Blood of the Volcanic Sands

Sulphurous decomposition leaves a conversation of desiccated remains

and milky white bones beneath a parchment skin.

A rictus grin tells of pain and a tear falls from my eye.

My eye is drawn to a yellow biro pen in the jacket pocket of the corpse.

I wonder who put it there, for later, when it would prove invaluable.

Now I take the pen from the pocket and see it has the lid on still.

I remove a notepad from my pocket, remove the lid of the pen and am amazed to see

that it still works.

Marooned as I am between dessert and volcanic eruption it is all I can do not to cry.

What will become of me?

©2017 Andrew Watkins

Image result for red sand


Fish pie
In the everlasting…
We can only bow and take the strain
As they reign victorious
Mercy for those deep in transgression
In the house of God
Strength to those suffering
Joy to those in bondage
Freedom to those in chains
Epiphany to those in darkness
Pray that we may see

Wild horses shin Pegasus
Father unto Father
into the domain
under the ground
Where you may reign
in darkness
Light the fire of life
after that which drains you
and lifts you up in splendour
to new heights
Catch that plane tap that vein
Walk tall and don’t mess up.


©2017 Andrew Watkins


Inside a dream
Picking up mothballs from the carpet
Haven’t you heard yet
They do it inside
Impossible leanings
make no difference
to the tide
as if flows
Metaphor and simile
Carpets of Persephone
make glad-will for all men
Persephone will be done
Come to me and to hell
Don’t pass GO! Will there be
another CHANCE for me?
Persephone will be done
Thy Kingdom Come
On earth as it is in Heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread
will be done. Persephone comes
wearing nothing. There somewhere
is grace enough for me. Come and see
believe somewhere is real and will be done.
Where can you see that I cannot?
Did you come here heavenly
Upon a chariot of fire?
There is place for me by the open fire.Will
you sit next to me Soul in penury?

Inferior Counting

Serpentine, Tufts of hair clinging to your landscape

Whose are you? God’s or mine.

Animal psychology 1,2,3,4 questions

Is there more? than what lies at the core.

Of Cats, rats and sinking ships.

Inspired silences envelop and conflate

the elegy lead by watchful eyes.

Under a moonlit sky, pale figures glide

content to graze upon nature’s bounty

while giving their name to one who is counting.

Beans, victories, tears all are here and as everybody knows

cows drink beer.

Inside it, outside it pulling back the cart of hay at Brands Hatch

The precise meaning lost the net with the catch

and the harvest too, all of this withstand you.

And your bitter tirade against humanity.


new flesh, specious crawling, on and off, touch

stories fall like dominoes into the quiet rush




Brought out by music, a beacon of happiness

perchance to meet and fall in love again. Squash.


1999. Value. Begotten Son. Him. Them. You. On The Crew.

Past forgot but not forgotten Into another new

Situation comes and surprises you again something

must be wrong with this program; glitch again again

train moving slowly out the station destination known

standing on the seats of care, money on the seats, sex within reach

another living cliche walking the streets, the epicene streets, this game

moves slowly like chess pieces given the gift of life the board expanding quickly

out of sight is out of mind. How can you be ready? You are ready. (to meet…)

Movement. On the move. In retrospect, it was probably sweet to experience

while I followed ten steps behind, biding my time, being the vine, drinking the wine.

My Candle Burns Underwater

Two Cities..jpegIn a word, insomuch of a breath that was taken in vain

This thing occurred.

A tale of two cities. Forgotten bliss. Memories of hope. Now.

I die. I don’t believe. I try. I do not specify.

Maybe. A Life on the stage for me. Assignations. A plea. Nothing.

Scattered frozen peas. Of an idea. Art was the answer all along.

Now I have something to show. Of ideas caught up in tallow that burns slow.

Maybe I have come of age. Now. Tomorrow. I have been here before remember.

Remember your name and date of birth and what will follow will follow. I have a talk. I have a talk.

My candle burns underwater. Flip the coin of ages.

Behind us lies the truth

Back from the dead. I chose death. Behind me was life. I chose death. Close by life. I chose death.

Behind was the tale that I grew up. I chose death. Behind was the impression effort made. I chose death. Behind were my friends. I chose death. Behind were accomplishments, minor and many. You know what I chose.

Here and now is the present future and the past. Like perspective, you can see them fade as they get further away. Closer to infinity. Behind because I am told what have you. Close and into the past where dwells a beast. A mouse. A house. Behind is a waste. Chaste. Bolder than before. Ready. Eager to please.So surreptitious glances remind you closer than by you feel.Pin drop. Because it felt so good. Natural. Because you forgot.Sun but today. Because you felt that way inside. Hope. Inside. Felt real.Inside. Felt real. Dog. Inside. Fine.Behind. Mine. Inside. Way of. Inside. Inside. Inside. Real

Behind glances. Smile. Awaken Inside. Suns rays. Chose. Rain. Inside terrible. Vain. Inside. Joy at being alive. Inside. Behind. When it comes again. Ready. When.


The World

Big, square shaped, like a cube
That’s Billy my fifteen-year-old.
Slow, boring infinitely repeating
That’s Billy My Sixteen Year old
Large, Full of…
Well, I think we can assume young Billy is growing up, or sideways if you prefer.

The world is infinitely large or small, caring or indifferent depending on who you are;
In front of you lies a thousand or a million possibilities;
In so much as a whisper, your fortune can change
and this comes from one who has known for so long
as much as can be is only limited by what we see.

If you see the world as turning too fast then it will rarely if ever slow down
If you see the world as ugly then you will only see the grotesque;
If you see the world as kindly then you may be blind to cruelty;
If you see the world as sad then you may never ever be happy.

Insoluable in oxygen is this mystery; whereupon was found hate and greed
and misogyny.

Perhaps there is too much to see and better off blinded are we
to the folding of compromise and how it reflects on ourselves on others, we care about.

Nigh is the King we crown when given the Royal Ring did say ‘ A ring for all, so all may sway’ Over and under the trolls bridge today.

Power it may be only held for a day but the memory persists like
pebbles in a stream not worn away from countless tries of the coldest water.

Be a pebble and persist in the gloom, in the mist. When it is darkest.

Away from here goes the crow. Didst thou see it grow? And sulphur from it’s beak glow burning yellow in the night?

The crones babble like the shallowest brook and catch its fish on their belial hooks.

A Young man is foolish, Let him learn at our pleasure they moan into their cauldron casting spells. Belial fortune they crown not men from the town.

It’s a lonely path said the psychopath blind in one eye and just scraping by.
It’s a golden road said the bewitched toad.
It’s a storm of Shit said Belial poking me in the eye.

Winding breaking off at places into the unknown is where you will find it.

What you are looking for. A Ha. A Ha. A Ha ha ha!

You may find it.