IF I WERE AT MY BROTHER'S TOMB

IF I WERE AT MY BROTHER’S TOMB

 

If I were at my brother’s tomb I’d cry -

I’d say “well, it should’ve been me!”

My brother was that intelligent guy

who first proposed that <BEE>

 

might well soon ensue from @

in the international language alphabet…

he was – and is – such a cool cat -

and how could I ever forget

 

that dream I had when I was young -

his fac...

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ON MY LIST

ON MY LIST

 

McBreastmilk, McBreastmilk, don't feed your kids,

it inscribes wild adverts behind your eyelids.

 

If you want credit in the soul it would seem

you've got to smear in Gentle Face Erasing Cream.

 

Get an extra kid free when you spend 99p

and Freefall 0800 down your own impunity.

 

I've tried it the rope went down the black hole.

They're avoiding the...

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CUMULO-NIMBUS HAIR

CUMULO-NIMBUS HAIR

 

The powers that be could be clouds,

passing by on their sky-blue roads…

 

today they are sparse and moving East,

not too slowly, and not too fast.

 

It’s warm outside for Autumn time.

As a child I thought Autumn Optimus Prime -

 

that Transformer from the kids’ cartoon.

I still think there’s something in

 

the personification – a tri...

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THROUGH THE ROOF

THROUGH THE ROOF

 

Just for a joke my very funny friend once sent

the words “Liquid Crystal Meth” into space

and I was the one underneath his elegant

shot, to catch it, showered with disgrace.

 

It could be a psycho-technological post-poem

pertaining to replace the archaic sense of ‘gay’

gone to apathy, barrage and detachment -

and it went through the roof, as th...

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WHICHAM VALLEY AS A SCRATCH ON A CD

WHICHAM VALLEY AS A SCRATCH ON A CD

 

Floating in the quiet of a weightless dawn,

the buzzard is the crux of the flux of Time,

the reason the colour of Cumbria is brown.

 

He will swoop down and mug his prey,

remind that Creation is a dark machine,

and do what he wants with the rest of the day.

 

I fancy that writing about this place as I

have been advised by f...

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TWO VISIONS OF WINTER

TWO VISIONS OF WINTER

 

I

 

REALIST

 

If winter has her compensations,

they might be found in the rosy cheek

of the woman waiting at the station’s

tentative platform in the week;

 

in a layer of frost crisp underfoot;

in the breath making tortuous, iron

statues in the emaciated light;

in the whole gulp of white sun

 

going blind behind a thorny t...

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LONDON FLASHBACK

LONDON FLASHBACK

 

London is a craven haven for corrupting taste.

Police motorbikes were being chased by the waste.

I spent a year down there after my degree -

even slept rough – but didn’t feel that free.

The riots were lootings: Christmas on earth

didn’t follow on in the town of my birth.

I busked for next to nothing, saw old friends

but abandoned ship – my each adv...

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CONFESSIONAL POEM

CONFESSIONAL POEM

 

I still think of you, all these years on,

from all those years we had. You

used to make us sleep with the light

on and I still do – for it feels like

switching that switch will flush

the past down the drain. That’s where

years of writing went when at the end

of our time together, you said “I don’t

want to be in it.” So I could only bin it.

...

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THE EMOTIONAL CONDOM OF THE WORLD

THE EMOTIONAL CONDOM OF THE WORLD

 

I heard we grew our great brains by eating meat

and, needing to spread information about it,

about farming, hunting, killing, eating things

developed words for birds that sing with their wings...

now, the pre-verbal, the thought-pattern, translated

into words, via the mechanics of meaning, is diluted.

Language is the emotional condom o...

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TO REDEEM A DREAM OF FREEDOM

TO REDEEM A DREAM OF FREEDOM

 

Once again it falls on me to be the one to say

that biding my time from here to eternity

to see if the lawn has sprung a flower

watch out for the Honda lawnmower:

for I mow the grass where the Plough aligns.

I try to keep to neat, symmetrical lines.

 

When the first, fresh, redolent, enervating

scent of change begins its fermenting

...

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SPYING A WILD DEER IN THE COMBE FIELD

SPYING A WILD DEER IN THE COMBE FIELD

 

I looked a wild deer in the eye and held

its gaze while both of us remained motionless.

I saw it run like mine own desire, unfold

its leap and bounce and springiness.

 

I’d only gone into the garden to smoke

and saw it grazing, in its own world,

up by the babbling beck in the back,

contained in the museum that’s the field.

...

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THE LOCAL TRAINLINE

THE LOCAL TRAIN LINE

 

You can go backwards to Christmas on a train

and often I would, and sometimes doze.

Squirrels can fly if perceived in the caravan

of trees sailing past through railway train windows -

windows that taste like an old copper coin.

I remember taking the train on schooldays

 

from the local village’s request stop station

to the industrial town...

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EMPTYING THE INBOX

EMPTYING THE INBOX

 

I didn’t foresee “the ire ii net” when young,

attempt the maths for the red skin cell,

separate the pollen from its very name;

didn’t twice become the witness from

The Lords And The New Creatures.

I didn’t achieve the face of stars,

didn’t speak against September 11th

in 2000, prophecy the Plough’s

alignment, the God Particle from

looking ...

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A FACT ON TIME

A FACT ON TIME

 

I know a fact on Time,

but not if it will last:

 

if we could build a time machine

that equalled light speed,

 

we could only go back

to resolve the past,

 

not into the future,

for that has not yet happened.

 

That was where I was at

back when I was ten.

 

The science man came

to talk to us at school.

 

Though I ...

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LOOKING CLEARLY AT MY SADNESS

LOOKING CLEARLY AT MY SADNESS

 

A stream is not the same as a dying animal;

and in a similar vein grief does not account

for the kitchen clock’s tick tock panning, bilateral

and moving through the room with no scent

 

like a Disney animation clock. And so I see

my sadness clearly and sing my heart’s song.

We remediate the immediate predicament with tea.

We dream ...

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THE LADDER TO THE HAYLOFT

THE LADDER TO THE HAYLOFT

 

That a clock is only as fast as a cheetah

running round and round on the stones

seems to be a young kid’s scientific finding.

 

That a clock is only as fast as a wounded

cheetah, struggling with fifteen balls in

the air, seems more artistic, subjective too.

 

That oceans smile with liquid eyes and

fill themselves with rain is surely h...

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TEACHING MY SISTER THE SILENT ALPHABET

TEACHING MY SISTER THE SILENT ALPHABET

 

In bed, at night, have you ever reached the point

where word and muscle meet – where you

attempt to think in words without moving

a muscle in your mouth and stumble

upon the secret, white, silent alphabet?

There are certain letters, certain sounds

you simply cannot think without

a twitch from your mouth muscles -

so you...

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DEFACED

DEFACED

 

It’s actually a rather saddening story for now

I’d be in and out of hospital for the rest of my days,

still my father thought it hilarious, how,

when I was first hospitalised I ran away,

on my first escorted walk in the grounds,

through a field and across a busy motorway

 

and up a serpentine trainline to the station

from which I made it to Scotland b...

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TO THE BROS IN THE DEN IN THE WOODS

TO THE BROS IN THE DEN IN THE WOODS

 

I imagine now telling the bros in the den

in the woods my theory about the chain

 

of dark or even anti-evolution, that says

James Joyce, who also saw new creatures,

 

writing Ulysses is the reason why Ted

saw a monster in the river in childhood

 

who in turn wrote The Hawk In The Rain

which is then the reason Jim Morrison

...

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RANDOM ACCES CO-IMAGINATION

RANDOM ACCESS CO-IMAGINATION

 

Simon says The River Goyt

might become the Styx in Heaven.

Will says Hollidot is a peaceable,

grammatical shapeshifter.

 

I say oceans smile with liquid

eyes and fill themselves with rain.

Dave says it’s rude to repeat

the shift of feet down the corridor.

 

James says let's have one more

crumble from dad's pollen.

Jesus sit...

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