Thursday, 12 December 2013

clearing (April 2013)

Sometime it doesn't matter why
Like every rule you every wrote yourself
Is an absurd notion beyond contempt
Not just made to be broke but the product of another hand
A less full person too scared to risk
Bound by habit, by rationalism
Destroyed in an instant consumed by licking flame of
Real flawed awkward beautiful prickly sensuous beating heart painting hand tactile growing
Skeptical hooks driven into your flesh racing pulse woman
When you want so much for someone to give and every detail divulged into the air between is a
Gift unlike an other; a grace and a favor , a cracked door, a chink of light imbuing her armor
With the pores to breath
Breathe out cynicism
Breathe inspiration
Breathe out suspicion
Breath in inspiration for fresh innocent action
Breathe out heavy breathe in deep until our breaths mix and become
That motion that moves that movement that proves
Fleeting; it crystallizes into new us
Two separate bodies perspective sharpened triple filtered blend over ice warming in my chest
And rationalism returns not, is missed not,
No binding barrier
Barbed wire lock
Push through this green undergrowth into clearing
Barbed thorn kissing wrist drawing enough blood to know that we are alive

The air breathes us in and this has no end but that which form provides.

Schoolboy (June 2013)

Searching for that
Diamond in the flood
Optimist obliterated by the
Pressure of creation
Constrained and constraining
Restricting supply of air to lungs
Blood through heart carrying the vital bubble of future
Innocence transported t'ward the next time fire
Next live wire church spire
blocked airway from breath sharply drawn inward
Anything anybody anyone throwing a circle of red striped hope my way
Could push restart with that simple indulgence
As they have done before 

anesthetized (June 2013)

Passage through a lazy rain of barbs
Afforded by an optimal absence of mind
Spirit body vapour
Floats into the ceiling
Ceremonial dress is donned
Armour for the soul
Anathestic for the war to come
Strategies laid out; the emancipation or the trap slamming shut around our ankles
Gamble illustrated landscape fashion
Old rope is sold
Wheels reinvented
To justify this love
Sabotaged by the unmentioned

graves (August 2013)

No grave for him
A lesson to others
An example made
Long spine curved in the dirt
What special crime appointed him to this role?

Everyone loses but he lost more
Short straw drawn
bullet caught
In the neck
Perhaps the back
Whilst turned change mind fleeing he

Five miles away
He may be a martyr, a hero, a lost son warrior
Here he is a pile of bones in the dust

war in 2 parts (November/December 2013)

Dirty weapons for filthy wars
My senses and I are not of one accord
Fingers jammed somewhere between pause fast forward and record
Can't defer gratification so can't expect reward
Can't hate on academics then start grabbing for that mortar board
To stay afloat when the flood comes and the rains pour
My insecurities are as subtle as a chainsaw
Alcoholic reaction leaves the pain scored
Across face taking pieces like pawns from a chess board
I stress, withdraw, procrastinate then stress more
I confess to the draw of escape, a blessed fraud
Like a mediaeval relic, thoroughly embellished
Vain, quick to blame,superficial and jealous
Never growing up like Dennis the Menace
Im building a sketchy plot upon a weak premise
Then illustrating it with relish
Drawing myself into boxes constantly
I guess that's nobodies business
Unless they make it theirs
Hard to care about lifting me when you're still stuck scaling stairs
And we've got our own journeys
If you fly too close to the flame it won't burn me
But by nature as creatures we swarm
You can choose to an audience member, a ring leader or to perform
Stuck in the middle
Dry gritty maelstrom definition of a desert storm
But with the opportunity to challenge standards and norms
When dinner comes there's only so You can keep the plate warm
So your timing needs to come correct for us to eat together
This council is called to order
Come let's take our seats together

Blake Lennon (August 2013)

Theres something relentless in the wish for things
The want the need
No state is the reason to miss that embrace
Imagined as the antidote to wasted days
Purpose senses skill senses a waiting a world
And I only want what I cannot have
Is that
Too much to ask?
Court is in session
Now. All rise.
Advocate for the defence
Advocate for the prosecution
Advocate to hang the jury
Judging the art of execution
Rewriting the heart of my constitution
And sealing it with a gray kiss
Send me to another
With instructions clear as day
"Fragile. Please handle with disdain"
Ive got a handle on my truth but I'm losing my fiction
Losing my fiction
Every little death that comes unassisted
Is a contribution to my descent
Even once it's ceased and desisted

(untitled) September 2013

Zero sum conception
Bedroom insurrection
Book shop revolution with a gift tag and a smile
Photo resurrection
Entitlement infection
Numbered resolutions tagged, flagged and filed
In this deference
truth by preference
We shop around for it like it's going out of style
Purchased hollow purged essence
Empty echoing with  sound of paid penance
Steady choking on bunting and pennants
Fixated on the dream of a land green and pleasant
Artificial turf as far as the eye can see
Burning the eyes
To the worst degree
Red brick terrace
Asphyxiated verbally
Stuck in a method
I am not these ethics
If I can't live them personally
What a surprise
phantom no menace
Amateur chemist
Bowing for blessings
Jewels where he hid them
Lost in generic
Abundant replenished
Stock of defective
Gems protected
By dubious wisdom
These cynical empiricists
Hold my soul captive
Nebulous daze
Infected baptist
That which washed in can not wash away
Regardless of practice
Premature obsolescence
stars fast to fade
Into backdrops
White dwarf implosion
Fuels most modest blaze
Footnote the end of days
Let's shake this malaise
Dissipate this funk
Lift that haze
Get over this hump
Breathe clear serene
Heave sheer spleen
misstep to our grave
Planned or mistake
Prophylactic mislaid
Our progeny is brave
and proud and will speak aloud of whatever it craves
to make
With a fear of nothing but insincerity
Whether born of arrogance, calculation  or temerity
The friction between Soul and facade sparks until the heart burns hellishly
Squirms under glass of false pleasantries
Alive with Psychic trauma and moral entropy
to beggar belief and enrich fantasy
If a grain of sand can contain galaxies
Then the world can feel empty as a photogenic fallacy
Stripped of things that give it meaning
Caved in
So if the shoreline is receding
Eventually we'll be swamped by the waters we used to wade in
And we'll find that the fire we threw petrol on is the one which we burn in
World turning
Describing it's orbit
Still yearning
Unsure if that discipline is the price or the forfeit
For adventures beyond the curve
Uncertain thrill of awkward
Unpredictable urge
wild and raucous
Now tamed by an invisible law
Or set thereof
Upset the course pay the cost
For better or Worse
Cost duly paid decisions made regrets engraved through frown and liquid taint
Planetary consequence embodied in that same grain
Left to fall through slender fingers
To it's peers plain
And those fingers that body that beach that continent all facets of another grain
And where are we?  What did we gain?
Beached whale of false humility on a glass atomic sea
Majestic hubris flapping impotently
the sum of parts complete that make this whole mess lovely, new blooms springing as far as eyes can see
And if it's just the minds eye of an a.i all it needs to do to crush it all is push delete
No retreat
No recall
No retrieval
Is there meaning in survival?

Friday, 17 May 2013

Fragment of a loss

A Loss

Our reaction tells us what is not

What is the what which is that which is dropped

We map a route over and around these temporary permanencies

Which is the thing that is that which is stopped

Holding tight onto the lines that trace the relief of exile and embrace,

Firewall across temple entrance blocked

Settlement and disruption; and no messiah to shift the boulders, just bulldozers

Of detail, these streets of family, feud and fealty, wear their experience

While these plains of false refuge shimmer with the delirium

The roamers line toward the sunrise, gung ho gun toters riding

Whilst the wrapped shepherds appear still moving, in this reality they are redlighted, past their event horizon

History spirals, collapsing timings, closing on itself,

Cities of the Night emerge from dream into text into flesh on sand building brick on brick, until the architects are in the red

The balance sheet asks, and paper tells

Dry as the sides of these vacant wells

And there is no carpet to sweep it under

Save the sky that covers all

No necessity

Just desert floor, steel boots, fatigues and weaponry

Never Quite Still

Never quite still

A rivulet, blinding, thin, wrapped to asphalt ground around

Islands of green shoot

The branches tickle the midday air

The dead just stare

my 12 o’clock shadow points the way home

at the crossroads of the permissible and the forbidden,the sacred and the profane

the outpost and the empire

the animal and the machine

chatter, grunt, click, buss, flap

the flocks in the pen and those on the hillside

in the hutch and in the battery don’t know the difference

between the hum, the rubber and the needles

sits a single flower, quivering

red with a blue heart

not unique but the first

a precedent in my day

Monday, 14 January 2013


Blood, is blood; 4 types, no religion
Washing from the red to the dead
Washing into sand, into pavement,
Into white cloth, blue and black

(A) Blood filled with wine, with caffeine, nicotine
Blood with memories heard and seen
Blood soaking into stone, long after the surface washes clean

(B) Into soil, dark, sun drying, linking these bodies with the earth,
Blood in the oil from the fruit of the tree, child of the soil, laboured into birth

(AB) More blood that comes in beauty, in nature, in creation
Blood on the brow and the cord the child that enters, and coursing through the veins
Of the Mother, proud

(O) Blood in the same veins, running cold at the sight of the
Blood on that same brow of same child, making a mark, molding a temple
Blood crusting around the perfect circle between the eyes
Blood swathing the metal that penatrates deeper, erasing fragile matter leaving
A name, a photograph, a banner

Black and blue, cloth white into pavement,
Into sand washing from the dead to the read, wahing
No Religion
4 Types
Blood is Blood