fuck fuck fuck

 fuck fuck fuck 

fuck fuck fuck

excuse the medical terminology

stay strong

yuck yuck yuck 

please accept my apology

what a stupid thing to say

but what else can one say 

but

fuck fuck fuck

snooze

on a cushion 

across from the open french doors

the cat dangles her leg

a gentle breeze stirs the flowers

but never stirs our snooze 

a conundrum

a conundrum 

man is

the mind’s dug out canoe

mind

the gene’s dug out canoe

life

a whirlpool 

where time’s tides meet

time

the tree/canoe conundrum 

this poem

another dimension 

just in case

yet she seems so sad ~ a poem for stevie

yet she seems so sad 

          a poem for stevie

a famous writer

yet she seems so sad

a novelist with an air of sadness

with a partner no more

pushing her slow bike

in the light rain 

on her way to

hello 

i wave

she smiles

a sad smile

she seems so sad

i write

dare i ask 

the un-adoration of my catty

 the un-adoration of my catty

the sun came out

the cat went out

the sun went in 

the cat came in

the sun came out

the cat went out

the sun went in 

the cat came in

there is nothing as bonkers as a bonkers cat

binary ad infinity

 binary ad infinity 

infinity

marsupialised in a moment

a world turns inside out

a moment not in a moment

but everlasting in its ending

so far that behind you is in front of you

the separation between two

nonexistent in the moment

that is forever transient

to be repeated forever

a thought comes

are we one or two at that moment 

is it the same moment

the one that is repeated

or are all the moments different

caution at the coalition of coition

where out-of-body is in-house

and the door is on the latch

until one day 

there is only one

and that is why we return repeatedly 

addicted to tomorrow 

for today might be all we have

before the door closes

on the lost and found 

forever never together

dunce upon a time

 dunce upon a time

once

we were all children

once

we were

children i am telling you

we were

listen

we were we were

oh do listen

before it is too late

oh god no

 oh god no

the satnav

of a corrugated god

led me astray

the church hall

was full of empty people

looking for a way out of eden

for the mower had chopped the fallen apples

and many an asp went headless

into that preponderance of gods

faith was shredded

compost meant us

but we had hey fever

and hey went unanswered

the muse disabused

 the muse disabused 

each morning

shaking the pockets of night

the half-notes fall out

the music of the muse

mouths the words

mimes the memes

from which great poems emerge 

sleep the cheat the crib

of many a famous poet

a sigh falls back to sleep

it was there

i saw it

i think

aye aye 

for tomorrow’s amusement 

the man who wrote ‘Echoes of tattered tongues’

 ‘Echoes of tattered tongues’

by John Guzlowski

we must read about the brutality 

because it is in all of us

the brutality of denial

that is also in us

this man says it with emotion

for

without that emotion

there is only brutality

and that it is probably in all of us

just takes my breath away

say that 

then maybe

but probably not

look around you

for god’s sake

cheered to the rafters

 cheered to the rafters

as the world falls apart

we leave the disconsolate 

beached on the high waterline 

and enter the woods

and leave the woods

following the stream to the sea

for we have seen how thoughts flow 

to wash away the disconsolate 

the more our dreams come home

the more we see the wood from the trees 

that are our reef-raft’s seam

the reef of disbelief is breached

nothing need be beyond our reach

busy days

 busy days

what waits

for the child at the garden gate

what opens his day his way

with his best friend adventure

who knows the way the day will go

will cut up his knees and smudge his horizons

what decides the speed of the wings on their heels

what went before that their chase follows

the ways that naughty was mightily theirs

until the sun went down and so much more

the story goes over dinner as the stars come out

winking at their secret 

even now dare not tell

for their debt to the retribution bank is

compounded in the interest of tomorrow’s sun

in their overdraft of naughtiness

lay it down my son

for you’ve had a busy day

and i am almost 80

per ardua ad astra

 per ardua ad astra

flying far above  far

for what voice could ne’er but fail 

an attempt to be up there up there

but of course to soar will fail

for what voice could land that plane 

that ne’er want come down and pale

the aerodrome lights are on

but to the stars add stars

and calling calling  over over

but that it has gone 

goes on and on 

roger wilco over and  out