Showing posts from November, 2009


The stone spire of the palace
Dwarves the corner tower of an aged house
Fish scale tiles spiral upwards
Next to odd chimney pots;
Uniform in height and not in style
Un-assimilated tin cans of varying contents
Organized in two regiments
One of four, one of six.

Below the ‘Stag In’ is quiet busy
A grey haired man who is Scotland sips a beer
Sat next to his small white dog;
Wise beyond it’s years, it speaks of a town
That change only breathes through;
Aging and weathering,
Not where that change resides;
Replacing and digitising.

As belonging as the valley-settlement lining peaceful waters
A young family tessellates with streams and bridges
Dwelling the town which dwells the valley
Rustic leather beanbags of postmodern double coding
Support the weight of life.
A child plays the tin whistle
As though painted in by an artist;
Fascinated by ideals,
Or written into a piece composed by a boy
In love with cliché
So much so, this is fresh and natural.

Eight trees shade a unique sanctuary
A convenient unspectacular bench
In …

Light Hit Litter

Uniform stripes of anti-sight shadow
Score guidelines across opaque reflexes,
Reaction products cling to the magnet floor,
Scraps of identity stare at the respiring occupant
From lofty two dimensional houses
Of random placement
And subconscious recognition.

Summer 2007

A Broken Reel

Licks of deep heat
Redden relaxing skin
Tired throat apprecietes this rest,
The collection of what’s important
Is interrupted by
Frustration snapping peace

The reason for lying in heated ground
Under the first revelation of summer;
Queued too late, but shouting
To make up for lost time
After flood-boredom beat
Rain of closed roads
And cancelled gigs

A broken reel.

Written whilst recording with my old band on a forced break, because the reel-to-reel player broke. trying not to get too frustrated we sat outside and did our best to enjoy the sun. This would be the last opportunity of recording some of our songs before we all headed off to different universities. Also the summer of the floods in Gloucestershire, which had caused about 4 gigs to be cancelled.

Written: Summer 2007

Physiognamy* Of Progress

Please try to mitigate
The pained dilapidation
Digging up the roots of
Tired respiration

Exhausted painters try
To capture the essence
Of absence of substance
With out their sense of smell

Sleepy doctors are stuck
Lusting for their patients
Pillows; but time delays
Prescribed what they don’t know

Each with naturalistic
Fallacy found inside
As Hippocrates own
Assisted suicide

Oaths are hidden beneath
The filthy aim of thirst
Decadence un-defied
Collects itself and worse

Oppressing each wall with
Bloated pressure; excess
Misguided ambition
Mislabelled as success

Learned star gazers star
Motionless and the ground
Honestly asking why
In space they’re hearing sound

Unaware of the air
The lungs of men receive
You, enslaved by passion
Forget the need to breathe

Necessary numbness
Does no longer exist
Ignorance is poison
Increasing deadliness

The voiceless worker and
Anarchic protestor
Dig for myths in concrete
Whilst truth begins to fester

Grace of understanding
Both persuaded and received