A ride on the tube ~ a prose poem

 A ride on the tube ~ a prose poem

Subliminal; buried beneath the noise is the noise. Everyday’s commute muted as the mundane. The track of a thought is caught whereas the clatter of the track’s squealing becomes nought. The lullaby of the carriage swaying my eyes to close upon the dark windows. The dark thoughts of the person behind the opposite reflection are an eye into my dark thoughts. Ad_um_brated the points clatter and I smile inside at my growing collection of words. The lighted reflection of the clamour of laughter lightens my demeanour. Now there’s a word for my essay I smile surreptitiously. Now there’s another word I think and that thought smiles into the light of the next platform. Not my stop. Don’t want to stop this merry go around of abstracted creativity. Even as the cables outside undulate into the next tunnel my smile is personalised to me alone. Not one snake knows me or my thoughts I think, neither I theirs. This black and white journey colours my thinking. We all sway in unison our separation lost in the timelessness of our thoughts. Schuum ~ the doors open ~ I get off on it again. 

enough tears

 enough tears

if you say enough

if enough words say

that is enough tears

they will still flow

down the cataract years

white water spittled

into eyes that flinch

at flinching

stay shut and blinkered

for what can one do 

but look forward to the end

of another’s beginning 

theatrical prop

 theatrical prop

my mother had a prop

down in the garden

flat on the bottom 

a V on the top

all the washing on the line

they blew just fine

until to pulley broke

and oh my god no joke

all hell broke loose

that bloody noose

that V on the top

was the bottom line

i swear it was

i saw it see 

just like yesterdee

it was

hospital vigil

 hospital vigil

it’s the little things

where you place it

your longing 

your ambivalence 

about going or staying

and the thin gruel of time

dripping away in a rush

what the bloody hell

stuck in the drain like

like a shedding

the mixer

with one tap running

how can it possibly work

hot turned to a cold why

why do i scream why

so silently

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springboard

 springboard

on the edge of the sage’s

flowering 

now the bluebells

push aside the cranesbill

the garden’s border wall

has lift off

bees the flight directors

on this flat top all at sea

sunned in waves down

the cat’s purring back

what’s next the thought

of the next one to think

isn’t it just wonderful 

AI Don’t

 AI Don’t 

AI 

who cares 

i will still write (like this)

someone may read 

what i write might 

feed AI

but who cares

ask AI

i don’t

oh baby baby

didn’t i just

a teaser at easter

 a teaser at easter 

half way to the moon and yet

they cannot find the pilot

who serviced golgotha 

further than man has ever been

yet still no closer to the end

where to look back would be

a final gasp at 

the eclipse of the stone

rolled back in the orbit

of forever’s relapse

siesta minute

 siesta minute

easter

every year we die

every year we resurrect 

last year’s war

as this year’s war

but i didn’t start it 

you did

forgive you 

don’t make me laugh

i’ll have a stitch in my side

golgotha 

at mar-a-lago

a hole-in-one

but on the other hand

this fool’s gold

tried to serve

both god and mammon

and no one won

*#%!!~

 *#%!!~

the currency of expletive 

is the dilution of effect

the power of expletive 

is the universality of its use 

what is the return on investment 

at a new expletive’s birth

conjuring by conjoin

of mind and tongue’s redress 

is worth not one wit without 

its due effect 

fuck! fuck! 

we’re stuck

braggadocio

 braggadocio 

the cat

shot up the post

tore along the fence

bounced off the tree 

and landed on the shed roof

that was a long time ago

forever and i say

 forever and i say

if there was an answer 

everyone 

would be shouting about it

everyone 

would singing the same tune 

everyone 

says i have the answer

as everyone 

says different things

everyone

has the reason 

here is the meaning of life …

to be continued …

forever and i say

a wet sunday in wales

 a wet sunday in wales 

a wet sunday in wales 

the congregation of trees

swaying to the wind’s organ

their silver-capped rabbits feet

drenched with unease 

their mink stole’s incongruity

as black as the slag’s sabbath

the foundry’s wrought iron cold and wet

gates and railings handled with waiting

for the pub doors to scrape open

with the squeal of the trains in the yard

their steam depressed by the rain

dampening the hearth’s cold cinders

teapots steeped in yesterday’s tales

the length of this day

twice as long as any other day

when the sun was quenched in rain

of biblical proportions that the 

sunday school ladies label as the

libatiousness of the inn-keeper’s elbows

that never said a prayer other than 

to plead for a barrel’s life expectancy 

before time is called

both in the bar and in the pews

where both have been intoxicated by the rain

that exudes the healing properties of holy water

anointing their prayer 

dear god ~ oh dear god ~ never again