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

Home and mind No 1

the first picture is of my exercise machine not my exercise machine really because as it will last longer than us mortals it will belong to someone else one day.

i am tempted to put the tag #vintage because it is an old-ish cycle machine.

you want art nouveau in your exercise machines, yes!
exercise equipment loves it’s curved lines.

The it’s supposed to be a bar chart I think its called, is an idea I had to measure the ego of different countries governments.

the centre line is a normal standard people ego in a normal world. Rising or falling above this line are the government egos that rule or misrule – or misrule by rule, or rule by misrule – the country.

please feel free to zoom in and drop something!

The English façade


The facade

Did its
All across
The terraces

The façade
A blob
And round

The façade
Of the mob

Of dolls
In football shirts

An English facade
It’s not
55 years of hurt
It’s 55 years
Of a façade
Broken down
Chasing the cat
Its eyes stare
Just before
You make it
No more


It covered
The stadium
Like a darkness
And above
The darkness
A giant face

The face of England

It covered the stadium
Like a ghostly film
A thick roof
Of black fog
Right in the middle

It blanketed
The game
With the emotions
Of millions
Of people
Who were not

This fog
Of darkness
This blanket
Of emotion

That came
From the TV
Across the sky
Like a frightened black
And covered
The game
That descended
Into defeat

And the players
Were playing
Like playing cards

The English façade

Then onto the stage
Came the mask
That wore
The man

The drainpipe man
In the drip-dry shirt

And a set of dreams
From the bank fried clam

The 55 years of hurt

It’s not from football
It’s from the façade

The English façade

Its furry paws
Grabbed the rug
A million faces
Fall like skittles

It’s not
The opponent

The paws
Are higher up
They maul
And tear
At the flesh
Of the nation

The English façade

That plants
The seeds of thought
Into our heart

Poor men
Poor squad
Thrown to the mob

No love
No love
From the nation

But a smog
The English façade

It was heavy
It was dark
Its was
The English façade

They came
To teach us
A lesson
And they succeeded

The amphitheatre
Belonged to them
It was Caesars

The days are changed into paving stones

The days are changed into paving stones
That not even a lice can crawl out of

Waiting for the laying of pavements to end
You rock to and fro in the darkness

Why are pavements always laid down in darkness?
Where does the earth go to?

Whose are those shadows out in the night?
Displacing children, husbands and wives

With stone pavements

Mask over love

Mask over love

There are two sides to every fear
And in the middle is decay

We eat decaying sandwiches
A little goes a long way

The fears of the child
become the man

You collect fears from the depot
Of lost fears

Like hording clothes
For emergencies

We love our fears
For embodied in each one

Is the mask over love

The principal of death

Like a drip in a cistern
Death becomes the reason to live

When upbringing
Brings failure
It’s easy
To torture
A scapegoat

Whole nations
Brought up
By failing governments
Transfer onto others
The image of their failings

Hating when love
Ignores their spiritual pain
With empty words

How wars begin

There’s a man
Who shits on himself for evil
He then
Walks into a room
With a wager

What is that smell
The people say
And they begin to listen

As clenching his fist
He lies saying
Someone else
Did that to him
Let us turn against them

A man without legs

A man without legs
In front of the sea
Black curly hair, white shirt

A seagull in the sky
Melts like a broken egg

A clock
Is stuck to the clouds

What is this body for? He said
His prayer to the wind

The foam of madness
Along the seashore

On the crest of the waves
Men with wings
Sat smoking pipes

Love, gold, light

Love Gold Light
That floated Swam
Bright buttery sea

Her eyes focused
Wide, filled
Jewel of light

As she believed
A future comes true

Love Wordless Eternity
And then it was mended

Like levels of floors
She reached the top
And took me there

The simple ways

I understand
Said the roman wall

From the North Sea
You can see Rome

This is our land
Said the bird in the sky

A land of heart and bone

Take away
Your top soil
The earth beneath
Is ours
And any creature
Landing here
Will be free
From foreign towers

Their pain
Fills the water
The river
Is not clear

Their foundations
Try to alter
The land around
So dear

If my face
Were made
From glass
Maybe with your ways
You’d smash
The backbird song
The beaver tracks

The simple ways
Far from Rome
The simple ways
Of heart and bone

Oh the simple ways
Of all our day
Oh let me save
The simple ways

Hard cash and war

The brains are made of porridge
The orc bird steals their children

They never say they’re sorry
They let their bankers kill them

Their hearts are in the wrong place
Their tears are paved with money
Their politics calls out to them
Come and give us our dummies

Love and insecurity
Things that they don’t like
Hate and security
Better suit their psyche

Giving in giving in to the hard cash
Promising promising the hard cash
Hard cash and war
They really wipe the floor
With you

Psychological torture

I carry
Psychological torture
Like a bag
Of used tickets

I was prepped
In childhood

I lived with
Psychological torture
Throughout childhood

My mind
Was a hawthorn tree
Of psychological torture

As a result
I am able to identify
The psychological torturers
In our society
At long distance

A new house has appeared
It is the secret agency
Of psychological torture

It builds constructs
In society
For its bricks and mortar

When they change the law
To bolster security
This secret house
Will blossom like a rose bush
In the summer sun

They saw me with you

They saw me with you
They saw me with beauty
So they waited in the night
And beat me up on the road
And took you away
And put you in a cage

They did not behave like men
They were robbers
They wanted you for a jewel
In their robbers crown

But the other jewels looked on
With shock and surprise
They backed out of the door
And fled into the night


Privilege is often blighted by arrogance
that sounds dull and hollow
-But a bird lost and abandoned
Will make the sweetest sound

This too is an extinction of humanity
Even man is made extinct by man

Everything has to fit into his carryall
Anything that does not fit is hunted down

If a tiger dares to compare itself to man
If it dares to compete with the beauty of men
It is hunted down and killed
It is cornered and bulldozed

The world moves on in this fashion
From Cain to Chicago

The animals we call game are massacred
The weeds we don’t like are poisoned

Her accent

Her accent is a thing of beauty
Like classical music from ancient Greece
If you listen to her talking
You’d think you were in a stately home

But she changes her accent because of prejudice
Because of people who associate it with privilege
Even though she is poor and overworked
They try to silence her beautiful speech

In any accent, there is beauty of sound
It depends entirely upon the heart of who speaks
All that matters is that you speak with good heart
Then you will outreach the tone-deaf and their envy

She lives in a bed-sit and she works like a slave
She’s the child of wealth, education and privilege

Their knowledge gave her nothing
Without being loved it is all for nothing

But once you fall out of the nest
It’s hard to get back in

But still I hear her beautiful accent
Not of an actress at the top
Not of a princess at a ball
But of a warrior queen
That sings like a nightingale