Another World Express

Another World Express

Clicking along the tracks of time,

A huge engine came.

Steadily, determinedly pulling cars.

Pullman carriages from past eras,

When trains were really trains.

Out here on Sleaford’s platform,

The anoraks, the spotters congregate.

And I realise this is unusual,

Where is my local train?

Maybe I’m Harry Potter,

Stepping onto the weird steps.

Going into another more surreal,

Time of passionate hearts.

Had I stepped out of here?

The way things are,

Became all fuzzy, confused,

But oh so wonderfully reminiscent.

“All aboard,” the guards’ shout.

“Mind the gap,” a cautionary word.

And then we are rolling stock,

Off into the world of dreams.

So many faces I can see,

Laughing with joy, a memory,

Of days when innocence,

Was known amongst them.

Turning wheels dragging faster,

Our passage easing homeward.

And I notice I’ve become,

Relaxed, renewed, faith added,

For something much more simple.

Courted here, ghosts of passage,

Better knowing how valuable life,

Was spun on friendships’ days.

Witness I, of fairness given,

Towards each passenger here-in,

Seated in comforts hand.

My jaunt here,

Into tranquil thoughts and memory,

Has left tears in my eyes.

The tiny platform of home,

Now draws closer,

And with it the sadness.

I alight, yet not alone,

But gone now is the mood,

Where I have felt peace.

Stretched away into time,

Those carriages move away,

And with them a fonder memory.

My tiny blessing to see,

The Orient Express passing through.

A strange coincidental gift,

And a powerful after taste lingers,

Watching her disappearing now.

God is a Golfball

God is a Golfball

Revered of your ancient being,

I smack you in the face.

Full swing of a 5 iron,

Stinging the crap out of you!

Though times have changed,

And your rules been adapted too.

Your brightness, and sacred being,

Still hold the masses in awe.

Getting you round under par,

Fuels the passion and the desire.

To get you reduced at the pin,

Into a neat little manageable hole.

But what of your view,

When we would knock you about?

 As if we were your masters,

And a hole in ‘one’ we seek.

The ghosts of Skidbrooke Church

The ghosts of Skidbrooke Church

Bancroft and old willows weep on her holy lands.

The children of mirth dancing between the stones.

Heads shall roll if you should call down evil.

And all the woes of a spell maker hang in doubt.

In the middle age I saw a bright light,

Falling amongst the shadows when John laid down here.

Coming from the east on winds of gusting squall,

A memory of the three having done no evil remain.

Brother Michael knew too much and suffered the fate,

Remaining here for all time protecting those in distress.

Don’t enter the sacristy if you fear your last breath,

Being lost upon the alter when baying crowds will kill.

Yelling at the boughs, burn them devils witches now,

Be gone ye children of the daughters of wicked men.

For in the wild September nights has come a pallid light.

That reaches way beyond the grave and into visions sight.

Emotional Blackouts

Emotional Blackouts

Laying here alone, has moved me into hope,

That what follows not having, is actually having of more.

Cold as the icy mountains freezing in the bitter day,

And as warm as lava flooding down her side.

Part of the day sings of the love behind your eyes,

The rest is a ghostlike memory that cripples my heart.

Panic at the lack of faith kills all of my passion,

Where no life, no thought of recovery exists in time.

Calamity brings a certainty of troubled days to come,

When all could, should, would have been glorious wonderment.

Standing here on my lonely hill, fighting tears hurting more,

I fall under the dread not believing strongly enough.

And I wake in the dew, arranged as the dead,

Fighting to rise, what for, why carry on not being led?

And in your expectancy I desire to be all and more,

But find I have not predicted the falling away of my floor.

Paradox

Paradox

See how things change,

Nothing really fits or doesn’t.

Here we are listening,

Maybe, sometimes, often not.

But my eyes have seen,

What feelings taught me well.

As I look at you now,

You are the epitome of,

Everything I will not become.

Not through fear,

Through all love.

In you I would be lost,

All that I despise and loath.

And yet here is the paradox.

You have taught me well.

For not becoming you,

Is the greatest lesson of all.

Regurgitating in Ětre.

Regurgitating in Ětre.

The trouble with languages,

Are the improbably large,

Disparities in what is meant,

And what is said.

I tried French and Gaelic,

But couldn’t quite install.

All the memory chips,

I had needed to compute.

Conjugation of verbs is naff,

When I’m thinking of Michelle.

And J’t’adore is my wave length,

Upon rhythmical currents flowing.

I tried to sing like Asnavour,

Hoping that would accent more.

And the memories of Paris,

Came flooding without a clue.

Down in the Rhonda valleys,

Boyo!

My connection with nature,

Has no affect at all,

When I hoped for more,

Than the occasional Yakidar!

And even the sheep here,

Couldn’t help to elocute me.

Putting dim stopio in my progress,

And boeri brought a caustic blow.

But all in all,

When said and done.

I have learned a trick,

To help me run.

Just smile throughout,

And nod your head.

They’ll believe you knew,

Just what they’ve said.

Better if you’re pissed.

Better if you’re pissed.

Saturated, Glenfiddddddich haze, hic,

Speaks volumes now I’m able.

Coveting the languished word,

Gets me almost under the table.

Wouldst I be hither,

Or more free to concede.

I would leave the notion open,

Still more purchase to proceed.

Come what may, whoever asks,

My story falls beneath me.

Sailing on a sea of booze,

Has lost repose, I’ve become free.

And listening to my ‘Bard’ Duffey,

Has filled me to the enth.

So all I see is poppy cock,

E’en if her voice be immense.

Quiz Winners

Quiz winners.

Who really believes,

It is about the competing?

But somewhere, deep, profound,

The passion to come out,

On top of all our foes.

If we had all the answers,

Why would we compete at all?

 In our strange revelations,

Is our fervour to go on,

And believe in tiny miracles.

Those that tell us we achieve,

A worth of new renown.

And in the clapping,

The frenzy of debate,

All our answers now become.

Catching On!

Catching On!

The electrics gone,

No money in the meter.

Shit. I search for candles,

But find none, no light.

Am I skulking about or not?

The darkness almost enviable,

Definitely total and obscure.

Two things, separate worlds,

Maybe analogies of scrutiny.

Have my lifelines come?

What would bring solace,

And can my love persist?

Or do I just flounder,

When no enlightened view,

Shows its ugly face now?

Do I get it?

Am I catching on?

Never been to Oxford

Never been to Oxford !

I know in heart,

No way I owe,

One morsel of debt,

For all I surely lost.

But did I miss a treat,

Donning cloth cap and pads?

Or rowing against,

Another most famous team?

Rob Lowe had been there,

One summerster or two,

When lively boyhood knew,

Just how fast he grew.

Crisp white linen pants,

Becoming from every angle,

Have never been my desire,

Or called my heart alive.

Some pangs of shame come,

Underachieving was my style,

Couldn’t run a tenth of a mile,

But was great sitting on my bum, awhile.

But the nearing end of days,

Can make me attempt miracles,

To rise into the fray,

Where nobles and kings compete.

Challenges in a council house,

Free school dinners, embarrassment.

My parents split, a joy,

Yet poor me, poor us, poor no.

Catching up in retrospect is,

As foolish as the hope to be,

Known on equal terms,

If you don’t like me,

F… You Too!!!!

Prosaic Crap

Prosaic Crap

I came and I wept,

No joy or real delight,

In ramblings of sad, sick,

Thoughtless meanderings hiding sense.

Is there a point?

I hardly know, can’t see,

What is your real intention?

They say, ‘those in the know,’

That it is bloody brilliant,

Gaffaw, Gaffaw!!

Why don’t you show me,

the door?

I’d leave and rejoice,

Not hearing your voice.

Art for the sake of wit,

Or do you intend,

That I presume or intuit?

As they boast, whom they know.

I feel lost, alone.

But had hoped to feel ,

A whiff of air,

A clue, a subtle hint,

Tainted as polo mint,

When all the reasons go.

Never shall I conclude,

My wait to hear,

Some sense of poetry.

Your gait, the lengthy spate,

Has left a marble,

Rolling along the floor.

Someone scrambling to stand,

A fucking gun, in their hand!

Yes blow them out!

The raucous shout,

Of friends made devils,

Under drugs of coke.

And possibly my heart,

Could feel the sorrow.

To miss a ‘Bard,’

A lyrical genius at work,

Now who’s the F…ing berk?

With thy’s and thee’s,

And cavorting maniacal,

Bullshit.

Then who am I to,

Laugh and scoff?

Never been a toff,

Nor beaten up a boff.

Or been whacked off,

So soft the lyrical cloth,

My cap I doff,

And now taste the moth,

Mixed into scolding broth,

All my shame peeled off,

Now who gives a toss?

C.A D.

Don’t say go

Don’t say go

Don’t say go for lord who knows,

I’ll be the one to give away.

Every piece of your Gucci clothes,

And make you sorry, rue the day.

It’s not so much my petulance,

Tho’ of course you’re right once again.

I never sit more across the fence,

This is, the nastiest trait of men.

Really I cannot be cast aside,

As if I’m worth nothing more to you.

Even though our strange type of love be tried,

We must always suffer, that love be true.

I’ll kill myself I really mean it,

If you leave me or end our lease.

‘Cos without you only my life is shit,

And I’d have no other pleasure and no peace.

Jam Sandwiches

Jam Sandwiches

This daily bread gone stale,

When oxygen overtakes me.

The butter rancid and queer,

When everything has matured.

How shall I eat now?

If your absence only silence breathes,

And I have no heart.

Cometh where I shall feast,

I choose no peanut, no spread.

For in the place of you,

Only the richest jam will cover.

A taste of pure sweetness gone,

My palate regretting the day,

That your light was quenched….

Force my hand

Force my Hand !

Did you know the limit,

Where I would break or bend?

Can my being here show me,

All the doubts shredded in fear.

Alone to become free,

Hell of a price to pay for life.

And then in five lonely seconds,

It’s gone, crushed, lost forever.

When will you people learn?

My hopes are for greater days.

When only men and women,

Of goodness will know me.

It feels like a miserable day,

Choices being lost under apathy.

But you will force my hand,

And I will show you heaven.

Are Friends Electric ?

Are Friends Electric ?

I’m standing looking down,

As you lay by the open doorway.

Blood spilled on cold tiles,

Leaving Kaleidoscope patterns alive.

And then I hear music,

Calling my inner soul to play.

Have the vibes of a notion,

Opened the reservoir of hatred ?

Armies of crystal soldiers shine,

In my electric eyes, flashing.

Thumping veins loaded with fire,

As the electric army roll on.

Teasing the matter of willingness,

Into an ivory sheen and cup.

My spirit leaves as if all,

The hope is now lost forever.

And I wonder.

Are friends electric ?

Killing Fields

Killing Fields

Murderers all of us,

Whilst we let this all go.

 Our silence is not defiance,

It is a cowardly acceptance.

Which of us would lead,

These acts of terror so cruel?

But on foreign soil we do,

Trespass the law bringing shame.

I do not support the war,

Nor the campaign to over throw.

All we do is fill the killing fields,

Pretending our god has made it so.

But I have washed my hands,

I’ll not be a doer of evil.

My voice will not be silenced,

Whilst there remains a breath in me…

Stars

Stars

Night time is always silent,

Now that you’re no longer hear.

But I have company enough,

My twinkling blanket covers all.

A back drop of splendid wonder,

Has the power to undo me.

From when I’d fear my ending,

Coming upon without your love.

How many myriad the count,

Of where you rest above.

Lost for all of my eternity,

Sprinkled upon Jupiter, new life.

Or maybe ‘yon far reaches,

Way beyond my naked eye.

Only feeling, never again seeing,

That light of your blessedness.

My command of comprehension,

Is lost ‘neath painful memories.

Seeing you gone, crushed, beaten,

And bloodied, tortured by men.

Who will heal me now?

For surely I have lost my will.

Such a cruelty an undeservedness,

Leaves me smarting to avenge you.

But forgiveness comes to right,

Though it is a two edge sword.

It won’t recover all I lost,

Yet it could unleash an end.

And now I pray to see,

Just what you’d have me do.

Should I become part of the chorus,

And shine brightly, just like you?

Age Old Rumours

Age Old Rumours

I have lied, I have told,

 A few wild unbelievable stories.

Oh yes my way has been wild.

The art once cultivated was,

A downfall to my honest goal.

But I do not deceive thee,

For what could be my aim?

A misguided foolish young fantasy,

May well have sold me out.

Where once I held a vision,

My actions proved me a fake.

Now all I’m left with is guilt,

Of what hurt I may have done.

You would be just in not believing,

That I deserve a second chance.

But would you see the effort,

I have made to be made new?

And would you also know forgiveness,

That could stop me in my tracks?

Chase me round

Chase me round

A crazy energy is present,

When you are in my eyes.

I fill with tiny jewels of hope,

That with you, I’d realise.

First I see your open heart,

That yearns to feel the heat.

Of love that comes from friendship,

Flowing outward with every new beat.

You chase me round the garden,

Where time is standing still.

And laugh because you’re feeling,

The love I bring to fulfil.

Second is the real magic,

Where skin shall lose a bead.

In the lust between passionate lips,

Showing how very serious, our need.