Blotched blackened punk poet leader of the past. His is a trail whose slime moves timely, and drags old ladies out from their homes, onto plastic pavement, or even clockwork streets. Dying for every line the sword swallower leaps and bounds, only in conjunction with peculiar pulse now pumping.

Now home all alone he’s to feed the eager witness. The Fitz-someone old jokes cast only for those deemed fitting. Poems were known to the bleeding heart gnomes, dirt peddlers; the clap-stricken.

He knew full well you’d to die for a poem, and so gave his all for nothing. Word of mouth anointed him for as long as their saliva took to dry.

Scaled Everest, swam the channel, ascended historical rankings; until finally, all having been done he handed in his pen. Went off whistling then, that old Irishman.

Market analytics suggest the threat of an inwardly burgeoning malignancy.
Desperation detectable due to an under-celebrated revolution affecting mechanical insights.

Cassock-clad Cossack took a lead pipe up his coccyx.
The feral were soon acquitted in a fit of flippant bluster.

Suitably some were made to parade their hides then worn, so torn, and yes, filth-ridden.
E’ver do wells in their finery shunned us visibly, audibly with the dribble all down their shirt-fronts a-spill.

Street peddler made his notes on a dim snap’s reverse.
The neighbour meditating, dispensed fresh advices, for which to freshen his pure pal’s poem.

———————————————————————————————————

High Talk

Don’t let him lock the lamps on ye
For he’ll offer you a seafood dinner
Which in his coarse tongue
Comes to mean something mean and lurid

That is, in the scoundrel’s unfit manner
An everyday commonplace
Of speech and meaning,
Would wound the tenderer hearts
Of those that liken their lot,
Reasoned bluntly, with tawdry speculations

And so he went in for to say his poetry
Which was admissible
In-as far as the quaint turn
He could approach with savage execution

His nature fuelled seemingly
Rare bursts of expression
That bore fierce scrutiny
Leading the one to question, and rethink

Idle-headed men again
Were given cause for repose
Afore the local news and such
Granted them their turn

———————————————————

If it’s an ordeal you’re after, well you’ve come to the right place. See you’ve to type in these words and stories and things like that, or I don’t know, maybe you’re doing visual stuff. Anyway, just you work away there, the rest of it should just roll out in front of you, like a big insect-strewn carpet. Keep it up, the whole ordeal bit is more like a recurring series of personal disasters. I suppose maybe that’s where you get the ideas.

Rattle out all the hatchets
We’ve a gnome-alone needing freedom

Just a perch on which to feed from
A reach from freedom should the bough ever bend

The nails with which his soles were sewn
Have made only for a prickling countenance

And if you’re counting this as one worth reading
Send a sock for the sparing of his bald head’s blushes

Bearded queers are not beneath us
The funnily-featured fit their frames as forecasted

You too may have a frame to fill
We’ve to see to it that you’re fit for the filling

————————————————————————————————

Meat is free to the fiscally challenged
We’ve arranged a fire pit for the bone-idly contemptuous

Admittance guaranteed upon the studying of one’s aura
Grim greys, dismally speckled, you are getting the craic

Against our strictures you have been deemed passable
Yelping, or any variation on the gurn is strictly forbidden

The commencement of your duties will be marked by a bodily tumult
See to it that your window is alight with dire humanity. Good day.

—————————————————————————————————-

You are requested to appear at any number of hip gatherings
Toss your diary aside, we have made all the necessary arrangements

State of dress as follows: quaint, delicate, and torn
To be seen is quite a thing, no one knows, really

All enquiries to be disposed of in a ritualistic manner befitting
Away you on. Moving pictures and all that. Lose control.

————————————————————————————————-

When I made the switch to Universal Credit I thought it was going to be all deep realisations and quotes from some guy in a chair. Turns out I’ve been made to appreciate my insignificance more than ever. A few daft banknotes and even my mentor fails to return my calls. Thank gosh I’ve got my side hustle…

———————————————————————–warp————————————-

And so we spoke in waking dreams
Through corridors of endless time
All through the darkened corners
Throwing lamplight upon the post

And then I remembered you
Upon a time when you were gentle
And like a father to me once
Pale blue light lit that corner

You were released
And I was strong for you
That you had known
This aching heart

The walls were screaming then
Another might have folded
Or simply left
Like others had forever

——————————————————burp—————————————————

Blind analytics
Petrify the spirit
Curse at the fallen
And count every fool

Don’t you like my painting?
I’m sure there is some movement
Something new
To you at least

Mine are all the same
Sheets of shite washed in the rain
I’d love to go to Spain
But who’s coming?

———————————————nurp————————————————————

He exists in the lower reaches
Thrives in those lost frequencies

Such an instrument, one, now the two
I too dwelt down there

There’s a lot of good music
But you’ve to go looking it

Look him, or maybe her up
Make a night of it

————————————————-slorp———————————————————-

Whatever sweetness there was got diluted
Disturbed by the awful dead oil all around
It wasn’t worth going looking
Too high a price for any gambler

That’s why I hold on
To these keepsakes

You have to wring the goodness out of them
Until they’re ready and willing to go
Crazy like John Wayne
Gacy, up there on the mountain

———————————————–morphle—————blipschtx——————————–

Something I once suspected
Came to pass not long ago
Don’t ask me to explain it
Nobody really knows

Something beautiful happened
I watched a bitch sag out in heat
And I licked it with my feet
Just like mama said

You know you said to me this morning
I ain’t never been trying to hear
Nobody can’t tell me nothing
Until we get locked in my car

You can’t drive around the mount
I mean Woodstock or Olympus whatever
I want you to get up and jump
Take a woman out and make her

Beauty is all around us
It’s in your stupid face
Ugliness is a necessity
Go squint in the sun, wee son

—————————————furze———-thimbletricks——————–borphe———-

— Yeah, so it’s musicless songs. Inaudible like. Ye read them.
— You mean a poem?
— No, we’re selling these. Poems are crap anyway. Wait’ll ye hear.
— Mate, you’re daft. Help me with this stall, bai. Wordless poems it is.

————————-90———————91———————–

You know I’m glad of this cloudy grey day
The slick pitch and lime wastes dead things away
The filth-ridden fowl, their barbed wire wings
I’m glad to see an end to these things

I’m writing these songs for you and for me
That we may come to know the true price of being free
It’d kill me in an instant to do wrong by these words
You’ve to count them as precious, for I have lived hard

And I know the cost of a good bag of grain
It’ll weigh in good measure with the stretch of your pain
There’s an old boy who stands a long day in the yards
Fulfilling the truth of his own just rewards

They promised us here to rehabilitate
But no pen-wielding teacher can wash men of their hate
And I’ve met with those who’ve fallen foul of the sword
I lend them my ear to wash up their raw words

So make your suggestions as something that shines
If for reformation your true heart does pine
Empty the houses of peasants and lice
Meet with sore eyes your brothers in vice

I’ve to keep writing for my road is long
Come the due time I will tell you the song
Don’t waste your blessings on tourists like me
Instead think of those who will never be free

———–74—————————75———————–

You know that if I get to sketching
A pale blue figure will emerge
Your visions never were fool proof
In fact she played you like a fool

And I’m not saying you deserved it
Your whiskey comes a hundred proof
Go on out fishing close to midnight
While this oil lamp slowly burns

Yes we can take this thing in turns
And pray to God that he will spare us
There’s no telling how the die will fall
She makes my coffee in the morning

It’s no ordinary way of living
Your woman wants you safe at home
Get on that cocaine boy keep rolling
Buy yourself a brand new Ford

Overseas the war is raging
You can’t cope with clear regret
Fill your cup with open promise
Hand me down my walking cane

You’ve got a shed out the back and that says it all
A burlap sack and a carpet stall
They pulled the curtains on your show
Sling your hook on down the coast

There’s many ways to say these things
All the joy that this life brings
You may lace those boots pal
Can’t stop that hometown burning

Gather all your private things
They seen it in a teacup
We’ve been doing it here many years
Won’t you stay with me tonight?

—————————————————————————————————-

And so you let him do
The things he comes to do to you
You let him linger on
He’s already gone

Blanche your face and blacken up your eyes
The dress you wear is darker than the night
Glamour forces out a fresh ideal
Buckle yourself in, it’s the turning of the wheel

So he comes to do
The things you let him do to you
He’ll come by tonight
I never told you so

You were a schoolgirl once upon a time
Now you’ve grown up wasted, he says that’s just fine
Take a look beneath the kitchen floor
Pins that send you reeling, he’ll be back for more

You have yet to consider the implications
Sharing your disease, tell me what became
Of your faith
Baybuh?

Pucker up now though you’re aging grey
What’s a girl to do, it’s another wasted day
Take the time to read your script with care
You know dreams of beauty, and just the thing to wear

Do the things you want
Nobody is judging you
They just see the sides
That won’t show by your light

——————————————————————————————————————–

— mate

— matter with ye wee mucker

— these aren’t sellin’

—I know. Let’s go home.

— I’ve been reading magazines for more than thirty years, Brian, I think I know when something’s good.
— Far be it from a blind minion like myself, I mean it’s beyond my means, or even my appetite…
— Yes, far be it from you, far be it from you. Of course, Brian, you mewling, you unfortunate runt you. Pass the crackers.
— Well that’s just what I was getting to, now hear me out, a minute please, it’s just I think… I may have discovered something.
— Oh, like Columbus?
— More like Columbo. Is it wise to eat all of that brie? Regardless, m’lord, me ol’ pal whom I love so dearly. Look, I have to get your opinion on this, I mean it’s all quite unbelievable.
— Go ahead, Brian, one can only stand to bear such snivelling for so long. Out with it, please now.
— Well, I will ask you this, now hold on to your handkerchief. Yes, my dearest friend and eternal hoarder of dubious cheeses, I shall put it to you…Yes. One minute.
— Hurry on, you old thief in the night.
–This is it. My question, I put to you, my chief, his cheeseness most highly.
— Go before I hit you.
— Do you think… Do you think it might be scripted?
— …
— …
— Well of course it’s all scripted, Brian! What did you think was happening?
— I for one maintained belief in the integrity of…
— The integrity of who, Brian? Whose integrity are you questioning now?
— It’s a can of worms though.
— You’re supposed to eat the worms, you idiot. Now pass me my cheese.

———————-$$%^%(&(&*%%&%&$£(&^)&&^(%*%^$———————————————

If I were to just start writing, writing like this; and you were to begin reading… What would happen? Do you think?

Would some strange psychic connection between us two be established? It’s hard to say really.

I could be writing your future, something like Nostradamus.

Regardless of it, this is what you’re reading, and so the human spirit endures.

He was probably just having a laugh, Nostradamus. Anyway, I’m not sure who this is directed at, but you should probably read it…

One day you will be delightful, a positively bursting source of crooked energy, of that, I am sure.

————-##£££££££££££££££££££££$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$££££££££££££££&*********************

Altogether now we crumble, some of us flaking. That great shining silver spoon of destiny has pierced the crust, our just desserts.

Nightly there’s a shambles that is happening. Coaxed from the good green growth are several connivers. And now, all along the peninsula, tawdry falls are being taken by their pilots. Three sublime mice have been relieved of their snouts, the best of which is to be smoked by aging lags.

===========================================================(.)<)*

Have you ever wondered after the existence of loot? Why if I were to excavate your eye sockets? (Yeah, those little holes that your eyes sit in, we call them sockets, yeah, like an electric lamp.) I could mine a veritable fortune. We call this: black romance.

##########################################@@@@@@@@@@@@][]’;

From the end of time there has been a multitude of duplicity. (Get it? No, forget it.) Foreign expats rummaging as immigrants.
Every seven centuries a geezer belches.

This is the nature of our world.

#########~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~????????!!!!?!!?!?!!

If I were to place this placard on a plinth, pulmonary thrombosis should surely grip thee. I fashioned this map of Ronnie Corbett’s consciousness after a veiny pattern found on your mother’s lower leg. Of course I wasn’t looking any deeper than I should’ve been, I mean he’s hardly tall enough to pose a threat is he? But yeah I formed this excuse while you were in the kitchen: it’s to form the basis of charitable fruit machine that warns of the dangers of Deep Vein Thrombosis, whilst appearing so outdated (naturally enough)that it serves simultaneously to comment on the redundant family values of yesteryear.

————————————————=================——————————-

It is said that a criminal prisoner is apt to age at a rate much superior to that of the free-living everyman. Old gents are more likely to be seen trotting about in their twenties, having retired mostly from birth.

_+__+_+-+-+____________________________________________________________________________________+-+-+——-

Sometimes, when you are awake at night, I am whispering through a plastic tube. So that you may become frightened.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

I walked right into his office. Called him out I did. Challenged the whole enterprise. Luckily he was a sap, and collided with a thought form of mine I’d barely prepared. The jealousy was hanging out of him in a manner near physical. So if convicted, in this man’s ridiculous courtroom mind, I would stand to inherit his grandfather’s printing press. Detract from that this imbecile’s constant berating, not of a fiend like me of course, he was astounded; he was in effect punishable by mastication from the ego outwards, often as the guilt assaults such a whim of God’s faffing. In my usual fashion I would go on to redeem the grifter with questionable objections, but it could linger a little longer now that ego/dearth/absolution rendered even me aghast. In short, he had to go. All those local gangs that you hear about ten minutes spent rolling a cigarette that shouldn’t even ought to depict clouds of death steam. I mean, any sense to be gleaned from their mumblings had to be embellished, any romance engendered regrettable. A young wig-wearing ponce took the stand for probably thirty seconds, making everybody feel stupid. The sleeping judge ordered a round of Bingo and the whole ordeal collapsed, just like that, into a bunny’s lap.

A foot upon which to pivot
At worst should warrant your best
And if the shoe won’t fit in fairness
Then you’ve only your trainer to blame

A man of years should see to it
The prevailing angle from his hind
Must assist in the furthering, no doubt of it
Of his worse foot to be fitly made

The worser foot to meet by half
Of the one in favour having seen
Much advancement by the tripping step
Ought to be assisted, with patience met

A worthy man it would become
Him who plays off his bad foot well
Ambidexterity, and a reel of angles unbeknownst 
Should place him neath any good man’s guard

So I’ll see you in the field m’lad
Or perhaps on the canvas truth be known
And you would be ready and best prepared 
For the unlikely fella who sees it rare

If you should win against me once
My respect you will find a fellow fine
Let me conquer you twice times over
It’s my regard you’ll be chasing mind

——-(-;-;-)@(£;)3):&33&)/(2;;———1

It all soon seems like nothing
Your efforts a sad lament
Quickened to it in the moment
Robbed the meaning in greed

But any good labour will find its price
And it’s not for us to know the good done
A blessing or two is yours mind you
In Meryl’s words: it’s a hell of a vice

————:;(((&;))(:):);;£;);)3—————-

Fuck this plastic sandwich

And the plastic bastards

Who sanctioned its existence

————-;&:):)::):!;&(£:)/):—————111

There’s a bluffing statistician 
Eating walnuts in the hall
Waiting for an apparition 
Pasty-faced to call

He calls by intuition
And mourns his nation’s loss
While grinning fools drink up their fill
Matched well at pitch and toss

The way the papers paint it
You’d think it oh so true
That the fiction they depicted
Would birth a boy named Sue 

And though they studied
All their days and
Breached fraternal law

Again the friend
Who bending lends
Seen past all that they saw

Unseen it gleams and machines reams
It feeds on foolish love
These number men go numb again
And look to God above

Any poet that wrote his quota
Went his own way see
The only consolation due
Is what you paid to see

Byron knew a thing or two 
His buckled foot would not undo 
That rarer knowing if only you
Could know the cost of making do

Jealousy we ease in jest
Ahead of our own betterment
Go meet the darkened broken man
And share your part in this here plan

—————-:£::&:£:):(:(:):):£:);£;£!,!,!3—-

In the silence easy
You laid me down
Kis-sed my eyes 
Sent me blessings

It’s true I found you
At the far side of the ocean
And dreamed your being
From sketches you made

In another land
Where we bled the phase
And roamed so lonely
In gardens wet with winter rain

————-:::&:£:):):):)::;£/(:);&(&(£;)::):;——-/

Yonder calling out your name
In the firing sun that lit our gloom 
Homeward going sailors pecked the hill
And I embraced your countenance divine

It was all I could do to be for you
In that embrace you met me fierce
Bliss bled from the poppies surrounding
And salved the summer sweet knots’ pain

I write to you still and turn
As your flesh beckons blushed enchanted
I heard those whispers through the night
And paused to brace this interlude

————;&;£;):)/:):):):£:£&:£:£———-

Your crown aglow along the lane
Teased embers and the tidings breezed our bones
Your sweet structure crushed against me, though cushioned
Inspired that brush with lips so thrilling

The sweetness of just ripe berries
Are but a breath of your fragrant pipping scent
And so the bottling has begun in earnest
Since battles fierce were won for this

————;;&:):):(:):£;£3!,?:):———-

Crippled stripling makes it way chirping
Among its familiars who hop in their fashion
Nimble lanes call on twists particular
As if a lane could ever hop you up it

Diving beaked-things dart and it’s tragic
Enough to smile upon the smoking gatehouse
Remark to oneself the peculiarities 
For the crippled are geared-up as such

Infant freely flies free of fear in fact
And look there at those young becoming men
They could learn a thing you’d think at once
Simply smiling sensible parent. Fly on

————-::&:£;);)::::£;););£££!??————

I have a friend who’s fond of plants
He’s an infuriating expert to be exact
I don’t begrudge him the mastery in any case
It’s that he has remedies for the ticking of a clock 

Or the untying of a shoelace when you’re on the bloody glider
His poems are very nice, you’d like them
He’s quite insane I know 
Might have something to do with us getting along

———-£:):(:!.?.?):):&:):):)———-

Rub your thumb along
The edge of this here knife
It’s been dubbed the dagger of spoof

It came with this here costume
And it’s no good for cutting cheese

And here look at this wee glass
This is for spitting tobacco in

I sell it back to the shops
As like a wire wool substitute 

The wee Chinese woman and me
Get on great 

For all I know
She’s plotting to murder me

You see why they don’t let me out?

—————-;;;(()£££)((;;;:::—————-

There was a time
When the sight of a child
With half the bread of bag
Was as common as the dustmen

Apparently though
A duck died, or swole up
Something ridiculous
And they’re scaling the whole thing back

You’d be warned off
Climbing a tree
Or picking up a wad
Of pre-chewed, trod on gum

Out the back
Was the greatest 
Playground of all
But they’ve closed that now

————):(:(:£:£:£:):):):)—————

At peace I sit and pray a bit at nobody in particular
What you’d call strays suggested themselves sometimes as impulse
And were duly disregarded as they strayed again hungrily from my doors

Is it possible that a man like me should inhabit a horse in daring?
I’ve to go racing now over these hills so to honour this gentle spirit
I’ll waken again in Belfast rain and you’ll be none the wiser

———;£;:);;&;£:):):):!,?:):———

Walked in the steps of a smacked up addict
Through peaceful terraced rows
Saw a nurse and came to know
Myself just then as a seasoned alco 

With matching feet for to shuffle with
I shuffled furious at first then calm
The vehicle I had taken had only one speed
I didn’t know what way to look

But grimaced after a mean faced uncle
Course I’ve to relate it all a la cowboy
Only cause the truth of it would’ve broke your heart 

——-;;£:):?,!.!,£:):):————-

Looking back
The fact that I’d been made to bend over
Only to find
That the dead on doctor was wearing converse

At the time I thought him very unprofessional 
My conception of the word was at that time probably up for abortion

Looking back yeah
He was a hip old guy
Don’t let the white coat fool you
That’s all I’m saying

<\<\<]#]$<$<$#$$$$!#}}}%|**+!???[[_