un homme et une femme

mary had a little dog
and everywhere that mary went,
faithful, tailwagging,
always trying to lick her hand or her cunt
and rubbing himself against her leg
high up the stockinged thigh,
that dog would also go

sometimes she would try to get rid of him
make him feel unwanted
let him know he should be finding himself some real doggy friends
turfing him out for indefinite periods

yet her eye followed his limping efforts
solicitously
and if he returned
tail between his legs
she would kiss him fiercely
take him in her bed
and let him sleep by her fire

after bathing

after bathing in your waters
drinking your startling thoughts
the purr that grows to pant
the kisses, the rumbling shout of delight
and the quick side-kicker
taking advantage
of the dark rainy night
and the body of woman
delight, shame-faced a little, boyish guilty looks
but pleased as punch all the same
the world is good !

sexual beings

she wanted to keep the lines open
she waited a little
said with a smile
i´m a woman of flesh and blood,
lust and desire

his mamma connection exploded in his heart
longing, jealousy, weakness, tears
but he also wanted
so he searched for a little joke
a signal, a green light
that indeed the lines are open

a long year

a long year, a lost year
i gave myself up to the lonely pleasures of poetry, song and other sublimations
i couldn´t resolve my problems
in life as she is lived
so i withdrew
and spent lonely nights
with piano, guitar, pens and pencils.
a lost year ?
i know more of myself
i know how seductive the dark road can seem
the image more attractive to me
than getting down to business
and getting my snout dirty
i worked up
a fractured bitterness
and thus i circumscribed the rub
and romanticised my problems
a rough year

matchbox

i put the reasons for my discontent in a matchbox
counted and ordered them
went walking
fingers in my trouser pockets clasping the box
a rough day
or a stupid boy ?

2009

this year spits out its last days
shortly we will arrive at london bridge
the porters throw open the doors
flurry, hustle and bustle
a voice crackles over the tannoy :
all change, this train terminates here
all change, all change please ! "

yes, that´s what i want
above all else.

clean and tidy

coarse cloth roughly cut
feet stuffed into shoes
mathematics drill
brushed and burnished
scrubbed with no feeling

more important that our boy is clean and tidy
than that he lives

i don´t give a wanker´s toss
i don´t care,
give a shit, i mean
fuck this

so i pay them back in their own coin
and i pay the price

can you ?

you´re mid fifties
you ask how much can you still learn
can you change your thinking and feeling cells ?
one arbitrary answer is yes
so just do it brother
and let the waves take you

the wonders of the world

you´re brutally honest,
fearless in your statements and opinions
yet a stranger can tell you something:
it was not the bottle,
it was you who loved his mother
tonight, in a lull, think of your boy
the child´s wonder and fineness of feeling
and be truthful
but not brutal.
during such violent upheavals
you will forget much
but you also know that bitterness is a coarse travesty
and you are all worth more than that

my cup

i feel the wildness around me
and scurry back to my stall
the shining metal bars of my cage
the stained concrete floor
the radio with its faraway ecstasy
my coffee mug
a book of dark poems.
surrounded by
dervishes, bouncers, junkies, demons, coopers, fetishists, wide boys, the sexually driven, price gougers, rats, backstabbers, power athletes, mixers and shakers,
i blow out my match and withdraw

what will be

in three quarters of an hour
it´s over
i will eat lunch, drink coffee and normal functioning will resume
the usual dirty broken tugboat will start inching around the harbour again
past the stink of the seals
midst the automobile tire halves
the gull calls above piercing, unforgiving
and what will be, will be

december

in december
the memories swamp me
hospital beds,
bottles lobbed in the air
waiting for the crash
a thousand words
ripples caused by words and world events
your breasts, your lips.
you know, it´s the wrong end of the telescope,
not so important,
crumple it up and trash it.
i fear life´s dance floor
i fear the normal interrogations
i fear the dismissive jerk of the head
no-one can turn this ship around
on my behalf.
i shall roll myself another song
and cook myself a new poem

one more

crashing chords and eels winding in the polystrene box
just one more print in the mud
just one more kiss.
mouth, gruel one more time
i am a fool
i am an adjective plus a noun
let me say one more time
i greet the monster machines of medical imagery

and in the cafe next to the hospital
drink coffee, smoke cigarettes and read newsprint
i don´t care
i go on one more time

vortex

sudden vortex :
no, I hadn´t compared my deserted childhood ( real )
with an image
of normal life, of women and men fucking and fighting.
not chalk and cheese, just chalk
one image facing off against the other
two mirrors fight
and my sentences, prescriptions, cries, dramatic and romantic phrases
reduced to nought

tuppence is tuppence
not much
and not nothing