Like any room

in any room

Like any room
Where death has occurred
Birds come
To the window pane
Of the soul
To see

Into any room
Where death has occurred
The lie and the truth
This sleep is priced
At half a cent

Like any room
Where death has occurred
That fills up with water
And flies away
Like a child
Thru a window

I was drawing/sketching my living room. and doing research when by accident i came upon a video of the death of American poet Alan Ginsberg. As i was watching i heard a voice say “only sleeping” I suppose from one of the mourners present. so i was moved to add it to the sketch of my room and his most famous line of poetry below.

We are droplets of eternity

We are droplets of eternity
Shadowy dancers who ask
Can I be real?
We dance on umbilical cords
Like little wooden clocks
How easily predictable we are

We are droplets of eternity
Released into the sack of life
The drying ground of earth
Becoming a strata of bones
In earths feral history

To die
In supermarket earth
To waste away
Like MFI board on the heap
Our bones
Like architectural ruin
Weathered and fragmented
By empty packets of soap powder
Cat litter trays
The scaffolding from billboards

To die in supermarket earth
On shelves
Wrapped in plastic bin liners
Amongst the chicken bones
From a Christmas dinner
What were our faces for?
Why did our hearts beat so fast?
As we are peeled out of the night sky
Like stained glass transfers from glass

At the end of time
Mankind will gather
To ask for mercy
They who will not even be allowed
A burial in the living earth

At the end of time
Mankind will cry
Its selfish arrogant cry
Amongst the laughter of birds

My parents died
And were burned in the fire
Their ashes were scattered

It needs one heart
Living in eternity
To remember the dead
And their lives
Will not have been in vain

What happens after we die? I support the biblical view rather than the scientific view.

Song: Train Rider

Song: Train rider

Train rider, train rider
Where are you going to?
Going to the end of the line
Going to the end of time

You’re watching the stations go by
Grasping at shadows, hiding your chains
Watching the birds how they fly
Hiding your thoughts, hiding your pain

Train rider, train rider
Do you think that you’re going to die?
Do you think that you’re going to die?

PDF of Train Rider

Painted over humanity

Painted over humanity
With broad breezy brushstrokes
With the life of its victims

It lives
Nestled in our lungs
Like a musty fox
Curled up in a den

As it eats away its house
It dies in there
With it landlords grey
and lifeless body

There are so many breaths
In a crowd
For it to make
New pathways with

There are so many lungs
To hide in
Until it rises in a coma
From a bed

With deaths identity
On our faces
All our memories
Eaten away

Isolated, and tomb ready
We see our hearts night
On its journey
Beyond the curtain

We reach out to grab
All the things
That are still
Available to us

All the things that we loved
Memories peeling layers
Ending here
Enduring there

All the feeling rigged up
between us – unravelling
We feel the sails falling
Blowing away in the wind

On the day of Jehovah
We will be judged
One will say to another
It was him

One will relate
How life was taken away
And some will be grateful
That life returned

Some will be born together
Some will need to find their love

Coronavirus – unwelcome guest
In the temple of our bodies
Like a cloud of gnats

Like starlings that fly in flocks
From the beast in our lungs
Grateful to avoid ignoble deaths
In the animal market, on filthy plates

Like the stars that float in space
Swirling like leaves on an endless ocean
Whose light has memories like our owwwwn
Falling through space uncorrupted

This new form of life that takes life
Zipped up around us, in its pocket
We grope out into breaths of air
To leave its dry shadow where
it tried to embrace us

Coronavirus – who set you free?
Like a flock of flies from a dung heap
Where are the legs that make you leap?
Where is the mouth that eats and eats and eats?

Are you behind me inside a man?
Are you in front of me in unsettled smoke?
If the traffic of my breath is stopped
How can I cross the road?

The security guard looks tired
As into the supermarket I go
I eat like you, I breathe like you
But alas – I cannot see you

All the world’s a stage

All the world’s a stage
Bloodstained and smashed
The trap door opens
To reveal a nuclear silo

All the world’s a stage
And we are the walking dead
The bandaged blind
That limp to the supply train home

All the wold’s a stage
Where children run about
And fathers have no work
And mothers die in childbirth

Romance could exist upon the stage
In good times and in bad
But tears are real and happiness is hard won
And religion plays hopscotch with the nations

All the worlds a stage
That changes hands for every scene
In peace and in war we labour
A human formulae in an explosive recipe

The Christmas star

Two Ice sculptures

Two ice sculptures
Fall in love
With love

She never argues

She never argues
With a spanner
Or gets upset

It lies on the ground
Beside her
On slip of the tongue
And it will all be over

The train

The train
Leaves the station
Of mirrors

Far into the universe
It looks back
For its reflection

Fools and their cameras

Looking at love
Thru a colour filter
I take a photo

The photo shows
The disassembly
Of all hat I needed

Christmas star

The star system
Has come to earth
It walks awkwardly
Down the high street

It points its silver pointed hand
And walks on silver pointed feet
And talks from a silver pointed head

Your reflection
In the silver pointed head
Gives it a face

Soon it absorbs
All the Christmas shoppers
That fall down dead
Like wet laundry

The river of time

The river of time
Lows everywhere now

Twisting light and darkness
Braising them
Like hair spread out on the ground

It flows along the street
In every direction
By the legs of window shoppers
By the stationary homeless
Asleep in shop corners
Around the lovers
Looking in the jewellery shops

Only the man in dark glasses
Sees these rivers
Flowing thickly, eternally

This was the morning

This was the morning
I climbed into the attic
I was a boy made of dust
With an aching in his heart

Mother was a flower in the garden
Father was an angry mole
I climbed up into the attic
Hoping to find some way into the future

But I was wrong
There never was any way out of the attic

I remember typewriter

I remember
When I had a typewriter
I typed up my poems
With great immediacy
I would pore over them
For years and years
Until they evolved
Into sand upon my skin
Then along came
The transformers
And poetry was never the same

The words I write down

The wards I wrote down
Have been attacked
By a Microsoft flatbed scanner driver
I picked them up out of computer memory
Like drowned flies out of a bucket of water


I spent some time
With the holy spirit
I offered it my heart

But the universe seemed so vast
And the universe was so dark
It took my fear of falling
And made an eternal metal badge

And pinned it to my pride
I was confused that I could not cry
How does a man run from a dream?
Where is there a place to hide?

You can wash your face

You can wash your face
In my bucket of tears
You can wash your hands
Until they are clear
And when there’s a fire
Inside your soul
The bucket of tears
Will make it whole

You can wash your body
In my bucket of tears
Then dry yourself
Of all your fears
And when there’s a light
That shines in your hair
This bucket of tears
Will have no care

Here comes the cat

Here comes the cat
With its triton tongue
Standing in the kitchen
Emptying its lung

Slavering with hunger
Impatient with disease
Angry with the universe
It scratches its fleas

Let me out of this siding

Let me out of this siding
Let me be on my way
Find the man who pulled the switch
That sent me into the clay

Let me out of the siding
Clear the track ahead
Maybe there is still time
for life to stop the dead

Clock metal

Clock metal
Time is
Clock metal

Seasons grow
And die away
The Gregorian calendar
Has had its day

The light comes on
The light goes off
That’s all my friends
And that’s enough

The winter solstice

The Winter Solstice

The winter solstice quietly switched over
Does the universe have a north and a south pole?
Are magnetic poles of stars a mixed bag
The glacier is afraid of death and prepares to swim away
The eye of the earth opens and the earth breathes its first breath

I’m sorry girl

I’m sorry girl
That I do not think of you
For the sea is crying
And I hear the seagulls call
Their laughing and their crying

I’m sorry girl
That I don’t write for you
For the mountain breeze is blowing
I hear the eagles swooping
And I want to know what it’s like to be free

The goalposts

I stand between two goalposts of my personality
Imagine frost on the playing field
Imagine an empty stadium

I am one man defending two goal posts against both teams of autumn leaves
If only I had wings like a Robin or strong legs like a horse

I stand between the goalposts of my personality
I should try harder to unite the two into a snowman
Or a figure of eight toy train track under the floodlights

If only I had eternity under control
If only I didn’t keep letting the goals in

I always wanted a real coat

I always wanted a real coat
A human coat
I am a coat
I am a coat of flesh

The shame of my nakedness?
I am missing the designer label
Untreated against the weather
Unblessed by the sky

Here I am in an ancient wall carving
A captured soldier paraded naked

The pope and all his holy water
Cannot fix my tattered coat
And the ghosts of Adam and Eve
Gather it onto a pile for the charity shop

And what is the shame of nakedness?
That it grows old and dies

Vowels of thunder

The vowels of God’s name
Are like four centuries
And the consonants
Are the sounds in-between

Adam and Eve
Dug a grave for God’s name
But the vowels sprouted
Like trees out of the ground

The consonants spread like oceans across time
Where the gigabytes of ears cannot hear
Where the megabytes of eyes cannot see
Where memories are spread thin as frost

Where a Robin humbly hops about
Free as a bird

Janis Joplin

Janis Joplin
Joined the crowd
At Woodstock
It was a surprise
To see her there

Captured by a camera
Pouring a beer
Seated on a chair
In a psychedelic dress

No one noticed
The music moves between them
The iron torrent of time
In a moment of peace and love

She has her little bit of the field
She has her part in the music

And she has her part
In the irrigation
Of youth