ZINC COATED FOLKS.

Times of deep indulgence,
Rain stained outer casings,
Aluminium souls.

The fate of interested rates
Deflated to the basement;
Wine cellars displaced.

Conscientious prices rising,
Neutral colours used
On rainbows.

The internal revenue revue,
Reported and revoked;
Tax systems in exile.

Eternal flames in panic,
Dehydrated water flowing
Down more throats.

The latest census studied,
Conclusions to the fore;
More people than then.

Equations drawn up all night,
Multiplied and long divided;
Assets sawn off.

Four parent families promoted;
The point in two children moved
From pillar to post room.

Infrastructure incompetent,
Rolling stock depleted;
People using feet.

Building size increasing,
Mirroring the waistband;
Inside legs left stranded.

Clear night advertisements,
Tinted briar glasses
Selling by the million.

Pitched blackness at odds
With day light all day long,
And sleep privatised.

Vertical hammocks hung up
From tube train hand rails,
Never used though.

Always arriving presently,
Never disembarking;
Withheld commuters.

Every line a circle line,
As every surface covered
In human skin.

Indulgence deep in time,
Wrapped up in weather proofs;
Electrolytically plated.

WORKING TIME OUT.

For the whole of the weekend
I am at work
For half of the wage
Of a regular clerk,
But for a quarter of the time
I’ll be asleep,
And the remaining three
I’ll be counting sheep.

For half of the problem
Is motivation,
For the whole of the shift
I’m in isolation,
But for double time
I’m not complaining,
Unlike everyone else,
As it’s raining.

For a quarter of our lives
We’re lost in school,
For the following two
Working for fools,
But the whole of the time
Is spent creating
A fourth dimension
Where all time is waiting.

WISHING WELL.

Further down the wishing well
Than all the coins you tossed have fell,
Sit all the wishes in the world,
Bored witless waiting for their call.

And all about their ledge is hell,
A darkened, unlit, smothered cell,
Concealing something similar
To things portrayed in cinemas.

Its legions sound another cry,
As more coins tumble from the sky,
And wishers’ aspirations fall
Towards the centre of the world.

To fish upon the wishing well
Forewarns the creatures hot in hell,
No wonder no one gets their wish
Between the start and finish.

WINTERNET.

A time for red faces,
And boiled kettle breath,
For white spider webs,
And short penguin steps.

A time for de-icing,
And rubber soled boots,
For whisky inside you,
And demands for warm suits.

A time for cold windows,
And salt on the ground,
But still careful people
Frequently fall down.

A time for the big fog,
And speed restricted,
When all laymen’s health
Is greatly afflicted.

A time for illusion,
And frantic releases,
When entrepreneurs
Can rake in the riches.

A time for invention
And patent importance,
For all good intention
Falling at the first fence.

A time for reunion
With loved ones again,
And distant confusions
Recalled with your friends.

A time for remembrance
Of old souls long gone,
Anniversaries falling,
As leaves on the lawn.

A time for new lovers,
And old ones at that,
Virgin snow covers
To fall in and out.

A time to be happy,
Or so say the crowd,
For old fashioned humanity
Crying out loud.

WINDOWER.

The window fell out
Of the hole it was in,
And proceeded to fall to the earth.

The frame it was with
Broke down at the loss,
And the occupants spoke of its worth.

The ground underneath
Was holding its breath
Awaiting the blow of its falling.

The air in-between
Tried vainly to save
The glass from its imminent calling.

The impact released
All the tension within,
And the day swept up all the remains.

The glazier arrived
To keep out the sky,
And the pain was replaced once again.

WHILST HOME BURNS.

My friend lost sight of the finer points of life
And had no recourse but to excuse himself
From his urban retreat and his personal grief,
And the strain of his marriage’s bad health.

It started, I heard, with no more than words,
But developed more quickly than usual,
Until everything known had abandoned the hosts,
And the last engine tank had been fuelled.

Some time after this there wasn’t much left
Of the station he shared with his martyr;
They took one last breath, and after their rest,
Began to tare each other’s heart out.

She got in there first, and during her worst,
He was feeling her nails hammer home,
But just as his world was beginning to burst
He connected and duly caused harm.

He wasn’t that way, and to this very day,
I’ll defend him against fools of correction,
But how could he be saved from an incongruous grave
In the light of his apparent last action.

He must have blacked out with not even a thought
Of the log fire burning behind them,
For the guard on the hearth, had fallen apart,
And the next day no inspection could find them.

In the ash that was left of the house that was wrecked
Nothing special remained to be labelled,
And so we all were bereft by the untimely deaths,
And sat down to recount round a table.

And no verdict was nigh, so the families’ decided
That accidents are all part of experience,
But I will never cry for my friend and his wife,
And their shared love of fire insurance.

WEST RIDING.

Forever striding around each corner
And stumbling over every mourner;
Relearning trails of expectation
Whilst juggling with reintegration.

Mind the gap and fold the factory,
Spill the bean seed, snub reactionary;
Feed the faithful graceless starving,
Burn the dead and praise the calving.

Whatever happens just keep on digging,
Hold the walls without them giving,
And bleed a vein into a needle hole,
Until it burns and need unfolds.

Until the hedonism swallows
Every single peaceful horror,
In ground and sky and rock face sited,
Waiting here for all united.

And with their very latest targets
Telling others whom to harvest,
There’s more to rant about than heaven,
Now that fools are freely driven.

And on the corner of the standing,
An open elevator landing,
And on the corner of my striding,
Behold East, North and best West Riding.

WELL DONE.

I got recklessly legless,
Arse holed and parcelled home,
But was earnestly restless,
And breathless with deathly sweats.
And opposed to a parachute
I plummeted from altitude,
And impatient with institutes
I pursued the under used.
And inspired to inspect myself
I noticed a ne’er do well,
And a sensitive surgeon known
Was shell shocked when I went down.
I was instantly certified,
My vanity vandalised,
But still, institutionalised,
I started to sanitise.
And thoroughly though I fought
I still felt informal thoughts,
So friends fell about me,
And protected me proudly.
And I’ll repay the platitudes
Bestowed by the better few,
Who forever are faithful to
The impaled in view.
And before I befriended drink
I was wondering what to think,
But now needing nothing
I’ll give up giving in.

WEATHER MEN THEN.

We all have an issue on which we’re expert,
Or a point that we wish we’d the sense to insert,
Or a particular passion that is somewhat overt,
Well here’s our account, so please stay alert.

I’ll begin to explain but you’ll have to be quiet,
And promise you will not return home and try it,
As the story is louder than last years’ riot,
And harder to swallow than your diet.

I was sat at my desk at the start of a week,
In the middle of summer, but not at its peak,
As the weather had not yet refined its technique
For dispensing its sunshine, however oblique.

Good fortune was forecast for Saturday hence,
And by Wednesday and Thursday it still made good sense,
So come Friday night our indulgence commenced,
And the music was stronger than the neighbours’ defence.

Thru the night it continued until morning was near,
And dressed up as bank robbers we drank all the beer,
And prepared to be warmed by the sun and its cheer,
But by ten o’clock it had still not appeared.

We were pissed off but pissed up, so we waited awhile,
But the sun didn’t show us its substance or style,
So we picked up the phone and decided to dial
The Prime Minister and speak to his smile.

But it was Saturday morning and he was not in,
Nor was his wife or the one with the spin,
So we eventually spoke to an answer machine,
And asked why the forecasters had fucked up again.

We didn’t leave names or addresses behind,
But I do not suppose we were that hard to find,
For the very next week the sun was to shine,
Well until the power station nearby came on line.

So we rang them and told them to turn off the smoke,
And they said they would hit the off switch as a joke,
And we all laughed about it with vodka and coke,
And de-vanned to the garden to receive our sunstroke.

And now we are certain of our influence,
As there’s nobody out there we cannot convince,
That the sun is our subject, and the evidence,
Is up in the sky and has shone ever since.

WE GONE BANANA.

You never talk these days of what you read
Unlike the crowd outside;
Their lips move
And mouth the sounds
Without ever knowing why.

Your fingers brush words across the page,
And retread the chapters close,
Whilst finding forms
For unknown letters,
And knowledge there bestowed.

Your eyes move as though you’re dreaming,
And your feet tap out a tune,
Though I’m never sure
Of its destination
As you always stop too soon.

You have protected your arrangements,
And amended them with care;
You’ve carried them
All through our years
And made ignorance aware.

As book burned people congregate
Outside your porch all day,
You settle back,
Dust cover down,
And continue on your way.

If you can learn more than the crowd,
Then learn more you will do,
Then when time comes
To engage them
Your words will not fail you.

But come on now baby put it down,
Theory time has passed,
You don’t need to address
Me correctly,
You’re no pupil in my class.

Place your long coat around yourself,
Buttoned to the top;
Forget other clothes,
It’s not too cold,
This shawl will be enough.

We’ll walk away over the bridge,
Well into the old town,
Remembering
The things we’ve learnt
Are of utmost value now.

And the hoards they will not follow us,
They’ll stay within their clan;
They’re constantly
Pre-occupied
Evolving into man.

WE DID KNOW YOU.

Let the implication wash through you
That there’s no indication we knew you,
As our memories have all been forsaken,
And for enemies we are now taken.

For it’s only the dawn that is pure,
Though the rest of the morning endures,
And the afternoon falls into ruin
As the day closes down for the moon.

Will our life entertain a brand new day?
Or is entropy well underway;
Fresh pages blown by the weather
Of stale images bound up together.

WE ALL LOVE USUAL.

I love usual,
Hope you love mutual,
Infused with all
That’s beautiful.

A placid actual
Is found reacting
To some sound faction
Contracting.

Love frames overly,
Potent loyalty,
Sometimes orderly
Poetry.

Formed in fractions
Of grievous age;
Spared with actions
Grace.

Formally rolled,
Orientally folded;
All love recalled
And shouldered.

VISION ONE.

Mystery crystallized; highlighting
the course of our lives.

Ascending crescendos announcing
that light has arrived.

Inviting insight, preparing
the clothes that we wear.

Exhaling, countervailing winds
blow colour through our hair.

Forgotten, besotted paths
will carry our thoughts.

Whilst unlimited, uninhibited roads
bare the overwrought.

USELESS TRAIN USES.

You should never get struck
By a train at sea,
Unless it’s run by the English;
For they are never too sure
Where their trains should be,
Or where they’re allowed to catch fish.

For the tables are fiddled,
Or never at hand,
As everybody’s resigned,
And it’s easier to blame
The men on the job
Than the rolling stock or the lines.

And lowly commuters
Stood around in the rain,
Leaning against borrowed wealth,
Look up at the weather,
And their fate again:
To arrive after everyone else.

Their taxes consumed
By repairs on the way,
As the work is never completed,
And the people to blame
Are not here today,
But their successors are just as defeatist.

For they’ll never defer to experience,
Or anyone with any idea
How to manage a competent service.
So our strains will increase,
And our fish disappear,
Whilst our caravans follow the circus.

UNKNOWN IN MY HOME.

The house it bares your signature,
Magnified and miniature,
Underneath the furniture
And in between the floors.

With colour scheme implausible,
Warm water where the air is cool,
Four bedrooms and a vestibule;
Who could ask for more?

Shaped by the noise of loneliness
That lends an air of holiness,
I pray to God not only this
Is keeping me in place.

The trash inside the yard is old,
Tree side animals behold
The mound beside the marigolds,
That’s taking too much space.

Carried by the once strong breeze,
Carpeted with blow ball seed,
Gently covered for the need
And over time to grow.

Late payment speeded up my fate,
I couldn’t contemplate the taste,
The landlord repossessed the place,
I wasn’t sad to go.

TWO MORE THAN YOU.

Wherever my life leads
I will follow;
I am obliged to, you see.
I have to entertain its whims
And its fancies,
Regardless of their effect
Upon me.
In spite of them in fact.
It’s a necessity born from
Experience,
Out of lack of
Motivation,
By
Pride.
It has a life of its own,
My course does,
And who can deny it
Fortune or filth,
Or the love of home.
Who has the right
To dictate to my life,
Or chastise or inflate,
Or deflate or impose,
Or transpose themselves upon it.
It is,
And that’s all I need
To follow.
It does not hesitate in the mud,
It wallows.
It does not analyse what is good,
It swallows.
It does not criticise what is whole
Or hollow,
It just does without
Me
Or you,
And is not humbled.

TRUE LURE.

An assignation with an arbiter, a train spotter,
A newsletter.
Somehow he has collected the text
Of our sex.
A proposition from this rendering, this over ling,
This old encoded thing.
Somehow he has captured our words
Overheard.

An exposition from a urinal, an animal,
The genuine article.
Somewhere he has pictures of us
As adulterers.
An inquisition from a Satanist, an Adventist,
A real composite.
Somewhere there’s a brown package
Of pages.

A commission from his workshop, tabletop,
Full stop.
Some way I’ve got to forget the facts
Of our actions.
An invitation from his chequebook, a quick look,
Full amount took.
Some day I have to remember to send
You a memento.

TOO CHEAP FOR FAKE CHECK.

Man in New York arrested in street,
For smoking cigar, Cuban.
Woman in Newcastle detested the heat,
Was committed, for sleeping, alone.

Boy in north London caught drinking,
In his bedroom, on bed, under cover.
Girl in LA was taught thinking,
Was harmful, to health, whilst moving.

Cat drowned in Wales was seen marking
His territory, a tree, in own yard.
Dog put down in Leeds had been barking,
At midnight, in kitchen, at burglar.

Husbands in Rome seen out swinging at night,
In the wind, with women, each others.
Wives in the home pulling strings in daylight,
With milkmen, moonlighting, as lovers.

Friends in Madras deported for stoning
A pantomime, bovine, pretending.
Enemies in surplus reported at home,
Marching slowly, in circles, descending.

Horses in sane lands seen demonstrating,
At conditions, and payment, and rations.
Carts in the rain stand berating,
Their owners, still reigning, the cash in.

Families in Yorkshire caught screwing,
The Social, for sickness, and health.
Strangers in England renewing,
After fleecing, their own lands, of wealth.

TODAY MADE YOU A START.

Take the certainty you had with me
and turn it into action;
Remove concrete from both your feet
and forever grease their traction.

And always feel the road’s appeal,
even when you are asleep;
Then wake up today, stood up or laid,
and recognize how deep.

Through all the days you worked away
for no more than intention,
Hope crept into the whole of you
without my intervention.

Use anything you can to sing
conclusion’s very praises;
With open end be well content
with all its local phrases.

And when liquor’s done our healthy ones
till nothing comes to mind,
Do not be swayed by lazy days,
or things therein defined.

For what you see is what you need,
as everything reflects;
Get up today and work your way
to whatever happens next.

TO YOU FOR HER.

Shall we all fall down and surrender
As if we’ve been hurt,
Or rendered inert.

And gather round and visualise
Our final resting place,
And recognise the day.

Speak of former distant lovers
As though they meant less
Than any other test.

Justify our final actions
As somehow quite bold
Until the facts unfold.

People the time we have acquired
With nothing but us,
And our desire for love.

Discover the space is charged
With little of use,
And largely reduced.

Weep and cry and demonstrate,
With stamping feet,
One last great heartbeat.

Or…meet someone quite suddenly,
And feel the warmth again.
Well…couldn’t we? My friend.