Meum est propositum in taberna mori,
ut sint vina proxima morientis ori;
tunc cantabunt letius angelorum chori:
“Sit Deus propitius huic potatori.”
NOW THAT I AM TWENTY FIVE
Now the landlords shouted, “Sup up!” at some jam night down Camden,
Time has come for me to sum up some cool shit which have done;
I have had mi share o’ ladies, & some of ’em together,
Played football round the counties proudly for mi Lancashire,
I have caught the Venice ferry, composed poesy midst Pompeii,
Trudged through muddy Glastonbury off my nut to see Brown play,
I have master’d Fare Evasion, troubadour’d thro’ all my crimes
(Excepting one ‘boitelle du vin’ they reported in the Times), *
I have watched my team at Wembley, been a champion at chess,
Dodg’d the workplace prison mis’ry, many years now, free from stress,
I have writ a wicked album, formed a company of kings,
Chased romantic ghosts through Belgium… these, & many other things,
For I’m flush with understanding what it means to be alive –
With a spirit so demanding now that I am Twenty-Five!
September 15th, 2000
COMMUTER LOVE
She shivers in vain under the old clock tower;
Drizzle spate, lover late, fizzling date.
“The 17.17 from Dover Priory
Has been diverted via Bat & Ball…”
She morbidly walks into Unwins,
Buys a bottle of cheap red Chianti
To take home to its depressing glass;
Tonight she’ll romance Albert Square
& a fisherman’s pie from Tescos –
Laced with white-hot jalapenos.
The EUREKA knock at the door
Terrence stands there, slick-soaking hair,
Saying, “Sorry, Daphne, I’ve had a total nightmare!”
“Drive next time,” she says, kissing him prodigously.
LONDON
In London …
… every person, £vri person,
everí person, ever the person, evri person,
Beverly Beeson, £very person, (every person),
everí person, every per$on, iga inimene,
every person, ogni personne, Ava’s prison,
evrí Persian, evil curses, weather is worsening,
heavenly verses, devlish curses? chaque personne,
everí person, e^ery person, Eva’s aspersian,
£very person, <very person, ev{ry per$on,
everí mason, clever wee person, every person,
… is a passing thought!
DAYTRIPPER
I pause in my stroll, roll up a smoke,
Settle these dewstone eyes across the Lea,
A Thai-grass joint, & drawing the last toke,
Its time, I think, to drop that LSD.
On cellophane’s unwrap I take great care
Not to touch the blotting with my fingers,
Deftling the edges teeth tear off my ‘dare,’
Remembering nonsense this bite must bring us;
Spinning, staring into abyssal eyes
Of my fellow Man, together we are
Unity; to see Universal skies
O’er Astral ocean, ‘neath gyring Lodestar!
As the acid dissolves upon my tongue
I smile miles wide, for real this stuff feels strong!
RAILRIDER
I hop on a train
little fuss
few passengers
watch me sit
a black woman
a young punk
old man twiddles his tash
& in a flash
the train sets off
planes wing over London
& as we reach Brixton
my brain
pretends to be elsewhere
dreaming of mysterious fancies
ARTISTRY OF LUST
A girl I gave a line to caught me up
Fancy a smoke… that’s what I call karma
She’s an artist… Poets & painters
‘Boets & Bainters!’ said King George the First
We catch taxis to Clapham, she cooks up chi
Post-gig glow, smoking skunk in my kitchen
She’s fit-as-fuck in an unkempt kinda way
We chat about life & poetry & music
Then she asks me did I wanna do some art
& strips naked, I guess she meant life drawing
Elegant & energetic she was my kinda lady
I start to sketch her tits… thought what the hell
Am I drawin’ em for & pleasantly suggested
A congress of the Tiger, the Cat or the Deer…
WESTENDERS
Twas a quintessential English evening
All about town & the capital’s core,
On my arm a wonderful flutterling,
Perfectly amenable to the tour.
We met in a wine-bar off Trafalgar,
To delve within a cosy eaterie,
Then took our places at the theatre
For the Mousetrap’s befuddling mystery.
O! The night brimm’d a goblet romantic
& our spirits, yes, they sparkl’d as the stars,
Rosie was a gentle alcoholic,
Floating, flirting, thro’ her favourite bars;
When to the chimes of Big Ben’s booming bells
We jump’d the last train down to Tunbridge Wells
ROSIE’S SCHOOL RUN
OH MY GOD! I’m having a nightmare,
Fuck, look at the fucking time!
“SHUUTTT UUUPPP!!!”
The kids are doin’ my head in
With their school-stuff everywhere,
“Here’s yer shoes, here’s yer socks,
Heres yer fuckin’ sandwich box!”
“MUMMY… don’t swear!”
OH MY GOD! Its ten to nine now,
& my car-keys JUST AREN’T THERE!
Will it rain, will mum call,
Will I end up on the dole
O MY GOD! Its five to nine now
& the traffics hits a WALL!
THE BOYFRIEND’S ALPHABET
One should always give one’s woman;
Art, Adoration, Art, Bravery, Bliss
Caress, Conversation, Destiny, Desire,
Equality, Everything, Fidelity, Faith
Gratitude, Goodness, Happiness, Honesty
Illumination, Impeccability, Jewelry, Jaunts,
Kisses, Kindredship, Loyalty, Lust
Money, Magic, Novelty, Nobilty,
Orgasms, Obmutescence, Playfulness, Poetry
Quality, Quiescence, Reassurance, Romance
Security, Sensuality, Tenderness, Trust
Unity, Understanding, Variety, Voice
Wonderment, Wisdom, Xysti, Xanadu
Yearning, Yourself, Zygosis & Zest!
A CURIOUS TOUR OF FRANCE
The triumphant train jump from dreary Calais
Our spacious rooms & balcony above Albert
Took a minute to traverse the grave-peppered land
Endur’d three brutal months of murder once to take,
Playing marbles with little rusting, shrapnel balls
Glorious weather paints the plains of Northern France
The old city of Amiens & golden Boulogne
Ice creams on the beach & laughing at locals…
At last! Our final train jump back to Calais
Pincer attack approaches, but the toilet is locked,
So Rosie crouch’d inluggage space, covered by her coat,
At one point thought we’d blown it, using schoolboy French
Nous & -ons (for we) rather then Je & -e (for I)
Luckily the lady assumed I was your typical Englishman
Sold me a single ticket, & when the coast was clear
We giggled all the way back to Blighty.
THIS IS MY COUNTRY
Good Morning Great Britain
Still great, still Britain
The sun is shining, 10:45 AM
£296.26 pence in my pocket
Time to bet it all on black & hit the road again
If time is a mere scratch & life is nothing
& nothing that occurs is of the slightest importance
From Aberdeen to Birmingham, Arundel & Deal
From Dullis Hill to Rotherham, Bristol & Peel
From Inverness to Liverpool, Leeds & Palmer’s Green
From Lewisham to Padiham & all the pubs between
From Badminton to Twickenham & Barton-in-the-Beans
‘Til my bardic breath expires
This is my Time,
This is my Rhyme,
This is my Country!
IN THE ZONE
When you’re in the zone
Every second turns to poesy
Those tramps sat in the park
Were they discussing Plato?
What is it about life?
She seems to twist & turn
Under shadow & sun
Without a pause, relentless…
There are those who live & those who plain exist
When realizing our natures
It is the lone individual which moves the age
Within the solitude of his page
For, as stones hold the sun’s heat long after it is gone,
My poesis here forever shall remain…
THIS IS A TIME
This is a time in which I hope a star
May fall upon my verse as if a Muse
Did take my soul’s expectant avatar
Punting along an Avon river cruise.
An actor on an upturn’d apple cart,
A singer chaunting in the Cheddar Gorge,
I cling to poesy with an epic heart,
Which every beat a syllable doth forge.
God knows, I’ve seen a hundred thousand things
& kept them in my thought-stream ‘til the day
Imagination’s eagles spread their wings
& pluck them from the pools, like molten clay,
Empattering Exochian balloons,
In terracottan zither-rows of tunes.
50P BOOKSHOP
In the heart of the Maritime City,
On Albert Road, still trades the treasure store
Where first found I those gems of poetry,
Little jewels of literary lore.
As I disturb the silence of that room
Bookseller barely glances from the page,
The musty smell of leather-bound volume
After volume…
…shelf-stack’d, floor-piled…
…the sage
Deems sweeter than perfume of a lover.
I find, buried, a long-forgotten tome,
Off the dust blows in clouds from its cover,
To chance upon a book on sonnet form!
‘Tis such monumental moments as these
Which sets my craft drifting Petrarchan seas.
SOUTHSEA
It’s the last ever gig of the funk-ass Mambo Juice,
Thirty-strong multi-national drumming collective,
When the last deafening bass-line comes to a close
They pull out their ear-plugs & hug like old amigos,
As a black-lipp’d, mosh-pit blonde calls ‘house party’
I’m suddenly off raving with twenty cosmic Goths,
All grooving on pills; so I play a set of classics
Got off with a red-headed vampyre in the bath
But when she went home to get her stash of weed
I got off with her mate – it was a terrible faux pas
Apparently I’d broken some sacred code or something,
& my tunes were actually “fuckin shite man!“
“What do you mean you don’t like Betty Boo!”
I demanded as they toss’d me out to morning!
TRAINING IN THE ART OF FARE EVASION: The Fader Code
1 Remain alert
2 Always keep your cool
3 Trust your instincts
4 Never show your money
5 Know your stations
6 Another five minutes won’t hurt in the loo
7 Know your enemy
8 Know your postcodes
9 The train’s going there anyway
10 When in doubt, clout
11 Trains always comes when ya skinnin’ up
12 It is every Fader’s duty to baffle & confuse
13 Always remember your free cup of tea
14 No need to rush unless you’re being chas’d
CAMBRIA
I’d enter’d Wales along its southern shore,
Pass’d many breezy towns of prime bereft;
Like Newport, Port Talbert, Haverfordwest,
Then, as I saw Saint David’s ancient spires,
The Irish Ocean met me with a smile,
Whose coast curl’d north; ghostly Aberystwyth,
Aberdovey’s dream, Harlech’s stoic stones,
Dolgellau’s mellow stream, fair Machynlleth,
Portmerions bejewell’d masonry,
Delayed my days, for this is wondrous Wales,
A David to the Saxon Goliath,
But prouder than each English heart I know,
Where, as I stood upon Glendower’s keep,
Cymru’s grey passes bash’d the flashing skies!
OVER GWYNEDD
I tackl’d Snowdon from the low Rhyd Ddu,
Infinite furlongs from her summit view;
The little cluster that is Liverpool
& mountain masses rustic minds enjewel,
The twinkle of the distant River Dee,
The rising lion of Aran Fawwdwy,
The quaint domain of old Dolgellau grey,
The epic sweep which keep Cardigan Bay,
Dinas Emrys & her sleeping dragon,
The castles; Flint, Harlech & Caernarvon,
The isle adjacent to th’adjacent isle
& yonder, Wicklow’s shadowy defile –
The British Isles have wrapt me all around,
Tho’ in the heavens I still touch her ground.
BURNLEY BOUND
Poised almost home we hiked up Kinder Scout
In early April when the branches bare,
Or glittering with leaves just starting out
Upon their quest to fumigate the air;
Away, below all mysterious moors,
Manchester rises from a distant plain,
With all its red brick misery & laws,
Its vehicles, its vapours, & its vain,
Whose city craziness I here dismiss,
For Burnley’s beddiness a day awaits,
Where first my spirit felt its mother’s kiss
Entangled in the fibres of the fates;
But now… a moment settled on a stone
A breath of wind, the heather… & alone!
DEERPLAY MOOR
Foxglove & thistle empurpling the trail
That modern man in motion wide discards,
It was time to return to Lancashire
Across the heights that shadow Calderdale,
& I, their poetical passenger,
Orpheus pressing hard against my sail,
& yes! It seem’d his song had form’d a gale,
Why else allude to mythic Thracian bards!
Across the fields I find the Burnley way,
Lit by those little yellow birds & bees
That lead me onto Thievely Pike, among
Such scenes of rugged beauty greening grey,
Broad Pennines sweeping distance by degrees
& fading far as bards conclude their song.
The Silver Rose 