot Pollocked

                Stun-punched and Picasso'd 
 Curated into Cubist frozen fractal Guernica-
 by Evensong..

Cixxy the Nipineem
Wasn't very good with the ladeez
But was great at pulling daisies
Now how many Alan Titchmarshes can do that

Please note
Cixxy also once allegedly pulled Alan Titchmarsh

I said allegedly

And that allegedly is a VERY big ALLEGEDLY indeed
So please note that dear litigious post-rock poetry haters

                                          Thank you so very much

Now the question remains
Where did Cixxy allegedly pull Titchmarsh to
This being a matter of some fierce and dissonant discourse and debate..

You know
   the Alan Titchmarsh fan community 
       is a frighteningly fractious and recalcitrant place..

One theory has it
Cixxy pulled Titchmarsh into a hedgerow
The other
Cixxy threw Titchmarsh over a windmill
Which makes much more sense to me
Nipineems often throw objects of their desire over windmills

In Nipineem culture you see
Throwing someone over a windmill
Is a sure-fire gentle-hearted method of breaking the ice
Especially when you throw someone over a windmill
And they smack side-on into a frozen pond

And as we all must acknowledge 

Titchmarsh is the uber alpha male
Thus likely to excite and trigger
       bursting Nipineem hormone bubbles
Small allegedly this time
But big allergy
Especially if you suffer from hay fever
And don't do elegy poetry..
   sad swans
pill-popping pylons swaying in corn circles d
esultory ducks

      the thwack of leather on willowy nun  the pissed parson pressing grapes at the fete

a flying screaming
to-be sneezer
smashing into a frozen pond..
                                                        Typical phoned-in imagery
                          of countryside idyll-dystopia twenty-first century wonder-porn...

     Okay     Now    
That's a Hank Kingsley Hey now
Post-rock poetry groupies
Imagine being thrown over a windmill
And smashing yourself through a frozen pond
And having a sneezing fit
After breaking above the marbled glass waves of shattered ice..

Does this second scenario make much more sense to you too
Let us have a fierce debate
But no violence please
We all know how these

                                           sneezing-fit debates can escalate

You've been there
Yeah I can tell
Me too oh me too

The windmill
Came before the chicken and egg
Windmills and
Nipineems both being lacto-vegetarian

                                                                                                                  random thought..
..for there are no rules to invoking romantic rainbows..
end of random thought..

May I ask you one question please
Okay thanks
                                  Hey now
                            Here is another
Has the legend that is Titchmarsh
Mentioned this controversial biopic episode in his sneering
And perhaps seething
But generous-to-a-fault-that's-me 

                       I-can't-help-myself autobiography

I haven't yet invested in his ghost-written autobiography
I mean how on earth do ghosts manage to even hold a pen..

I wish this poem had an end
But where does that begin..
Now here you go ladies
Gird your loins
Isn't loins the most horrible poetry-word
Probably in any English language
Gird your lions
That is much better
Gird your lions..mooo
That lion roared moo because it has mad cow disease
Bee Tea Double You

Ready yourselves
Seamless post-rock poem-gear-shift in..
T-minus 5
Blast off..

An alien crash-landed in
His crease-free silver space suit
      hung from his saucer's back window

By the busted furry robot
Bouncing off the helium-3 air-bags
And so luckily for him that visible interior vacuum-atmos-ambience

        fit right into the
              Taplow sales rep groove

The sales reps racing to
Taplow singing
Squeeze My Baby Aubergine

Noted the crash-landing saucer
And almost stopped to watch this strange tableaux
But they didn't
I admire that

They didn't travel all the way to
From as far away as
Only to witness a typical alien sales rep saucer-crash-land tableaux
Even though the alien wasn't a typical sales rep at all
He was actually an archetypal atypical alien area sales MANAGER
Who was once subtly depicted in a tapestry
Back in the day when archetypal atypical alien area sales MANAGERS

                                               rodeo-rode around in Agarthan chariots
                                              And made their go-faster-striped ass-racers 
                                               piss in plastic bags made of parchment-reeds
                                              to be thrown carelessly outside the
                                             Dinky Donkey drive-in amphitheatres                                              Nothing changes eh

This is the end
As Jim Morrison famously once sang

This is the beginning
His admiral father less famously might have conspiratorially whispered
In the
Gulf of Tonkin

And that's a very speculative musing there
            my post-rock poetry haters..
The End