Anecdotes of a cave dweller

The rock stone woman
Stood out of the boulder
Half finished

The moon hone
With its ice cube white light

What had happened?
The lighthouse
Has had its lamp

The waves
Crash onto the shore

Further more

Thick people appear
In my imagination

Thick people
Are out of fashion
Or I would fill the page with them

How have I managed?
To amass such a large
Of tools

From a simple yellow screwdriver
Some bicycle spanners
And a craft knife
I now have
Two big
Menacing toolboxes

I should take them to the riverside
And leave them
In the foaming tide

Where they would
Set to work
Nailing the river current
To the river bed
Sawing up the waves
Into 2 by 1
And nailing driftwood
To the beard of the sun

The enemy storm clouds
Scurried down behind the wall
The bricklayers lay dead

I have no pleasure
In your music
Only hurt

That the murdered soul
Lies in a pool of blood
Wobbly fat
And butchered meat
In the doorway

You see
There’s nothing
To be afraid of
My memories are like
Slugs and spider
That you can
Easily crush

Broken Blossom

the fallen blossom

The fallen flowers collected off the ground from the fuchsia outside. Wonder plant so abundant as fast as they fall they are replaced by new.

The variations. The strange look of the flies that an angler uses to catch fish.

I was going to draw them but haven’t time to do everything so this will serve the purpose of a sketch, memorandum. I have tried to glue them to the cartridge paper with PVA glue to see what happens.

Broken Blossom a memorable old film by D. W. Griffith about Limehouse Chinatown 1919.

Sara Seahorse

Sara Seahorse
All that glitter
In your hair
Sara Seahorse
Gathering straw
For her mare

Sara, Sara Seahorse
Walking by
The riverside
Sara, Sara seahorse
When will you
Be the bride

Sunsets in your diaries
Stars in your jewellery case
Her beauty is breath-taking
Her life a fleeting breath

Sara Seahorse
Sleeping silently
In the tide
Sara, Sara seahorse
Twists and turns
In the seas side

Beast of burden

The beast of burden
The working class slave
Saddled and shod
Sinks into the grave

While the eye cannot see
Nor the telescope find
Words in heaven
Spiritual signs

The beast of burden
Sits on a drain
His teeth are a grate
He’s lost his brain

While the eye cannot see
Nor the telescope find
Words in heaven
Or the spiritual sign

The beast of burden
Grows from the soil
Dirty fingernails
Mud on his soul
His feet are like horseshoes
As he drags the stone
His eyes are fettered
His heart is alone

While the eye cannot see
Nor the telescope find
Words in heaven
Or a spiritual sign

If I was a TV

If I was a TV
What would my settings be?

I put on my TV like a coat
Outside I go
Into TV land

I saw her TV
walking by the river

In the TV I saw a river
The river flows like a TV channel
A TV sails by on the river
With clouds pouring out of its screen

I saw a TV with four legs
Running to catch the ferry

People are so conditioned by their TVs now

I avoid crowded shopping centres
Where no one tunes their TVs properly
And their eyes swim about
Like frying eggs
In crisp hot static
And disappear into the noisy hubbub

Sing: Oh, the western world is a TV world

you challenge the world

you challenge people to look at the world differently and this is what they do!

I often read this the nice statement in art books. this is an area of London with disused warehouses that at one point attracted a lot of artists.

now it has become a newer secondary financial and commercial area to the city of London.

like the religion that goes to a poor country to teach about Christ is often only the spearhead of an army. which a study of general history will show.

Have you ever seen a man like the antichrist

have you ever seen a man
like the antichrist
he did every evil in the book
and wrote the last chapter

have you ever seen a man
like the antichrist
he took fire from the demons laughter
and made an army to conquer the world
which he filled with every kind of destruction

his hollow shadow
is left in the fire grate
and is blown away in the draft

I walk with a bookmark

I walk with a bookmark down to the cenotaph
In a brigade of bookmarks so red in the sun

The girls of the past are waiting
With garlands of daisies for our shoulders

We are the bookmarks of history remembering
The girls that we loved, that we danced with

The sting of war is removed
The scorpions hang their heads in shame

Come down from your pyramid

Come down from your pyramid
Use sand to make a table and four chairs
Let the dogs chase the cats without fear of burial
Drink to the god who was never there

Come down from your pyramid
Handmaiden of the dead and destroyed
By the global river sit down
Fish for suns in the fast flowing current

Come down from your pyramid
Re-join the troops going home
This is the end you are free soon
Take this newfound love of something more