Swinburne And Shandy

Swinburne

You could have been Mandy

Feverishly dandy

Tristram Shandy

Curvaceously randy

Down at the sandy

Turn

Of the tide

Your words, your expressions

Your suggests, your suggestions

Meter to measure

Disparate pleasure

Turn of the tide

Swinburne

Ever so handy

You are my eye candy

Extremely bandy

Thinner than Ghandi

Peter Pan or Andy

Turn

Of the tide

Your thoughts of your thinking

Dry draughts for the drinking

Climbing, climbing then sinking

Pleasures of leisurely linking

Turn of the tide

Swinburne

Port wine with lemon

Squeezing in the sermon

Foraging in German

Wearing Ben Sherman

Drinking Bourbon

Turn

Of the tide

Your moods, as your manner

Eclectic life spanner

Tan into tanner

Janitor’s Janner

Turn of the tide

Swinburne

Rough as with ready

Nothing’s ever steady

Everything is heady

Leadbelly is leady

Rock n rollers Teddy

Turn 

Of the tide

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Sputnik

The Navigation Arms

Let loose your senses

Released your defences

Of navigation

Nicotine, amber, creamy stout

Blackcurrant, cider, scallywags about

Mingling in with the inn crowd

Sing along, sing along Tom Dowd

Unsteadily stepping on the pebble shore

Pause, for a wee under the balustrade

Heads already beginning to thicken

Slow breathing, breathing clean seaside air

In the distance, listen; those screams of delight

Shivering, shaken, shaken out of the moonlight

Beach night, moonlight, starlight, summer flight

Listen to the screams, those screams of delight

Branscombe Beer, Plymouth Gin

Girls drink sin and tonic

We are only humans

This is no Sputnik, Brojnic

Back in this room, I’ve been here before

Eiderdown, radio, worn out floor

No one rings tonight, no one ever does

Words arise from below

Conversing, wandering, escaping

Philandering along the promenade

Planning permission is applied for

To turn it into flats

The locals complain out loud

But they haven’t, have they

They have never stayed here

They’ve never crossed the threshold

Into this ancient, decaying ,dilapidated space

Some say they’re business folk that run it

In it for what they can

In fact that’s why I stay here

Not to be distracted

But to feel the man

To feel the man

Who also is neglected

It’s closing time at the Navigation

It’s closing time at the Bay Hotel

Close these places slowly

Close these spaceless souls so so slowly

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Vorticist

Praxitella

Ample fella

Dynamist

Kissed by your own imagination

Kissed as a mistress

Kissed by your monumental sculptor

Beyond existence

Enlisted

All fingers fisted

Kissed by your picture

Your picture as a writer

Your writer as a picture

No wonder that you missed her

Kissed her like a sister

Realism

On society’s cubist’s blister

But the lines

They would not, could not go away

The lipstick

The saddened eyes

The emphasised thighs

With steely wrists

Gestures which suddenly kissed

Oh how much you must have missed her

Hair cropped

Shaped

From some pyramid scripture

No joy portrayed

Whoever was

The lear who kissed her

Tapping of the finger

Splinter

Through the window

My oh my

He almost missed her

Looking for her sister

Now you sit

In the dance club 

Christ’s entry into Jerusalem

Praxitella

Invaded on Jacob Kramer’s

The Day of Atonement

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Clear Water

Bhagavad Gita

Same as it is

Same as it ever was

Behind Proust

Approaching Evelyn Waugh

Pennies from Heaven

From five to eleven

Just too many coincidences

Sixth and seventh senses tell me

Remonstrate, castigate

Harden up the will

Forge some strata

Put some clear water

Between the you and the you

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Masthead

Flags in the park

Bring light to dark

Reflection, stark realisation

Miles of orange cloth

Unveiled, curtailed

Sails for a city’s soul’s salvation

Creation, a core-declaration

Stores of ideas, enthusiasms

Making something solid

Plastic, clay, vision

Monumental decision

Open to derision

Abounding in joy

Abounding with joy

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