Self Defence

72° - mark
72° - mark
72° - mark
72° - mark
72° - mark
Join every other
Step in
Amongst hills and valleys
Containing
Earth
Wind
Fire
Water
Spirit
Encircled

Safe

DD for SS

This life continues
40 years of history
40 more to make
On it plods
Good times
Bad times
Drifting
Deciding

But

What if it’s a dream?
When I wake
Where on this journey will I be?
Will it be this journey?
What will be reality?

And when I sleep again?
Dream another life…?

Over 25000 lives…

Tag your it - inspired by CJ

Sweating - pushing - grunting
Blood - embryonic fluids
Squeeze - squelch – gotcha!
It’s a boy!
Tagged and wrapped
Handed over
Feeding - crying - shitting
Observing - learning - growing
Clinging - climbing - standing
So early
He’s a fast learner
Playgroups - infants - junior school
He’s a loner
He’s helpful
He’s quiet but intelligent
Secondary - further - etc
More tags and labels
Music - style – clothing - attitude
Career choice - working ethic
Tagged and labelled
Partner - children - house - car
And so on
Labels to be read

Labels to be misread
And so on
Death
Tagged and boxed
Buried under a label

Old Pun - Badly Done...

At first he gained an education
Studies of ancient lore
Crafts long gone
From times before

Having learned
Of things of old
Countryside roaming went he
To check what he’d been told

But work was hard to come by
Vocational journals he applied therein
But as we all know
An archaeologists’ career lays in ruin

Therefore am I

Follow that thought
Stalk it as it ambles along
Watch it twist and turn and dodge
Chase it as it tries to flee
Corner it in a minds back-alley
Pounce and bring it down
Feast and gorge on its concept…

OCD

‘Tis
Y eye right
Sense now it makes

For Jay

Here are some normal words
Tied together in this simple style
Nothing hard to read
Nothing to look up
A bag of shaken letters
Sorted into easy words
I hope this is more to your liking

Memories

In the kitchen
There is a white ceramic sink
Little chromed taps sit above it
One of which drips slow and steady

In the kitchen
There is a wood burning stove
Filling this room with warmth and aromas
Roastings and fryings and bakings and boilings

In the kitchen
Is a larder with a creaking door
Full of favoured vittals
Awaiting their turn at the stove
And a wooden box of fresh baked bread

In the kitchen
Is an old chipped and notched pine table
Two pine spindle chair of similar repute
Where we used to sit and eat

In the kitchen
Was a wonderful woman
A carving knife
An indelible stain
Crimson stain
Crimson sink
Crimson chair
Crimson footprints

I huddle down
In my cardboard bed
On this forgotten waste ground
And wash away my guilty tears
With cheap cider
For another night

Watchers

Three golden faces
Always peering east
Breezily nodding together
Green swath masters
One side towered
By sun-bleached wood
Dusty-curb other side
Faces alight joyously
Greeting glittering dawn
Backs ever turned
Against setting sun

Hobbyist - from Stu

This piece is written by a work associate, my reply is post below...

.

.

It was such an old fashioned deal

An act of affection, I’m told.

No time for any weapons,

Or blunt instruments to be found

.

An attack of the most personal kind

With hands tightly around my neck

Fingers pressing in to my windpipe

Blocking the vital air supply.

.

Before I knew what was going on

My world began to grow dark

And suddenly the only thing that mattered

Was to fight back

Retaliate

Make right.

.

So I beat and I scratched

But all to no avail

My lungs screamed for another breath

And a voice from the back said

I told you I’d get you in the end

.

But at least when they found me

slumped over the steering wheel

All they had to do

Was scrape under my nails

And match the DNA.

Hobbyist - A reply...

It’s not me really
I’m someone else today
Someone now hiding
In the back of a car
Simple task to enter a car

A short wait
Until the owner returns
So here I lurk
In a car
Except it’s not me really

Last month I took a man
Slightly larger than me
A pretty boy and body toned
Stalked him quietly
Learnt his moves
And one morning
Rammed a thin steel spike
Upwards at the top of his spine
He’s who I am
I wear him well
It’s not really me
It never is

So here I am
As driver enters – starts
Pulls off
I know when to emerge
On which bit of this journey
To end this game

This one is personal
Risky for me
But today I’m someone else

The moment is here
Snakebite of memory enters my veins
Mind ravaged by poisoned thoughts
I rise up
Reach out
Grasp
Both hands
Firm and sure
Like a potter at his wheel
Inexorably crushing his windpipe – he struggles in vain
Blocking vital air supply – he thrashes and scratches
Revenge
Make right!

“I said I’d get you”

A final lesson for a fair weather friend…

Committed

You know
It still looks odd
This circular band
Of white gold knots
On this finger of mine
Loose when cold
Tight when warm
Peculiar symbolism
But comforting
On my variable finger

For Stu... Aka - The Hobbyist

Cut
Wound
Slice
Hack
Gash
Chop
Slash
Tear
Split
Incise
Carve
Sever
Crack
Rend
Pare
Section
Portion
Dice

Rip

Gift of Love

This flower, a token
From me, to you
A symbol of love
To brighten your eyes
To lighten your heart
Together we can watch
As it fades and droops
And petals shed
Water greens and stagnates
Dust settles on its ragged remains
Until one day it rests
Amongst the days detritus
Is it a symbol still?

For One, but all.

Throw your words with gay abandon
Pass them from your lips
Hurl them from your mind

Flung about like children’s mud
Or petals at a wedding
Let them cascade onto paper

Let them flow through ether
Bury me in them
Fill me, choke me

Free me with your words
Or bind me tighter
Scrolling dripping shouted thoughts

Send them out to splatter and stick
Pin them to boards
Spear my heart with them

Nail them to posts
Wrap them burning round my mind
Slice my eyes with sheets of words

Shred and fling them for the winds
Distil their essences
Let me drink it neat

Twist clouds to shape them
Mark the underpass in sprays of words
Wedge them in cracks of walls

Throw your words with gay abandon

Time

Breathe in this dust
Of old miseries
Absorbing angst
That used to be
Rueful grimace
At such petty troubles
That once upturned my world
Time has desiccated old issues
To this dust that I breathe in

3x3

sitting here now

i wonder how

to kill a cow

InSpiralation

and hopes structure, and Shape write. I world.
fears, clouds, but taboo and dark what wondrous
sounds flowers, what see and things in and
and people, sort START here Most part weird
smells, dreams, of things inspire me. A this
puppy and life in general all play inspiration,
dog tails and anything laying around it’s all

The Short Day

The coat was heavy
Dragging down on my shoulders as I walked
Knee length
Black
Leather
Extra straps and pockets
Added to hold
All I needed
For this short day

Grey skies
Cool breeze
Not quite cold
A fine day for exercise
An excellent day to die

Nearly ten AM
Town is picking up
Students, mothers, pensioners
Doing whatever they do
So I head to the indoor market
Time to shed some weight

Amazing what you can learn
If you look hard enough
Long enough
Smoke grenades and nail bombs
Simple stuff from household goods
As I said
An excellent day to die

As I walk round the market
I place a smoker and nail
In bins as I pass
Primitive timers give me time to reach the exit
There I wait a final few moments
For chaos to begin
A deafening roar
Brings a brief smile
Smoke starts to billow
Screams and groans

A middle-aged man staggers
Coughing and spluttering
And out comes a well-honed machete
Wet work, close and personal
I take him across tear-streaked face
Messy
Reaching in my coat
I fish out home made shuriken
Turn and throw randomly
Into the gathering crowd

They scatter
Screaming
The air fills with panicked voices
And a distant faint wail of authority
Not a bad response time
Incessant babble bores me
So out comes first
My walkman
Time to live a little
Before the end
Then my browning 9mm
Quickly casting my last few missiles
I head into the smoke filled market
Not far
Just enough

Authority arrives
Firemen
I put a round in the shin
Of the first through
And see his colleagues drag him away
They’ll stay out of it for now

It shouldn’t be long now
Boys in blue
Gun in hand
Itching to pull
That rarely used trigger

If I’d been serious
I shudder to think of what could be done
Within the time it’s taking
On a whim I set fire
To a fabric traders stock
And finish off a quietly bleeding teen
With my boot knife across their throat
Then fire a random shot out the door
To keep ‘em on their toes

At last
They’re here
As sunlight breaks through overcast skies

Mixes with smoke
And a soft breeze swirls
It round
In elegant curls and spirals
It’s an excellent day to die
The coat is not so heavy
I wonder how many
I can take

Metaphor

Haven’t eaten fresh

For eleven days bar one

Just mopped old gravy

With stale bread

Pushing dry crusts

Through set grease

But even so

Have kept the schedule

Optimist

On a hill
Not far away
Stands a man

Cruciform of stance
Face tipped skyward
With mouth agape

Hopeful eyes closed
Sun blazing down
In this dry-season

Waiting for rain

Meditation

Sit
Relax
Place a white candle
In front of you
Light it
.
Focus on its smooth
White waxy column
Allow it to be
The centre of all perception
See not your surrounds
Just white column
And dancing flame
Follow its line
From base to tip
To blackening wick
And concentrate
On that non point
Twixt wick and flame
Exclude all else
Push your mind
Into that nothing gap
Empty yourself
Of everything
Lose yourself
In candles void
Now listen to yourself
Each breath
Each beat
Each blink
Each rustle of hair
Remember
Each breath
A person dies
Each beat
A person dies
Each blink
A person dies
That hair, tickling your nose…
Please don’t sneeze…

Day In Day Out

It rises as always

Crimson turning golden

Turning painfully yellow white

Steadily touching ground

Trees and grass

Giving colours back to flowers

Washing darkness away

Drying dew

Stirring morning creatures from slumber

Climbing ever higher

But eventually falling

Stealing colours from flowers

Leaving ground

Trees and grass

Behind

Yellow white turning golden

Turning crimson

As always it sets

Searcher

They sit, on the edge,
Of the beach,
Staring,
Across swirling sands,
Out to sea,
Alone.

Crowds swarm around,
Flickering in and out of existence,
Smiling, haunted,
Cat cream smiles,
Hang dog glum.

They sit, on the edge,
Watching, waiting,
Golden sands swirl around their feet,
Trying to tempt,
To lead, each grain a fresh new dream,
But they resist.

A voice just behind,
From a blind spot,
“You came, but it’s not yet time”

They sit, on the edge,
And commit,
Those tones, inflections and accent,
To memory.
Fingers stroke their hair,
Drop to shoulder; linger for a brief moment,
And are gone.

Skies darken and flicker,
Sands turn grey and cease swirling,
They awaken.

They sit, on the edge,
Of the bed,
Remembering,
Another puzzle piece,
In their search,
For their dream partner.

Broken

White noise rising,
Smothering,
Grey storm broiling,
Pound, pound, pounding!
Throbbing.

So broken,
Ripped,
And scattered.

Enough

Once I stood tall, a man.
But you all nudged and jostled,
Pushed – poked – prodded,
Knocking me back,
Inch by inch.
Until no further could I move,
My back against the wall.

But you all wouldn’t leave it,
Nudging and prodding,
Pushing and jostling,
Social Brownian motion,
Pasting me tight in this corner.

Are you surprised my grin is feral,
Are you surprised my hands hook like claws,
Do you know when enough is?
I think I do.
It’s time to come out fighting.

Fever

See them
Scuttle from shadow to shadow
Twitchy eared and bobbled tail
Gathering in cells to stare down passing traffic
Raised up bodies on haunched hinds
Sinister forelimbs a-dangle
Suspicious groups of three or four
Plotting
Planning
Preparing
The revolution is upon us
Mixy canisters and gasmasks at dawn.

Sugar Water

Pass me another placebo
This one doesn’t work
Symptoms remain the same
Pass me another placebo
Before I go insane

Ug

Virus burnt tracks
Through grey matter
Hollows of non-functioning muscle
Habits and basic functions remain
Neither use nor ornament

The Singer

Colours that you breathe,
Scents that you hear,
Sounds that you see,
Mean little to me,
I cannot sing
The songs you sing.

Glove Gift

As I walked my path was crossed,
A cat as black as sin,
I grasped its tail and swung it high,
Against the curb its skull caved in.

So home I went with unlucky cat,
To skin and tan and cure,
To slice and shape a single glove,
Warm and soft luxurious fur.

Half a gift made for one,
Who should have known me better,
Who should never have gone away,
Leaving that Dear John letter.

A fine pair of gloves I’ll make
A gift of ill omen,
Not too good for the cats of course,
But it’ll be worse for that shallow woman.

Caged

Bars of bone prevent my freedom,
A life sentence, no appeal!
This cage of flesh and blood,
Skin and bone hold me in check,
Provides my limitations,
A prison within a prison,
A box of stone and glass surrounds,
Further entrapping bones and blood,
A cell amongst many,
Chained by invisible mores and social obligations,
This cell with its locks and chains,
Amidst so many,
Is still not all, just part,
Other barriers exist, unseen,
Just over the horizon…

And After...

The lies,
The flirting,
The lies,
The teasing,
The lies,
The belittling,
The lies,
The comparing,
The lies,
The ambivalence,
The lies,
The built up promises,
The lies,
The setting up for disappointment.

Did I mention the lies?