A BLANK SHEET
....if only briars laddered the lips of liars
....that over bladdered lives cried wolf instead
....of flicking open knives that enquire of the living
....would they rather be dead
....if only blood remained indelible as its telling screams
....fade terrible
It will be buttery bliss to be freed of all this listless listening
The endless watching and the mad perpetual clocking
The stocking up of yeses against nays and second guesses
....sleeping rabbit spatch-cocked in the field
....spread-eagled back to basics with spinal bones revealed
....the vivid red said rats had been here recent
....doing the decent thing by waste not want not
It will best make a very welcome change to know no pain
To never have to fake joy to the joyless human race again
To jest a nod as if a ‘God be with you’ might just stay the rain
....five days of abject misery at sea upon a raft of drugs
....I felt jettisoned from a ship the rats stayed on
....too ill to face the drudgery of swallowing another pill
....too self-obsessed to get dressed wash and give a toss
I so ache to be rid of this aching to be leaden dead
For when the dark is set and can be properly relied upon
Its jellied truth made impenetrable to your limpid prayers
....dear God don’t fucking disappoint me now
....how could all those promises have been made so hollow
....old voyeur
....like children following a perverts trail of sweets
....you watched the births of many worthless beliefs
....uncountable griefs
....endless your commanding constant your wants your demanding
....bleak
....as yet the list of your magnificent gifts is
....a blank sheet of vellum bereft of any trace of Aramaic
Reaching for a new laid white and the barddic pen
I wait for another write to take your place of absence once again
A BLAZE OF BEAUTY
1]
Black top ribbon glistens
Under star-thieving street light
Spit, piss, vomit, crap
Chill air happy slap
A
Yapping loud with ‘cussive high heels
Thin/fat linear crowd
An obese eel
Of trussed tresses fussed up
Precise in lax flesh-outs, slack tums in,
Revelations
Of what moist mystery this way
Flighty comes
In the shape of
Raucous birds absurdly fuelled
By cruel coke and magic smoke
Numberless Night-Club party dresses
Sparkly tarty
Charitably arty-
Daughters to their mutton slaughter
Bleating like retarded lambs
For the glans and glands
The hard teat of a standing man
Who
Knows this ritual through and through:
As they all head for 2 a.m.
Any stiff dick on a stick will do-
...The sodding blow job
...Of bugger me blocked God
...The root routine
...The Dyna-Rodding prod
...Of all them little turgid chaps
...Flushing out the week’s cobwebs
...With spunk drunk kisses
...On the eye-closed cervix lips
...Of Trixie, Peachy, Mobelline and Pam
Holy Mary-Juanita, mother of Jesus,
This is fucking bush-tucker bliss
Please us please us bloody please us
Up for it orgasmic dicks
The had ‘em madam spasms
Numbness in ad nauseum.
Numbness in ad nauseum.
Gay/het
Or any gobby variant you get
Hazard an intelligent guess
It just couldn’t matter any less.
2]
The dung buzz is tangible-
Bluebottles high round a rising sound
Of inner thighs- a dangerous ground,
Its twat chapel demonised by shits,
Misogynists in caps and cassocks,
Suspect coronets and riding crops
Usurers as ever using her clit for profit.
Arched lattice stitched with pubic vines
Guards the cave hole gaping wide.
Bouncers- massive blood gorged tics,
Vet those desperate to get off inside;
Lips re-moisturised pout and slide
As rough hands rape, touch and glide:
Mug check, bag check, drug check;
Smoke-free-
Supposedly a toke free zone.
It’s mad, glad, a tad sad,
A money maze of crazy CCTV
Lewd wide-angled lenses banned
From intruding in the lady lavvies
Where all the savvy bitches spill
Their charlie filled tampons
Into diamante honey clutches;
...snatch chat
...femme spatting
...gossip hatching.
In the gents for straights or bents
The cool cock-happy dudes,
Their arseholes- suppository drones,
Stuffed with dealer’s speed and E’s
In rubbers or hollowed-out butt plugs,
Bend over gaily, hands on knees,
Farting bags of costly deliveries-
HIV safe condoms double knotted.
...Cock spotting
...Dock plotting
...Surgical gloves stretching
...First timers retching
...Warriors prior to war
...Questioning all holes, every pore.
No imagined boundaries uncrossed,
These are sacraments, believe me,
Ceremonies in the Church of Tossers
Where the lost get off on bevy alcopops
Revved up with gin and vodka shots
Where the hymns repeat, spin on and on
And dancing makes trance teeter on oblivion.
3]
The sacrificial lamb is out of place,
Her face no mask of paint
To cover wear and tear and taint
But raw with something far more ancient-
A radiance that proffers higher sense,
That strikes awe with her twin swords
Of glinting beauty and sharp innocence.
To our great disgrace
We cull the unacceptable-
All beings and thought deemed out of place
Face death inevitable.
This strange one shone, became a target
For the heartless darts of wrong
That gathered thick like migrating birds
Waiting on instructions from jealous tongues
Whose jungle drums had summoned
Fear, then dread, then mob-sick hatred.
At this she immediately caught
Fire in a blaze of beauty.
Fire!
Her near translucent skin
Combusting like rice paper;
Each flame became a butterfly
Whose flights dissolved into raining ash.
She burned
With all the golden artistry
Of something impossible to possess.
And her smoke made airborne
Hallucinogens
Which
With each twist and twirl
Bewitched the thick with wicked throng
Gave them insight into their
Ruinous right wrong,
A mystic view from their beleaguered world
Through to hers.
4]
Screams of paramedics,
Streams of crash-team police,
Vans for the totally wasted victims,
All their sanity unleashed,
Masses of cleaners clad in safe-suits;
Galvanised mops and detritus buckets;
The usual suspects-
Rednecks
Sexual Tourists
And a gang of press and snapping fuckwits.
5]
In the low-lit men’s room-
The cistern chapel of obscene graffiti
They found a cowering creature-
Half naked boy, half wolf,
A Palaeolithic cave artist who,
With human ash and spit
And fresh ingested psychotropics,
Had painted the lavatory’s grey roof
With zig zags, spirals, waves and dots,
Lots of strange figures from his inner world-
The true collaborative elsewhere,
That the manufactured God of modern man
Many moons ago
Deliberately, conveniently,
Killed off then forgot
In favour of religion’s fiendish plot-
The greatest lies ever told.
6]
What next?
Expect no honest text.
Do not forget
The Stockwell labyrinth
Where down deep
Underground
The metal snakes gorge and disgorge
To flashing lights and sacred signs
The travelling nits that we’ve become-
Life rendered humdrum
By our dumb surrendering
To the Met’s explanations of the gunning
Dead
[Seven bullets in the one head]
Of an innocent Brazilian
Found not to be divine
But in the wrong place at the wrong time.
A CATHEDRA OF DISAPPOINTMENT
Close to my Greek seat
Of unremitting self-defeat
Walls pitted by the flack
Of limitless deceit
A fated unplanned
Canned other exists
Complete
With his desirous twists
Torturous turns
That often brand my skin
Whilst sleeping
Through the smell
Of my own flesh burning
Must be something demonic
In the northern hemisphere air-
The sheer fearless
Bared to naked idea of you crying
Big bear, heterosexual,
[In the margins
On the edge, might be slightly bent.]
Switches that way this
Enriches all my virtual despair
With pictures of your tempting
But contentious nudity
As I imagine it
Manly, sweating
Yet soft relenting, bending sweetly to the will
That pulls us to this complicated
Wrecked connecting
Spit, man-tit and gristly elastic bits
Without the substance of what honestly exists
At root
A sapling of evolved humanity
Yet, as you’ve since intimated,
The affair comes with the desperate
Luxury of a licensed inventing of ‘labels’
Or of gift hampers arriving
Choc-a-bloc full of ‘ways to go’ disabled
Or insane. How odd, queer
Skunk pumped weird
VR waste-bin full to coughing up
Its yellow phlegm guts
Piss poor contents
Of raw portent
Sent by jealous liars
Suppliers of poetry with a midget p
Not you
Not me
Not any of my soul family but
The height challenged enemy
Web sluts who give perfunctory sucks
Fucks
At vastly inflated prices
See. There
You are virtually erect
Still swelling
From a grove of pube trees
Where
I need to dwell in for sometime
Combing your beef hair with my patient teeth
Sniffing like a pig finds truffles
Snuffling
Tonguing hot spots almost stale
In secret creases unmistakably male
Straight
Butt lately new to it
A kitten mewling after strange milk
Mate
Let me succeed
Between these lips
Alive with the scent of recent urine
Therein abides a tale.
A story telling and re-telling itself
I feel far
Less alone, despite my smelling
Of the altogether wrong pheromone.
Is it with derision that you set aside my cock
Get mindful of the usual suspects-
Tits and gashes with moustaches?
I cannot drag up
Like dredgers do
The under mud of us
The baggage of a love-bus
That never was
Because you do what you have to-
Mark Walton’s ridden it
After capturing wraiths with his phone lens
Fogged by sentiment
Heart or head
Things uttered in bed
Like me
He distrusts the whispered
Ghost prayers from nowhere
Crumbs from love’s old crusts
Dressed up fashionably
The phenomenon’s no stranger to us
I’d have made a meadow of that selfish silt
And planted it with pale forget-me-nots
Their painters blue bleaching
When the sun comes preaching
Jolly nonsense
It would prick me in September
When I’m trying hard not to remember
Must be a masochist
Excuse me the odd moan-
Still dead tired of the dolly-mixture meds
Fuck chuckling with my head
The pointless opaque promises sucking
Marrow from my aching bones
Trucking compliments
Like splashed out coats of paint on weathered sheds
In which the real me,
Sat amongst life’s ripe detritus,
Discusses with my many other selves
The discontented contents of my groaning shelves
Offspring arguing like rooks
My still not out of nappies books
Yes
Death's darkly barked temptations
Have withered to a whimper but..
Swat a fly. Let gnats die.
I still have no great relationship with life
Except to listen to my breathing
As it weeps like widows grieving
In their sombre weeds
Their lovers dry and light as papery reeds
Laid to rest
Covered in hot cinders, in transition,
Knocking at heaven’s door
To get permission
To violate God’s rectum bare-back-
Pubic bone to bum cheeks
Flapping wafer thin scrotal sack
Tap tap tapping on the perfect peach
Why wait for answers like we’ve always waited
Knowing there is none
My distant chum with smoking gun
Six foot one in holed socks
Shaping snow into a no-way
Inevitable melt
The helplessness of being keenly felt
Why not
Join my new messianic church
A house of glory holes with a lower case c
There is no calamitous capital attached
Nothing deviously holy
No mean scraps of history
No spats amongst fat cardinals in Vatican city hats
No plots being hatched to spread
The wretched plague of more stick than carrot
And no shred of empathy
You’ll always find a welcome
From the sequinned fluffers
At my cathedra of disappointment
Come and cry your jap-eye out
On our altar of lost toss
Be a fancy-dress Pharaoh
Panting quick at Karnak
Show those oily shaven bodied priests your
More than human knack
At growing universes with your warm ejaculate
In me
The tantric gospel truth of me
The seeds speak real trees
We understand a wanker’s pain
But have no prayers to assist your wrist
No quick fixes here, no magical mystery tricks
No appalling miracles
No sainted shit tainted arse crack licks
No slippery Popes on ropes
No hope shaped soap
No colonic cleansing Goddess
Mary blue oozing doo doo cures for
STD sores. HIV.
Just massive, pure, unadulterated disappointment
In unmanageable bundles of abundance
No aggravated sexually repressed son
Locked in the choir’s closet
Seeking out a second chance
To breathe fire
To turn the heat up,
Melt them silly billy abject crosses
And burn believer’s breasts
No holy rolling ghost taboo
To boo the Hallows Eve fever
Just that most absurd condition
A cruel juxtaposition of Satanic words
GIFTED
REJECTION
I wait
Wait to be cruelly
Truly screwed by straight-laced you
Who
I know to be a reprobate
Resigned to be
The incubus that visits me
To feed incognito on anal bleeding
Playing unsafe sex
Safely away
Shit,
In another life within this prescient life
I have also had a fucking wife BECAUSE
BECAUSE it just unjustly
Just was
I wait for answers as I’ve always waited
Knowing there is none
More apt than masturbatory lube
Durex glide
Which soothes a loser's agony with the puerile fact
That, at least,
A shot of something swiftly this way comes
To spatter
Without guile but just to spoil fresh bed linen
With specks of self-sex
Maybe unexpected
Like accidentally spilled communion wine-
Not red for blood but off white viscous fluid,
The spunk of yet another
Manically shamanic Druid
Or the often talked of writers’ Christ
For Sadi,
And to all who read me,
My most sacred sacredness is hid
Its lid is welded on
To a billion unbidden songs
And should never come for free
Like love stroke hate stroke
Bespoke literary slams stroke sham debate
Sex
Texts
Intercourse of sorts both in and out
Shouts of help
The whelps of talent balanced
But unbalancing
Sometimes they come along-
Strange sounds, wily,
Lots
Disinclined to hang around.
They often leave in search of utter silence.
I can’t say that I blame them
What would I do with your wasted body
The taste still wet, fresh
And your wand lifeless as you sleep
I would keep looking
Looking deep beyond
Cooking up scenarios as you snore
Fuck all the fuck-ups
I am never not there
I am always in perpetual action, intractably
Aware
It is what it is
My formidable
Discordant cross to bear
A FATHER AWAY WITH ABSURDITIES
....the wee lamb made of real lambskin jingled bells
....a powerful thing remembering what excitement it wrought
....suck rag reflex
....though not as thrilling as the visions my eyes caught
....above outside the dented coach pram’s French Blue canopy
....trees swaying in reverse
....a daylight satellite of grey and white
....the ride much as a boat
....as babies once were meant to float on clouds of comfort
....be rocked by waves of love.
....From the outset I was all at sea.
I
You’re an awkward four- three and three quarters to be exact
Witful enough to open doors to hungrily explore
That sat beyond the duh transparency of plastic nursery songs
That drone on like the poems of drones intone
Habit rabid habit
You can read as if you’re ten plus
So do so avidly
It lends you mini miracles and maxi fearlessness
Whetting a precocious tongue
A voracious appetite gets set alight by all the fun guns
That come thrown in for free with cereals and knowing
Singularity too soon
No stone’s been left unturned in my desperate remembering
Some things any things things
That may have been learned at my late father’s rather bony knee
You couldn’t make it up
Aloneness figures large
He whittled-n-filed the yardstick of it for me- BE ALONE
Leave well alone
His cuckoo
Not his child maybe or certainly most probably
Son tells the hours does big division sums
Spells long words like inside ‘The Sunday Times’
Hell
We are ‘The Daily Mirror’ people red topped Welsh
Self sufficient labour spent utterly deficit in wealth
You know despite the plaintive longing
That your belonging songs come
Unheard by his collier’s roughly hewn absurdities
They arrive
From some place else where shamen cross-dress take husbands
Summon spirit guides with godwords and drum
You know
Like Old King Cole he does not love you
You can tell
You can smell his shagged tobacco skin
This Da does being- yes he actually exists
It is him
With his cold rejections all the ageist and persisting withering of him
Him
Who’d rather not be burdened by the nest upsetting you
Or your glorious restless questioning
II
You’re him fifty thin five foot ten fucked
Full of war and coal dust- balding not applauding life
You’re wife is body and soul distant
More distant since that last birth day when
Something you deemed worthless came to stay like rumours stick
You’re nickname is Dick and you’ve grown sick of womb tricks
Become resistant to the infant finger ploys of it
This baby boy whose breathing you resented
You could easily have smothered ‘till his otherness upped and went
Silent
Behaviour like his purpose never was intended
He’ll grow though
He’ll come to know but not to heel
He’ll never feel you fill his lungs with man-love scent
Display unsaid tumescence
Submit his frailty to your sheet-metal foundry grip
You will be to him the epitome of a giant no go zone
The spring of a chilling rivulet
[Kids drown in skinnier rain puddles strolling home]
A man too big to stoop so low to..as if..
To scatter crumbs of Da atonement
Some moist sign at least
One
The kind of kissing signs you showered on other beasts
Grown siblings
Work-mates
Valley brothers
Ma once in a blue moon in the front bedroom used for release
Signs he so missed in nurture that he inevitably went in search of
The word bent juicy
With all the criminal nectar of vicarious contentment
Acts of elastic contact loosely resembling sex
Especially in the context of the young the vulnerable
The searchers
III
Her burst heart took her on the anniversary of his death
The timing tender for a canny widow missing habit
Ritual and subjugation
Then she was also rid of all her blistered progeny
A prodigious me turned turncoat
Turned from regular family muffs
To more familiar turn-ups cuffs and oil-rag sodomy
Trust me
You know it when a sensitive mother sniffs a strange man’s spunk
That haunts your undies like a secret’s crust
IV
She ball-break smothered me
A toy-boy baked in the middle-aged oven of her dead tryst
Playing with me like the insane fondle dolls
Then
When she had gleaned which way my triggers leaned
I was instantly despised
Fifteen and obscene
The golden child reviled
A queer fish wishing to be filleted
Hated
Socially emotionally decapitated
Da would have had his foundling roundly cheese-wire castrated
Excommunicated from the temple where the floors shone
Rang with Lavender and routine
She took a large knife from the cutlery drawer
Roared at me to stinking go before she bust
The pissy cottage of my GLBT guts
Stuffed full of Pink Gin and nervous Painted Ladies
I ran flew
Half-man into the arms of dark velvet packets
Started opening my gifts
V
[The pale shadow through all of this
One more psycho-dynamic therapist
A Gayle who never blows hot or cold
But breathes moderately
Soft
Like mothers’ dry damp tears from a cotling’s cheeks
She is patently aghast
Privy to the many details I have not unmasked
Not even in these jailhouse parentheses
I laugh a lot as she would say defensively
Submitting to my stupid stand-up dreams
Diluting the plot whenever this soup screams out aloud for cream]
VI
He never raped me
I used to wring hands wishing that he’d get on and penetrate me
Fingers piss-stick fist
He never beat me
I used to shiver with delight as his belt slid liquid into sight
Then hung bereft of any effort left to whack
There are no scars
Just many empty clear glass jars of a million wishes dashed
I got off heavily
The cruel weight of nothing made invisible
Implausible
More causal than fag burns splintered bones torn rectal tissue
Innocence smashed
Any disappointment since has made me crash
Lie fatally foetal mute
The mythic half-way wounds well hid in ditches
For fear of people wired to rescue my grown-up inner alien kid
They’d badge me with another acronym
Enrich me with poisons
Sing from the hymn book of the mental health trust
Suggest one more adjustment in the complex raft of drugs
A mainsail would be good a rudder
....my man’s Kahunas hands so understand
....they can the hurt and throw away the damned key
....they tend
....they mend and they transcend touch
....transmit love ceaselessly
....command endorphins to with chemical stealth envelop me
....the something of it palpably spurts
....male
....certainty.
....Now I am sixty addicted to the enormity of nothingness
....alive and standing
....having landed on an island of exclusivity.
....I believe it might just be as fine a place to die as anywhere.
A LETTER TO THE EX
The unfamiliar
Family end-game’s come-
It bears no wearable comparison
To the cloth of life.
Yes, past wife,
This is me shedding the skin
Of worn thin shame at once being your lover
Or the queer significant ‘other’
With whom you cooked
Three witches in that cauldron of fish-heads
All bitches call a womb.
[See how aptly that noun sits
Besides the clown word ‘tomb’.]
When we were vaguely together
We flagrantly perpetuated ills upon each other-
Skills, I daresay, now we both regret.
I do-
Yes, like I had said in earshot of our kin.
But I won’t be solely brought to book
For all the liberties you took since I left.
This work is not about apportioning blame.
I still am
Made to painfully reflect the fact
That all my daughters know no self-respect.
Is that something one catches
Like warts in your extreme sport snatches?
Or, was it taught at the court
Of your infectious motherly affections?
Who knows the provenance or potency
Of such infant indiscretions.
Addicted kids before thirteen
And still afflicted all this time between.
I am left bereft, virtually mute,
But one remaining route is clear-
The next time my three girls come running,
Daddy gunning for some love or loot
With magazines of smiles
And patent leather knee high boots,
I will be missing from the execution
Of their manipulative plot.
Fuck their criminal malicious plans-
The well-worn pots and pans they pissed in
Have been lost in abject therapy.
Granted I am ill
But I’m not the least bit cross.
It’s just I won’t be here to pick up pieces,
Wipe fake tears, and iron their cosmetic creases.
I shall be long gone
Prized by my man off that cruel tree.
More absent than a father ever dreamed
One day he would need to become.
All three cash strapped cows
Are in the abattoir-
Dead to me now.
[Beware these grabbing adders guys,
Behind their so beguiling eyes
Reside Satanic laptop spies
That lipstick feminists devised
To let their wiles reign
Regardless of the heterosexual pain.
I have yet to meet the man
Who’s hacked into their moist software
Ejaculated and survived.]
I wake up often of a leaden night
A witness to their mass cortege.
I hear a gay vicar’s drivel
Slither off the untrue page.
Now I loathe to be abed,
To be reminded all my babes are dead.
Yet,
I thank those twisted lung tissues
That my only male issue died.
Had the poor boy survived
He’d have been blistered by the prickly heat
In his three ugly sisters feet.
At school
Bullies would have roared in his ears-
‘Your siblings are whores, pet,
And your mum and dad are queers!’
Even after
Nearly thirty years of makeshift laughter.
Our dire dysfunction persists-
Once a husband,
And now, for the umpteenth time,
A born-again misogynist.
Good for me.
I’m in love still and still much loved
By men who’ve eschewed hawks for doves.
The list of their accomplishments is long,
And LONG may my photographic memory
Of them
And you and yours
Inconveniently exist.
A SENSUAL LEVIATHAN OF FUN
Snow blind baby
You go ‘cross that invisible line-
I think maybe you will find a bogey man.
There is no going back.
Ooh! Too scary.
Jesus Mary Mother Of God!
This tarnished incarnation has a shelf life
Not short of torture. Ow! Ow!
....This is how
....Gash and clit
....Cash and kids
....Trash can lids
....Tits this, tits that,
....Shit pillow chat
....As per her purr-
....Me outfit want.
....You fuck my cunt
....Me outfit wear.
....God so approves
....That Jesus grooves
....The twelve disciples
SHUT
Inviting. Enticing. Hairy scrotal sacs.
Cut bell ends pressing closet buttons.
The Catholic hypocrites are in sex session.
Cross-dressers lifting cassocks.
Paedophiles in long files blinding us
To fuck-ups in the lea of wine and wafers.
....Black smoke
....White ascension puffs
....Has God’s virgin vicar balls enough
....To invent fresh means to be
....Demeaning to unclean women
....To perpetuate the myth
....That Onan was a naughty man
....A spliffed up wanker still ranked
....Higher than the whore of Babylon.
....Give her one up the bum son
....The way the priests gave you lessons
....When you least expected it
....In the crypt where your anus gripped
....His stiff Holy Father stick.
....Mummy, mummy give me dummy.
....Only women bleed. Steal seed.
....Spit it. Shit it. Leak it onto
....Gussets made complete with wings.
....In confession fat birds sing-
....Sick of dick, means to an end,
....We want to lick our lesbian friends.
....If I have a son I want him to be
....A brown one, a gay one.
THE FUCK UP!
PILLS! PILLS! GIVE ME THE FUCKING PILLS!
There is the fear of just not seeing
The flutterbyes of being fearless,
Being found out to be queer
But queerless,
Accepting we are nearly boundless.
The Kama Sutra metaphysics
Makes you hesitate;
It makes you stumble
Makes life crumble into soundless dust.
Strayed saint
Your grey-strait’s silence
Is a cowardly way to confess.
Yes. A common enough mistake
Symptomatic
Of the tragic progression
Made by man’s repressive
State of mind.
A predictable affliction
Of swervacious men unkind.
Fucking
Tough on The Queer Messiah me-
Always driven,
Hammered into cruciform wood-
The virgin trees inside of me needing to be
Fancy free
To think, to blink and act on lust impulse,
To wink with an uncensored impunity,
Given my Poet’s immunity
From mortal sin. Tee BLOODY hee.
I can fucking see it clearly now
How repulsive
You find unbinding gene genie bonds,
Moving on,
Belonging
In the yellow yolk and cum encumbered albumen
Set cracking in the nest of destiny.
I hear your gardener’s inner songs,
Classy lack-lustre,
The breves of boredom droning on;
You sing of loathing wings
And pug ugly baleful things-
The hideous and invidious imprintings
Parent BRED neurotic to fledgling SAID psychotic.
Baby crow’s feet set
In knee deep concrete.
BLOOD! BLOOD! FUCKING BLOOD!
You go to fly my love
And when the wailing pain of failing cries
Like bone splints
From your shackled heels-
All the world’s wise creatures
Will feel the evil crack
Of that soul poacher’s trap.
You know.
Better the devil you know-
Jesus Christ on Saturday nights,
Satan on the Sunday.
Fuck me Jehovah! It’s BLOODY Monday.
You got stuck on Wednesday baby.
When I am happy my tired smile
Drools grey noodles of congealing spunk-
Whose seed it is, I care not a toss.
Face and bum cheeks straining at the thought of
Counting back too many strange cocks.
COME ON! Game off.
To think I once
Believed it was conceivable
To magic up a mythic miracle
To dance outside your circumstantial
Trance state.
Hell!
While we were being elevated to heaven.
I was shooting porn in Gran Canaria
Bungalow eleven.
It was a sensual leviathan of fun.
Now the whole idea of us
Is too bent out of shape,
Distant, far too far-fetched,
A wretched stretch of buttered butt
No more contemplated by you.
Ask Jack the way it works,
Jerks back and forth, an enemy
Of sexual stability.
It hurts. It hurts.
A pitying knell has rung to bring an end to play.
More lessons.
My Will-he-won’t-he Tell-tale bear
Has put his momentous bow and arrows away.
I take the untouched apple from my crown.
This is my cue-
I bite into the sour fruit to free myself from you-
Useless juice flows down my beard
Like tears turned into dry cider.
It’s been
An afternoon of summing up- mathematics,
A simple division of parting hearts.
Thought acrobatics with no safety net.
The sawdust circle begging for
BLOOD.
That raw fact screams
At my already cheese-wired neck
Like your pet X-box vampire bat
Attempting to put back the BLOOD INK that you sucked
From my virtual cock
To pen me passionate letters with.
I’ve watched all those dried to rust brown
Words- bits of my river fluid self,
Lift
Like ghosts made of smoke
From a rained on
Half-dead bonfire of winter leaves.
Christmas still twinkling in red neon berries
On the frost buggered shrubs.
The New Year howling
Like a wolf-witch wielding his new broom
Looming at my bedroom window
Tongue out, dick in.
How small
Could this lost society be-
Well,
I am gone. Lofted way too tall,
Grown too fond of cock and arse-n-balls.
Fuck me!
I love my moral busting wanderlust minority.
You protesting too much suspect hets-
I shall not be parted from it.
Yes dear, queer dear,
Not ever worth the fuckin’ secret call
To arms.
Arms of deceit.
Arms in retreat,
Defeated ‘fore a shot of gizz was fired.
This love/hate/love is no longer war.
But you’ve let me unilaterally fashion a peace-
Our gay territory, I guess,
A stereotypical gift, ‘THE THEY’ repeatedly say,
IT of us
...Recidivist spunk alcoholics,
...Ginger bearded angels
...Touched by nature’s pink smudge stick.
ENOUGH!
I could never be
The beast to hurt you.
His unbidden hooves stir dirt
For no-one.
So
At the very least see
Virtue
In letting me be me.
A THEATRE OF DISABILITY
[It fell to me to spend a day
With crippled actors whose plays
Had toured the country making plain
The plight of blighted ambition.
Hints of Macbeth goosed my skin.]
1
One stunning girl-
Long limbs, long hair,
Moved like a Ragdoll
Cat,
That elegant, then inelegant,
A clever contradiction.
She captivated,
But still bumped into chairs
And exploded with laughter-
Her light rain spattering onto glass
To counteract the tell-tale view
In which she felt denuded.
Born blind
She watched with her mind
From behind her opalescent eyes-
Milk and moony jewels
Of death white sightlessness
That did redress
Her soaring beauty
Which somehow suggested
Royalty.
2
He was profoundly deaf,
A dancer, dancing to silence.
Or did he have tunes
From the journey in the womb
Locked in the mansions of his head
Like mp3 files downloaded
Days before his ears imploded?
His mother may have loved Debussy
For the way he painted with sound;
Light opera; rock. I watched-
He tumbled
Like a man familiar with circuses,
Spun like he knew ice-rinks,
Leaped like a doomed Nureyev,
Rested like a wicked faun
Or would be king.
It dawned on me how attractive he was.
I felt giddy
As he turned to read my lips.
3
The political thalidomide bitch,
Enough attitude for all three witches,
Had a wagon parked at the front
On double yellows-
An adapted van with windows
Like a pope-mobile.
She flippered me aside with a
Glad to make your acquaintance
‘Fuck you!’
Orangeade hair in high dry spikes,
Protest badges
Stabbed en masse in her big tits.
It was raw anger alone
That launched her
Half-cock torso
Out of the electric wheel chair
On to the polished parquet
Of the rehearsal space.
Acres of room to never be
What you dream-
A ballet bar and a wall of mirrors.
Behind her punk bravado face
She yearned to be cast
In a play,
Wanted to be chosen.
I was looking at her reflected mess
Of flesh and metal
Already thinking, no way.
4
The unsighted one
Ached to be Lady Macbeth
[Shit! She must have sensed
My quick intake of breath.]
In an otherwise able company,
Preferably at Stratford.
She had me by her marbles’ curds,
Struggling for the verbs
To hide the word absurdity-
The globes seemed bigger than ever,
Great lakes in which to drown all
Dreamlings as they’re born.
The thing is-
Could she have seen me
Imagining the famous scene,
Her two hands badly bloodied
And madly needing to be cleaned,
The OCD ambitious Queen-
Everything gone to plan
To elevate her mentally disabled man;
Yet every action being closely scrutinised,
Then compromised,
Upstaged by her bright white stick
And well trained dog?
[I directed six hours
Of a theatre workshop
With nine of them,
The ten of us exploring
The possible and the impossible,
The appropriate and the inappropriate.
Their odd resolve never dented-
They still mistakenly believe
That audiences will one day be blind
To their disabilities.
To be kind in my leaving
I agreed and wished them luck
And waived my fee.]
A VERY MASCULINE TURN
Goodnight then Welsh Da.
Light be off. Let bed cold come.
Was I so bad
A kiss felt undeserving
Like always?
I ached with intrigue,
Needed to unravel your power
To eye you naked in the shower
To towel down your broad back
To marvel at your scrotal sack.
It did seem
In no time at all
That old age
Claimed you to its composting bosom,
Closer to your rotting heart
By far than me
Who aches still for that pony knee
To trot me to the foot
Of the wooden hill, where boys
Got wholly clasped
In post war fatherly joys
Then put to pillow firmly loved,
The warmth enough to summon
Blessed sleep.
It was not to be.
Taken from the valleys
You’d worked northern mines
And bulleted no-one.
I have no breathtaking memory
Of incest faking hugs,
Just reminders of cold-hearted shrugs,
And moist soil
Crumbled into cemetery truggs,
Overbearing poplars funnelling smoke
And smell,
Up to where you said Cymraeg heaven was,
High above the skittish sky
That smiled wanly on your gas-fired hell.
We planted your heavy-set pewter ash urn,
A very masculine turn,
Its phallic lines brimful of lost
Connections.
I wondered, for the briefest moment,
What flower you could and would become,
But none I know has ever disappointed.
Every bloom I’ve ever met
Has easily perceived my butterfly sin
And let me in,
Given me the sacred other half of earthling
Continuing.
AFTER IT DAWNS
The smoothie mirror shone
+BUFFED UP TO A STRAWBERRY GLOSS+
Refection of your best
Attests to a vain delusion spun
With the ugly certainty
That adoration will be yours...
You will be pawed by perverts
You will turn heads
Ignite dead eyes
Become objectified
Desired
Conspired against by friends of envy-
Twerps
Spitting venomous cocktails of gizz and pleghm
You’ll be
Abused and then denied
You don’t see
Perfection’s charmlessness
There’s nothing more alluring than a fault
There is immense grace
In a face dented by the ravages of time
All of the great demented souls
Have had facets of their enlightened selves
Crazed randomly like cracked glass
+HAPPENING PATTERNING+
Of which their inner critic has wisely approved
There is no god gilding or ape improving on
The starlight of nothingness
The way truth captures truth
In spontaneous photographs of genuine laughter
After it dawns
How empty everything is
Blink
ARSE FARCI
1
Sixteen
Green as grass
But fast with p’s and q’s
Oblivious to the unseen,
Not to be refused,
I let myself be led astray
By a grown man’s hand
Whose fingers knew the way
To trick a bad boy’s prick
Into becoming good,
Stiff, suitably wooden.
Down south, Bournemouth
He took me off the beaten track
Hid behind a bleached beach hut
To teach me how to stuff his crack
With virgin mincing meat.
I thought it pretty neat
To cum in buckets up a daddy’s bum
Dumb fuck that I was.
He was well done-
Arse farci,
Too pissed to give another shit about
The twink I think
Must have been really me, back then.
2
Dan’s dick
Thick, milk chocolate chip,
Slipped in like it was made to fit
Me, like a glover’s thumb-
Bitchin’, legs splayed in a bedroom
Over psychic Marie’s kitchen.
Hell
Breaking loose in her small hotel
As her Indigo guests
Did their level best to listen
To the ceiling’s
‘How To Love With True Feeling’ new-age address,
Every creak a channelled plea
For even more bliss, much more pubic fist.
His
Swollen half-Hawaiian glans a baby’s hand
Thrust in much deeper than it’s chubby cub wrist.
Grins on us
For ‘doing things’
Engaging in
Such a sin
As being
Close as Siamese twins.
I thought, ratted on and caught,
We might be banned over breakfast
But not one bugger asked me-
Arse farci?
All of them clairvoyant,
Skirting what they knew
Was just a dirt-box notion of
Some man on man dancing motion,
Gross indelicacy.
See,
They were arguably confused.
But you,
You may as well be crudely amused.
Me?
I was walking straight as gay hate-
Out, proud, smiling loud,
Mmm..
Despite my fresh rectal frailty.
3
Girls,
Never
The wrong hole ever
Despite the tight proximity of
Cunt and shunt.
Never done that esoteric hetero stunt
Of bum fucking the Mrs-
Which is one avenue of contraception
That hets do too-
Far cheaper than the pill, the cap
Or ribbed rubber protection.
Hubbie has a male sting in his fucking tail.
She screams-
‘Baby! Baby! Use my L’Oreal facial cream!’
Then cums
Replete with jungle drums
Their second coming of the night.
Christ!
Their dreamiest orgasms yet-
The spasms lingering,
On and on,
Ave Maria’s each and every painful one.
Her
Arse blood let.
Some inevitable hettish post coital
Regret fuelled no-shit fetish.
Loads of it in fact-
Wanger wilt,
Up to the hilt in programmed guilt,
Rammed home by whimpers,
Quim farts,
Darts of prim anger.
But man! I did the deed,
I put my little man up in her bleeding butt-
Does this mean I might just be,
Just
A cup-cake tad,
A trifle gay
Dad?
Hang on in there pink phobic fella,
Tell her it was unbridled love.
Bide your scared bear time-
Obsess, disassemble, reassemble
All your fave hunting rifles,
Spit and polish,
Buff ‘em to a phallic gloss.
What’s lost is lost.
You might yet get to count
The banal cost of
A fine line being crossed
Regarding her sacred anatomy.
Still. Be spiritually still.
Wait,
Wait and see,
Suppose she might get predisposed
To yet more
Arse farci?
This fucked-up world
Is stuffed, awash, with gosh
And other brother possibilities.
ASCENDING SONG
Endings send me
Mad
Sad
This ending we have never had
Garbed
In Grecian cotton-white
That blinds
In acute sunlight
We’re at this morning’s funeral rite
The young Sun barely awake-
A wide yawn of toddling bright
Mother sea
A silver offertory plate
On which we slip our paper ships
All poems write to celebrate the wit
Of one
Smitten by the pull of home
I am so bereft
Left
Totally alone
The cloying memories
No joy
He always was my clever man
And I
His ever constant boy