Dark and satanic - Yorkshire art in Yorkshire space
The derelict carpet canvas rung out
Fettled back into a new loom of life
Not a time to make sense
I too missed my five minutes of fame
It needs more room
Clutter amongst clutter becomes cluttered
Art gallery
Insurance company headquarters
Utilitarian hotel
The exhibition, it will soon be about
Settled back
Art
In place of life
Catch 22 at Delineate
Your art in lines
Layered
On lost and found and printed paper
Tea party words saved for a canvas
Backdrops collected from the streets
For your de-linear exhibition space
Is this a breach of copyright?
Or did you gain your permissions from the original graphic artists
Or typesetters
Or menu makers
Or authors, or writers
Or tramps, or vagrants
Or ladies of the night
Or your otherwise
Catch-22 mad hatters
A table set, with cutlery almost perfect - just the one plastic fork. A football field all stripped out in stripes and checks and a referee in glorious pink. Necklaces of bauble diamanté, polished pearls with just the one skeleton eye socket. Rolled over waves of skin wrapped outside the crimpolene and translucent lyrex; most people try to disguise their differences.
But the artist shouts out loud
Look at me I don't give a damn
I'm me
I am supposed to be.
A pretty dress, a Zimmer frame, a swimsuit
All seen through fantastical eyes
Feminist: Black or brown, gay or straight
But no mention of disabled
A collection of paintings
An exhibition
A self of self portraits
Hey you it's me!
So just what did you expect?
Grasp the hot poker, stop the shaking, peel away the burnt skin
Steady the nerve, hold still the brush, pick up the mirror
I know nothing of you
But you disturb me
Good that the youngsters shout
That the attendant admonishes
That I am not left alone, simply to be
Nearby are ruins and cathedrals
Torturous pasts, crawled over whispers
I know nothing of you
But still you disturb me
In an easy armchair, on a quiet morning
The storms, they seem to have passed
Grey skies, now with silver sunlight
Soft music falls over the airwaves
Still I know nothing of you
But you disturb me
Troubled, bent double, creased up without laughter
Bubble, creosote and stubble, the strong sense of ones lost temper
If I sit a thousand hours will it mean anymore
If I touched your crumpled skin or smelt old piss
Why would I
Better to turn away, steer clear
Make for certain not to be affected
Fall back into my shallow ways
Turn down the lights
Turn away from the musing
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Untouched by human hand
Kept at bay, always at a distance
Abused by aficionados
Held up on high, for paraplegic parasites
Pillars of establishment
With crooked views on impaired expectations
Sour water
I have drunk from the black bottomless well
Unmoved by human voice, held off
Always some for instance
Down I sink, deeper into the dungeon
Abducted for an exhibition with a catalogue
I am bound with words and pictures
Opened at random
Go away why don't you
Or else move in
Move in much closer
Don't stand, unmoved, at a distance
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A double gin injected with tomato juice and liquorice syrup
The consistency of Havoline engine oil, but less fluid
Tumbled over rocks, sharp spikes, granite cliffs
Hung, as if suspended from the Old Man of Hoy
Hung-over, above the crashing sea
Twisted, contorted, bare feet find a footing - the drugs kick in
Sod the lot of them; but that won't do relax, reflect
Climb with uneasy wild steps, burn those broken step bridges
Beyond the smoke of roast skin, keep the fires, the braziers, the beacons
Always the shout - bastards, why me, why anyone?
Twitch, shudder, slaver on the pavement - bugger it
If only for a day I could wear more human, less humanoids shoes
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And so it is
As Wild God plays
The Song of the Lake
Oh never mind, never mind
And so it is
Without nature’s light
I have to take a shower
Thus to energise myself
And so it is
That I could have worked
These past seven years
Except for those few days
And so it is
Not to see
Or here from you again
Is a waste of love
Up and down the country lanes
Round and round in aeroplanes
As if in the flotation tank
As if swaying by the flames
Over and over the words he turned
Back and forth past and future churned
As if the photographs from the bank
As if all of love’s knowledge learned
Here and there he tried to recall
Now and then with hopes to stop the fall
As if the monasteries felt the shank
As if the father championed you with the scroll
I’ll say again to wait until the day is through
I’ll say again you are top of my top two
As if the registrar was your rank
As if you waited to feel the new man new
And I love you this way
And I love you that
I love you on the causeway
I love you on the flat
I go to you in my dreams
I go wearing my hat
I go to you with full resolve
Once more to play the neat straight bat
I am here and now
Wondering where you are at
I have seen one fatted cow
Walking slowly as you plat
I listen to the Australian man
His CD came in the morning as I sat
Oh lord how I loved and ran
Into the future for a longer chat
