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Split

August 6, 2017 — Leave a comment
I’m flying to Florida from Britain. To live. The thought of it makes me nauseous. As though I am walking away from a great museum to visit a theme park where nothing is real and all that appears to be real is an illusion.
A place where building sand castles on the beach is a method to distract you from what is going on in the real real world. Not the illusory construct of pickpockets and shady dealers who descend on the State to take advantage of those blinded by the sun and the hype.
fullsizeoutput_4f4.jpegThis is where I am going. To live. To exist. To walk away from Britain, the greatest country in History.
Going. Fast. I’m lying to myself.
Greatest country in the world?
 
Was. And as the wheels lift off from the tarmac and we are sliding into the clouds I watch other aircraft land with people coming back from Disneyworld and other noble distractions. And the non English speaking bodies ready to take advantage of the softest Social security system in Europe. And they are welcomed even though they hate us. Just like Disneyworld. Except we give them our money. The changing face from glory to ogre and a mess that will remain.
Yes, the moms and dads and their ridiculous amount of luggage consisting of Mickey lego and Star Wars toys they could easily have bought in their local High Stores. But no, it’s special because they could feed the mouse and say hi to Minnie. With memories and less money and nobody but themselves really caring where they have been. And they can tell their co workers and families about the way they had to stand in line for Splash Mountain and how their beds weren’t properly made and no-one gives a flying fuck.
And they’ll go back the following year because they will be dragged by their ego and envy. And then one day they will be dead and gone but the Mouse will still be nibbling his cheese the little bastard and the Imagineers will have created some other spectacular ride that they will hype all over the world and at the end of the ride and the day it means absolutely nothing because it’s done.
Except for the new kids building sandcastles on Cocoa Beach as the pick pockets and shady dealers work out new ways to distract you while you are blinded by the sun and an ever growing ignorance. The pick pockets and shady dealers are the imagineers who leave the Theme Parks as holograms to sit beside you on the beach and talk directly to you through your 3D mobile phone and you are so immersed and fascinated by it all, night falls and the day is done and your money has disappeared along with the affection you should have shown your children unaware, that they are the pawns in the game that are always first to be destroyed.

Trap

April 3, 2017 — Leave a comment

Wandering between two points

With no other exit plan

Wondering if I 

Will ever see the light of day

Again

Even though

The sun is covering the earth

In sweet golden light

I am trapped between coordinates

I put in place myself

Over time.

Rhetorical

February 20, 2017 — Leave a comment

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I can’t shake off this furious anxiety

That thwarts my breathing, to

Shallow repetitive beats,

Obscuring

My capacity

For normal thoughts,

 

And when I wondered why those

Intermittent perturbances

Should even be?

The question

Answered itself.

 

 

Image from The Odyssey Online

The Fisherman’s Jug

February 9, 2017 — Leave a comment

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The oak table in the corner, sturdy and solid,

Under the candelabra ,

In the farmhouse,

A cracked jug on top.

 

With other kitchen accruements

Laid out neatly

By the stove,

The plates and tankards

Strung on the wall,

It’s easy to ignore

The cracked jug.

 

Most visitors were apathetic

Regarding the unglazed vessel

That had been left

By an old fisherman.

 

Even the new tenants

And their friends

And families

Dismissed it

As aesthetically spoiling.

 

And the old fisherman

Who once lived there

Knew what it was like

To be ignored

And untouched

And unloved,

 

Saw the blemish on the jug

As a scar

That defined the jug

A perceptible imperfect mark.

 

So before he died

The old fisherman

Dropped a large pearl

Inside the jug

And left it there.

 

When he was gone,

And when people came by the farmhouse

They ignored the dirty old jug

Sitting alone;  like the old man

Would sit alone,

Not realizing that if they looked inside,

They would see the real beauty

The true value,

And their lives could have been changed

Forever.

And they come to tea
Uninvited
Fondling my fragile china cups
Tedious tapping of a tea spoon
On a saucer.

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Only to have my faith and peace trashed
And crumpled up
And thrown back on to the path.

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Dark Roses

January 29, 2017 — Leave a comment

Nobody knows
What it’s like
Trying to get out of a locked room
When the key is missing

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Your voices make little difference,

The wind has the power to defeat

And take away all this dire screaming

But leave blisters and scars on your feet.

 

You can dress in vaginal outfits,

Give a finger to every young cop

Throw water bottles

At barking Alsatians,

There is nothing to say you must stop.

 

Urinate on the stars and stripes if you want,

Wipe your feet or your ass on the flag,

Smash up a Starbucks

(But don’t expect to get served),

Smash up banks

(Who financed your candidate),

And shout down the scum who you hate.

 

But it won’t make any difference

I can assure you,

The bed in the attic’s still there,

The food stamps will keep on arriving,

And the wind will still blow in your hair.

 

The streets will be cleared in the morning

As sad bitter people disperse,

To the buses and trains and planes waiting,

And the undertaker driving the hearse.

 

 

 

 

 

Fool Moon

January 12, 2017 — 4 Comments

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A fool

With an iPhone,

Is delusional

If he imagines,

A snap of the moon with a minuscule shutter,

Will capture the enormity of this

Striking ornament.

It won’t, of course,

But it lets God know

I care.

And if I hadn’t seen her glow

We’d never have existed.

 

Pushy Mamas

January 12, 2017 — Leave a comment

When you shove me in the back
With your tiny fingers,
You move me forward

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