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Thursday, 14 September 2023

Virginia In the Cinema

The poet rolled right out of the window
The writers rolled right along the riverbed
The flowers forgot

That they had been given
And the cake could not remember

Being iced twice
Virginia in the half-empty cinema
You mesmerised with your surprise
You kissed her on the lips
We never knew how much you missed her
Now we drive home across the moor
Under starlit skies we surmise
Who was the begotten bard
Understanding never-ending loving
Virginia in Sussex and Surrey
Craving for the faster life
In New York she became
Only the lonely organiser
Friends and lovers and husbands
Tearing hair and wearing thin
Unable to enable or to establish


Sense or source of equilibrium

Your fingers and fags
Ink stain and nicotine
In between the glory and the glamour
The nerves and the never knowing
Wanting to be more than normal
Wanting to walk out and down along
Wearing what
Whatever young girls wear along
In the cafe windows
On the railway platforms
Real people disappear in fear
Why do they stare
Another century, another era
Paperbacks and plays all show
Silver-screen brings you near
We, you, no one will ever never know
The credits roll
Our arms unfold
We scatter your flowers
And pour the nectar deeply



Wednesday, 13 September 2023

Pimps and Tarts… Poets and Writers

Black stockings, spotted skirt

Engaging smile, pretty flirt, dealing dirt
Dollars or dope, just enough rope

To bring her home, she's never alone
Violence in love, her presence she moves

The crescent moon, it can't rise too soon
Black, in black-coffee cafe, jukebox jive

He's so alive it's killing him
His girl works, he shows her the door

He has to score, it's killing him
Shining, silver and gold, everything

He holds, he has sold for his soul
She is escaping from within, mescaline 

Frightens her skin, her nerves, quieten
Stronger, the fool took her time

Nearly took her total

She's longing to be strong again
Singing songs, clean and confident

Freedom yet still on the edge

A need to perform, limited reform

Doesn't want to get at it again


He's doing time, paying his fine

Corrupting society, importing exploitation

Prostituting the situation
In a year, she's still clear, but now he's out

He's roundabout, nothings changed

Still the strange satisfaction

Of manipulation
Of course she falls, no one to call

He holds her tight, says it's alright

You know he cares, he smiles and stares
Fear or love, goodness from above

She knows, having been before

Why the need to score

Why go on the game again
A passion for crime, even doing time

Learning new tricks, corrupting young hicks, Building reputations

Avoiding situations-vacancy

Awaken in the new black-economy
Talk about arts, poets and tarts
Sculptors, fighters, pimps and writers



Tuesday, 12 September 2023

Late Junction (For Verity & Friends)

Good Friday
Liaison de l'amor
The water falls
Spanish guitars slide and strum
Whispered words over
Underscored songbirds in unison
Laying behind the violin
Bassoon behind the moon
Drawn in by the drone
Moments too soon, too soon
Sorrowful strings seep out and over
Timbre of stroking, tapping, canvas
Wandering back out of the forest
Falling into the fearful darkness
Bellows blazing and blowing
The screaming shrieking crow
Into Istanbul
Saxophone’s summer mystery
Chords, carousels, bass trombone
Rhythm section in full blow


Constructing crescendoes
Winding down, in and out
Ethiopia’s singing superstar
Behind Bertolt Brecht
Score, scrape, roughen up the surface
Introduce a smooth-blue lead guitar
Crack around the dripping potholes
Stalactite to stalagmite
Steadily increase the heartbeat
Feeling for a following frequency
Drop on top that single bleep
Repeated with mounting irregularity
Going nowhere
Circling for a moment
Redirection fades in from faraway
Scattering out the waves and tones
Driving on at midnight
Fingers tapping on the wheel
Windscreen wipers splash the spray
Locomotion slowly drains away



Monday, 11 September 2023

Across The Village Green

Across the village green
Beneath the cloud capped hills
He waved his hand
So full of love and tenderness
He smiled his smile
Years of calm and contentedness
She returned his smile
And thought of wasted opportunities
Between the wars
She could have staked a claim
The life they lived
The stuff of dreams
Across the village green
Beneath the cloud capped hills
He swept back his hair
From his sun-blessed brow
He held his head
Aloft; proud, not loud
She would have swept her fingers
Through his golden locks
She would have squeezed his hand
Beneath the old church clock
The life they lived
Or so it seems
Across the path of time
It was the stuff of dreams


He walked down along the roses
Between the green

And the public house
He licked his lips
Frothy beer, dominoes

A real conversational hub
She would have missed his company
Left at home, alone
She would have tried not to nag
Or wasted Sunday dinners
He rolled out under the moonlight
Unsteady on his feet
He blessed his life
And forgot he had a sweetheart
She thanked her lucky stars
She had not been subservient
She would have loved him dear
To her it was so clear
The life they lived
Grew further apart
The stuff of dreams
In the head, also in the heart
They walked, they talked
Wondering why
Beginning to cry
Their life to revive once again



Sunday, 10 September 2023

First Poem of the Day

First poem of the day
Clearer

Than a Capstan full strength
Meaning seemingly

Endless understanding
That first breath

Of intellectual inoculation
That first untainted

Web of words

So so carefully

Interwoven
Woven

More than spoken

Softly lowered

And laid to rest
Better than

The best of stories

Thoughts broken down

With feelings wide open
Awoken to our own

Intrinsic imagination
Blown on the mountains

Of menthol inhalation
Consulate reminders

Of a nicotine past
Thanks, for the first poem of the day