Put down something

Hell did not put it first but I did my own bidding or so I thought. In the street, onto the beat of things came my whip and onto the next street, my mind did a strip. And the next street and the next strip, strip, strip. And never came and went. Eventually, I ventured out onto the landing strip of pavement flat without a lover and felt its concrete indifference which for a brief moment liberated my Wartime mind with Paris. And as I shuffled towards the shop coins in pockets, I wondered nothing at all lest I drop them into a storm drain. All the time workmen were at work inside the bubble of my brain which was a lot of workers and lot of fetuses never formed chemically assassinated before their born. I trod like a dancer those steps back home. A retired dancer. A retired shopper. A retired whore of body and soul now I was richer than ever before my dreams of Sodom and Gomorrah came and wept and stained cherubs cheeks. Love and lust in vain entreaty of willing heart and able body and mind came calling perhaps to ask for forgiveness. Perhaps not. I gave her my lot. I never had a lot. A lens came calling and the rest is history. A package holiday. A poor man’s bestiary. Bikini Atoll  Instagram. And for once ‘Never?’ was not a question. Its already blown up in your face. this is the future of the human race. Global-mega-nuke-dom-fascist-photo-king-dom-peasant-vegetable-heirloom-grade A Poultry forever and ever more. Give thanks for your children. Sigh, Pause, Play again, the noise that never stops, the virtual malady that brings our minds to the brink of sanity, without rhyme nor reason except it has for want of a metaphor inhabited a black horse that thunders over hedgerows and fields of fancy..well you can tell it a million times but then pounds saved lives and where was heaven all them years ago? They would us rather forget instead streamline our finances for a life online. Glitterball anyone? Chide your children for wanting it so instantly. Chide yourself for not giving in, Chide the forest for offering it. Chide your parents hides for breeding its culture and problems as they lie foot clubbed ready to repel invaders. Thank them for their lot. Bonking labradors building secret laboratories where Loreal models go for doggy facials Haven’t you heard? it’s the latest craze. Stranger things have happened in Russia! A man went shopping there and ended up in the special forces with Nikita giving him orders. It’s the new land of opportunity. Ask Boris, Ask Putin, Ask Yeltsin, Ask Gorbachev (oh he’s dead) Ask that waxwork brain in the Whitehouse. Where there is an election to be rigged. You know who to call!


Mad Munc – Todays Thoughts



Ring any bells?

The nineties… blag prosody.

Smooth skin rancorous streets, Single bed

You know it best.

2016 student of the avant-garde life award for best trousers

Pass it off as your own

Advertising will never notice

Too wound up in itself to care about me

dancing in the street.

Yeah. I dance too. Watch me move.


Goodnight. See you. Start ignition.

Pull away slowly.

Reverse into that space over there.

Mirror signal, reverse.

Looking at you

£10 pounds an hour

Maybe? £20 £50 whatever you can do

Dinner ready at six used matchstick and custard

Good enough for Satan is good enough for me.

Hello, Britain! Are you comfy?

Phone 0208 555222. It could be you!

You’ll never know.

Prick that boil, lance that bunion, peel that onion.

Chop that wood in two.

Put in the wood burner stove and paint your ceilings to reflect the glow

at the two of you making plans for a holiday.

Somewhere new. Somewhere golden, like you.

Put the kettle on. Are you making us a brew?

Bring out the biscuits too. This one is me and that one is you.

No, I disagree. That one is me and this one is you.

Dunk a bunk in bed. Nuff said.

They go away to play.

I’m here alone musical bone, changing shape

changing like a stranger who wants to entertain me

to what end I wonder. My money at a gig. Can he be trusted?

What about me? Don’t I have ambitions musically?

A piece to honour Hallelujah! And Leonard Cohen

E-A-D-G-B-E tap tap tap. I need an acoustic for that.

From a time before me. Era. Cat in the Hat. Gone.

Just a little tune. Self-effacing at that. Faith and life.

Gone like that. In cosmic time the blink of an eye.

Golden discs head into the stars.

Security Gates Remote Control, Swimming pool

I could do that thought I! Sunshine!


Police Knocking on the door asking do I know this girl?


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.


Water The Element

I wanted to capture something of the nature of water that beginning as vapour in a cloud eventually becomes the sea and oceans through what is commonly known as the water cycle. The stages are ripe for poetic interpretation and there is common literaure about the sea and water in various stages of flow. See we even use the words associated with water like ‘flow’, ‘currents’ and say that there was a ‘run’ of words that run their course not ‘coarse’. A look in a thesaurus will give you a flood of other examples. This ubiquity of water based words must mean something – Is it that we see reality as fluid?

Surely this is open to comedic purposes.

A flood of words came to a sudden stop as the chicken said ‘No’!

The coarse fisherman was always swearing.

The vapour , don’t waste the vapour! (of a bottle of vodka or whisky)

Funnily it seems that all that grows is green

Funny that truth arrives fully formed like a river at the sea then forms trubutaries rivers streams and eventually becomes a trickle.

Funny that comedy makes us laugh at what we didn’t realise  while instilling a sense of knowing or of fear.

Swirling currents made a whirlpool on the surface where children would throw twigs to watch them be consumed by the maelstrom.

The crayfish shyly emerged from under the concrete looking in the clear water like an advert for Britains pollution-free rivers.

The cut stank of mud and organic material. A scurrying frog ashamed to show his face in such a stagnant ditch hurried into a damp muddy hole in the river bank leaving behind a trail of footprints like an unidentifiable signature scrawl.

Heron waited patiently…

I am taken back to the ponds of my childhood by these memories and images when they were quite literally my playground to explore and discover new wildlife, birds and comfortable sitting positions near the ponds muddy edge. Close enough to be able to direct my net into the depths with enough leverage to bring it back up through an underwater forest of Canadian pondweed which was pretty but unwanted in my search for the great Dytiscus or Caddis larvae or sticklebacks or snails of which there were a nice variety. Ahh memories.

Anyway. Water is clear and thus lends itself to another use. If we say a conversation was flowing and clear we might be pushing the boat out on meaning but a clear flowing glass like mountain stream shares the same qualities. Was the conversation cold too? Good to drink? Like a Gods golden nectar stolen from source? I am just getting carried away which as a poet is exactly what I want to do for me and my readers too. It wouldn’t be any fun otherwise.

The brick wall had the solidity of a gently laminar flowing stream interrupted by the brown trout poking his head out!

The stagnant pool reminded me of so many of the boardroom meetings I had attended during my career.

The reeds looked so alive and I could not fathom that hollowed out by skilful hands they could become a musical instrument. Clinging to the reeds somewhere near the water line were little silk sacs of unknown origin. Perhaps they would reveal their secrets if I poked one of them with a stick?

The fisherman’s living room was the riverbank. The remote control his rod. The light fitting the ailing weather and the entertainment his own quiet thoughts interrupted by beeps from his line sensor. A catch! Brown trout again for you and me!

Funny how journeys lack the waters influence to as great a degree as the lands waterways might suggest. Tarmac not rivers, bridges not fords, cars now take us from point A to point B without any such poetic interference unless you count traffic (a good one) congestion (another), standstill, or ‘the smooth flow of traffic’ being the ideal situation to be in whenever on the road going somewhere nice perhaps. It’s on journeys like this that we often have nothing to do to occupy ourselves which if I allow myself to get carried away again in a veritable pit just waiting to be mined! Dive in and wallow in the messy mud!