I’ve had laptop trouble recently. I had a Lenovo idea pad that had a broken hinge and a row of broken keys. It got too much after a while, trying to correct everything was a nightmare and I left off blogging for a while. Now I have this new Lenovo Yoga 260, touchscreen. And I’m beginning to return to normal. I have a back log of poetry to type up. Best regards to all bloggers everywhere.
Song: See, I’m begging you for mercy
https://michaelaitken.bandcamp.com/track/see-im-begging-you-for-mercy
published on bandcamp, imply click to go there
Song: I lost my head
michaelaitken.bandcamp.com/track/i-lost-my-head
i have uploaded a recording of my song I lost my head.
it’s part of a song project I did about Anne boleyn and her life please have a listen
To tell the truth to power
To tell the truth to power
Is to go under a steamroller
To tell the truth to power
Is to be a tree trunk in sawmill
Power has that dirty laugh
That fools enjoy
Power has an ocean of rusted keys
thrown away
Powers idea of judgement
Is a secret train ride through a wood
Powers idea of judgement
Looks like an inferno for truth
Friends
Sometimes
We are friends who are not friends
Sometimes we are friends
Who are friends
It’s a sign of maturity
like a well fitted stair carpet
That friends pass each other by on
I’m your friend today
I’m not your friend today
but non-the-less
Our missing feet are in a museum case of friendship together
And make up a strange
Four footed animal
That palaeontologists didn’t expect
To find in bed with them
We have one heart between us, made of broken bits
And two other halves that can’t agree
Or – two halves of hearts grafted together
And a lot of broken bits
Like wood shavings and lead grains
From a pencil sharpener
We have formed a chassis
Of friendship
And love Is a fish in a fishing net
Trying to drive the car
Poems are not films
Poems are not like films
They are the rare flowers
Seen in urban cinematography
The bodies of butterflies with plucked wings
Thrown into the sewer wind
Of the cutting room floor
editing a film frame by frame
You stop the sequence of stills
And zoom into a dark corner by a dustbin
There’s one of the little blighters, quick
Edit it out
If you waited to make a film from poems
You would keep a Hollywood studio
Working overtime
You would need a Nazi factory full of slaves working overtime
In a pyramid epic
And still your film would look like
The tracks of a yeti disappearing into the snowdrift
I have a body
I have a body
Full of fat battery cells
Leaking out pain and sulphur
My ballast should be empty
But it has filled up
Pain grows like lime scale in a kettle
Memories
Are charged with anxiety
Like dried flowers
The party cake
The party cake
Was left crumbling
On the old wooden table
By the time I got to taste it
It was full of weevils
Whose cake was this?
It was yours, child
Whose life was this?
It was yours
I scratch the surface of death
I scratch the surface of death
– Like a painted window
Looking for the past passing behind it
The past has gone
Success comes
When the body deteriorates
Or
The body deteriorates
When success comes
I have tunnelled thru life
Like a torpedo through the sea
I up-periscope
The target is me
The window shop dummy
The window shop dummy
Is out
It is moving thru the crowds
In oxford street
It is looking for work
In Harrods maybe
It has nowhere
At the moment
To sleep
The window shop dummy
Has been set free
Straight out of storage
Into the street
Stitched up
For a shop lifting
It could not speak
Or admit guilt
Or It would have been out in a week
But it lost its head
It’s arms, its feet
Satellites afraid
Follow it about
Into one end of the tube system
and out the other end
Followed all day
Spied on all night
The window shop dummy
Turns a deathly white
The window shop dummy
Is not wearing clothes
It shakes and it shivers
Where ever it goes
Into Nero’s
For a coffee and snack
No dummies allowed
It has to go back
It jumps from a bridge
On a day – warm and sunny
No one tries to save it
Because it’s only a dummy
