Monkeys

eerertertertertertertertert  drg dfg dfg dfg df d gd monkeys typing rubbish on a
computer using a program called a word provcessor

can somirtimes vatch a packet of stars ad live a litel more tha the earthworms thaey
vonae form snfd then dee if they ahf es pacvker tof ticxod

Monkeys can catch packets of stars and keep them in their pockets
They can see a thousand miles, a thousand thousand years
They must see. They must.
There is a monkey in my garden playing with platinum dust
Being careful not to breathe
It is holding, waiting, giving its madness away
Like a generous uncle
Or a forefather leaving a legacy
It is time
It is now
It is then
It is not well crafted because he doesn’t believe in that human foible
He only believes in packets of stars.
(and where they can lead)

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Nobody

Nobody

Nobody

Nobody

Nobody nobody nobody

Nobody nobody nobody
nobody nobody nobody

NOBODY

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A Poem and a Painting (and a book)

The full cover of Blodyn – my latest collection of poetry
Blodyn the Painting

acrylic on board 520mm x 670mm (20″ x 26″), 2001

Blodyn the Book

Collected poems 2017

Blodyn the poem

You are a creature
Petal-haired
Mouth-organ lipped
Smudge nose askew

You are a flower (an open flower)
A head on a stalk (A face on a stick)
Seeds like eyes
Seed-like eyes

You absorb the earth
Soak up the sun
Flow with the wind
Grow with the rain

You are raw life

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This is a writing exercise

This is a writing exercise

The time when I went after a cow there were sounds carping on in that friend’s boat.

A pound of small oranges entails mucking under those twelve toadstools.

Smart moon then, Idris sparked on them after hell fried upside.

Leave young mellow fluffy badgers mind there one bantam weight.

Why don’t youth mix yesterday’s balloons.

In the end of the day I went to the shopping centre and found a yellow juggling ball.

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Reviewing the Evidence

Reviewing the evidence
he just walked up to me as if it was an hour ago
my legs were shaking
Oh he sang better than you.
It’s gonna bring tears to your eyes, I promise you
I’m just practising, excuse me
Yes I still want that
Falls asleep ’til about 9 o’clock
Tell-tale signs
New underpants
I found a number of dirty shirts in the wardrobe
Always going to collect money
I couldn’t fault him on that
I told you that the other day
He thought I was bloody thick
It was all in my head
I failed my MOT test

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An old poem

(an old poem)

Left too long in the shell
almost, touching.
Shrivelled apricots
almost, sweet.
Dried-up peanuts
without stones.
Fit only for eating
soggily, successful.
Ex-dried-up riverbed
waiting for water.
The turn of the planet
falling, will come.
Warm comfort comes
from here, from now.
Planted, the seed
waiting for water.
Welcome, a wink.
The secret exposed.
Lightly learned
the art of seeing.
Finding the form
delightfully, pleasing.
Peacefully, blissfully
sleeping, returning.

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Does this pen work?

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A couple more poems from Blodyn

Jackdaws in CAR PARKS

Jackdaws
in CAR PARKS
where they shouldn’t be

But then
ppl
eat cheap tarts
and drop crumbs
everywhere

I wouldn’t like to be a jackdaw
Being a bit of a fussy eater

FOR INSTANCE

I wouldn’t eat a slowworm
even if I was starving

BUT JACKDAWS
eat almost everything

They have no lines in their minds
except that possibly
(and I don’t know this for sure)
They won’t eat their own eggs

I suppose if they did
they wouldn’t exist

Imagine that you’re the last jackdaw
in the world
and the only thing left to eat
is your one remaining egg
which is about to hatch

do you gobble it up
even though you know
that however long you live
afterwards

There’ll never be another jackdaw
or maybe you could

MATE with a sparrow

and have babies
called
Jackrow or Spardaw

What if you lay on top of your egg
and quietly died
Your decomposition
feeding your young

Then it’d grow up
and have a different dilemma
but at least it’d have

A LIFE

What comes last?
The jackdaw – or
THE EGG

****

If we were rich

If we were rich, would we still have a table like this?
A table covered in the most recently used bits of shit?
Like scissors and glasses and ashtrays and tips.
Like candles and radios and needles and sticks.

There’s last Tuesday’s mailshots and yesterday’s news.
There’s this week’s TV guide and half a pair of shoes.
A table that’s creaking and sagging with clues.
Yes, we’d still have a table like this – it’s the truth.

****

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Three thoughts

To be a good gardener, sow the seeds with love
Believe in what you’re doing, do what you believe in
Even the best words dissolve into mush when you read them too many times

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Outside in October

Outside in October

The stems of the bamboos
in my neighbour’s garden
are tall and waxy cream.
Their leaves like the bad hair
of an animated villain.
They sway like an armoury
of thin spears;
rattle, sometimes, in the wind.
It’s a small innocent valley,
where the crabplant
and the blonde-haired pampas
jostle with potatoes;
buried like eggs of ants
in well-tilled mounds,
dissipating,
like mist, evaporating,
under the sun.
Betrayed, their fragility stalls,
and I expect to see
a black-and-white giant
panda
sleeping on the lawn.

From ‘Blodyn‘, my latest poetry collection

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Mid-October Blues

When the fallen leaves remind you that Summer’s gone
And the days are getting short and the nights are getting long

That’s the time to think about where you’re going to
That’s the time to think about what you want to do

The winter is coming, and with it a pause
There’ll be time to consider, to smooth out your flaws

You’ll be ready in no time, to get on with your life
For now, take it easy, enjoy the long nights

NOTES: This is off-the-cuff on a slightly drunken Saturday night, so will more than likely be deleted in the morning

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Some birds and their poems

A few short poems

about birds

from my last poetry collection

 

 

Blodyn

Robin
Pecking up the scraps of summer
He comes hopping –
and perching –
in cute poses;
Makes you wish you had a camera, ready.
Pictures of Robins
do well at Christmas.

Jackdaw
Where I live
There are families
of Black Birds
They live on our roofs
and ramble on our lawns
They never stop nodding
and they make you feel
cynical.

Turkey
These are birds too,
even though
they’re cajoled
and crammed
and clipped
and co-erced
until they bleed for us,
at Christmas.

Gull
A varied people
Albatross-sized
or sharp white darts
tipped with black.
They argue a lot,
eat anything you throw at them,
and try to tell us
about the weather.

Duck
They are mostly seen
on man-made ponds,
and amuse us,
occasionally,
with their courting.
You somehow
feel obliged to them
and wish you’d brought
some bread.

 

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More Human Beings . . .

Another two human beings have arrived to keep the first one company

Another Portrait of a Human Being – oils on canvas 50x60cm

And Another Portrait of a Human Being – oils on canvas 50x60cm

They are here to stay
Here
and there of course
Everything is here and there
Now and then
Was.Is.Will be.
Basically
They are flowers
in Spring.

(And here’s the first one to save a click or two)

Portrait of a Human Being – oils on canvas 50x60cm

They are lovely
They are
Lovely

Like me
Like you
You
Utter beauty
Beauty
Beauty

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Portrait of a human being

Here they are, I think they’re lovely

Portrait of a human being -May 1st, 2017. Oil on Canvas 50cm x 60cm

They are lovely
They are
Lovely

Like me
Like you
You
Utter beauty
Beauty
Beauty

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In the dark

A little poem from my new collection – Blodyn – click here for more info

In the dark

In the late dark, a visitor
From a summer, long departed
Teased from winter’s slumber
Deceived by central heat
And a wall to wall mat
A microdot of consciousness
For a moment sharing awareness
As it slips across my clutter

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Happy Birthday to Me

Something I wrote on my birthday

Happy Birthday To Me

It’s a scratch on the wall
a step on the path
It’s my birthday again
another year’s passed

If years were seconds
there wouldn’t be many
not much more than a minute

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verses for a purpose

(This is a very raw and unedited bit of rambling, posted here as an example of the sort of thing that I write when I’m thinking about what to write but can’t actually get writing.)

Around ten past midnight on the cusp of Monday February 7th and Tuesday February 8th, 2017.

I wrote a little blog article between yesterday (Sunday) and today (Monday). It’s all about Trump and Brexit. Its premise/conclusion is that the ‘Libtards’ have to apologise before we can move on and develop a better system (if there is even a need for a ‘system’). But, a better system of what?

  • Democracy
  • Politics
  • Society
  • How do we get on and look after each other?

Anyway, despite it having been a miserable day in some ways, the fact that I finished an article of sorts has made it a good day. It wasn’t easy and I had to plough on despite feeling that it would never make sense. In the end I think it does. It’s called ‘It’s not too late to say sorry’.

Less than a week ago, I published Blodyn, a book of my poetry, old and new, despite having only recently written blogs about how rubbish poetry, or at least the poetry industry, is.

Anyway, putting Blodyn together has sparked anew my interest in and love of writing poetry, so here goes:

Verses for a purpose

They need bundling
collecting in a net
They need releasing
one by one
They need repeating
repeating

Each one is a gem
a coruscating gem
A method of seeing
understanding

Caress them in your hands
Speak them with your mouth
Stroke them with your voice
Bring them home

Let them gather
together
Let them drift
Let them fly
Catch them as they pass
Love them while they last

—–

Stars are special
Stars are light
Stars are real
Stars are bright

—–

Must be time for bed; it’s nearly one a.m.

Nos da!

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Blodyn set to Flower soon in New Poetry Collection

** Paperback now available: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1904958621/

More info: http://openingchapter.com/2017/01/30/blodyn/

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Busy Birds

Birds busy being
Busy birds being
Being busy birds
Birds being busy

Birds Being Busy Being Busy Birds

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A message from the twenty-fourth century

doo yoo woo mooo?
DoO AyE waan tooo?
waa ee ooo poo
fee floo gloo
viaa grnaa
gtyoe
brooa grooa trooa too moo
soo kooo jooo gooo claa mee kii nia
plaa hoo xoiae boeuo
vuo mua trui voo
dooo yooo wooo moooo?
by fuck!

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