Asleep In The Club

Up before dawn to line up outside
the raining shining hard on the pavement
Did I forget something or is it my brain?
Skyscraper babies
Cloning of our lives
Ourselves mere reflections
of a consumer society
gone wrong, consuming itself like a phage virus
spitting out excretions of individuality
to be consumed like cupcakes
bought at your local patisserie
itself a symbol of rebellious
machinations carried out
under the cloak of privacy
all that is allowed is fake
by those getting it right
themselves spitting bile
at those recumbent losers
who dare to question the status quo
Is it our passions alive with flame
or is it just a stupid game played out in the schoolyard?
where water flies and extinguishes doubt, reason, doubt
the one thing that sets us apart from the apes
is our art, our reason, our lives.


©Andrew Watkins 2020

The Dock

I am the dock
singing your tune
on mute, on volume
singing crazy tunes
verse 1 came slowly
like a metaphor
whispered in the dark
you had me at start
verse two was a melody
a head rush fatality
and I came crashing down
verse three was a story
of tales remain untold
verse four was closed
subtronic apologised
verse 5 was cold like
a winter snow
verse 6 was a hymn
over and over
verse 7 in the clover
just like heaven
now i recompose and listen
and forget my owes
and debts to society


Copyright Andrew Watkins 2019

The Pussywetters

The pussywetters come smiling
the pussywetters have a bucket
and they will put you in it
the pussywetters
the pussywetters have a plan
the pussywetters care for no-one
the pussywetters
the pussywetters
soak him in shit and he’ll be right out of it
soak him to the skin and he’ll have to let us in
the pussywetters
the pussywetters
let them know our frequency
let them know were living carefree
let them know there is only one chance
pussywetters never finding romance
pussywetters never show their face
pussywetters never in a rush
pussywetters and the burning bush

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

Songwrite 6

Song For Sirens

Looking at my monitor in despair
Listening to songs I wanted to write
Maybe if we were together
I’d start to get things right

Now it’s so great to see you
And our friends are the magic glue
Baby I’m starting to believe
there’s nothing better than me and you.

Now it so hard inside. Can’t seem to get things right
What happened? Oh Oh Oh?
What happened to our love?

What happened? Oh Oh Oh?
What happened to our love?

Got my friends on my back again
Lost track of where we were heading
Oh Oh Oh! Oh Oh Oh!
Perhaps we should pack in for a while
this is doing my head in

Where, where, where
is the stone, stone, stone?
I’m gonna groan groan groan
All over this poem, poem, poem,
Oh Oh!

Now it so hard inside. Can’t seem to get things right
What happened? Oh Oh Oh?
What happened to our love?

What happened? Oh Oh Oh?
What happened to our love?

I feel it starting inside
that urge to get things right.
Oh Oh Oh-oh
Oh Oh oh-ho
This is so good were getting back together oh-oh.
That should do it for tonight. Oh.

Now it’s so great to see you
And our friends are the magic glue
Baby I’m starting to believe
there’s nothing better than me and you.

Now it so hard inside. Can’t seem to get things right
What happened? Oh Oh Oh?
What happened to our love?

What happened? Oh Oh Oh?
What happened to our love?
©2017 Andrew  M 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?


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.

It Tastes So Good…

Imagine, if you will…all the people standing there like statues at a dance.

Then the music comes back on and the party continues. Somewhere else without me.

Once upon a time I was wandering the rooms of a house where I used to live where I came across a strange fellow who wanted to play me all the records in his music collection. I acquiesced to his request and soon was listening to music ten hours a day for not any particular reason other than it was good music and worth listening to. All the time he sat by my side.

I grew fond of the fellow and soon we were BFF’s of the unshaven farting variety but I got the feeling that the feeling was mutual as we began socialising outside of this house we lived in.

We went to pubs and clubs, shops and galleries too if you count his friends house which was decorated by I might say his friends mum and father who was gay apparently in a style not uncommon in fine art magazines the world over.

I was quite happy and content to meet such people and to socialise but forever there was a sense of doom. Doom hanging over me and my failed attempts at rebooting my education in my mid thirties. Doom in that I couldn’t see that the local authority would pay for me to live in more than one bedsitting room.

Doom in that it always felt that hammer would fall on my hed precisely splitting it in two like melon.

All that came to pass in the end was a fist fight, started by my erstwhile friend who upset at being not invited to dinner did take it upon himself to wreck my room, computer cat litter tray and everything.

The mutual music listening came to an end and I buggered off to Paris.


Certain parts of this story have been omitted to allow for brevity and flow.