Happy

To be or not to be
a pea, a boat, with sail
the owl, a modest man, in a boat
the pussycat if she can row, invited
the door opens to her
she will emerge when loved, I am sure
many come before her,
so life exists on any shore
if memory still prevails, I know the way
rich or poor ..no love is more, they say
a five pound note means today
so row and we will have milk and honey
to make our way with fair wind on sail
if only life was like a poem
and then beyond the pale we find a way
we would be happy then.

Hunter

Into the breach I go
and file a suit of sorts
revenge or sweetness my pursuit
to drink my fill.. or just get even
a swathe of men bear down on me
hunters too this evening
nuts or berries handed out in a shoe
a gambler's dress of hands
sharp tongues and hurtful things are said
a gun or branch come to mind
the olives served lightly oiled
sliding in and out
smiles and tempest revealed
a day in a past and no sun shines yet
clouds gather above
a bloody conquest I court
as my cat strokes me
when do they grow old and leave me alone ?
..when looks deceive me

Dummy hand

Another... strike me with it
shifting hands to survey the land
the card outheld
in his dummy hand
a gambler with his final pound
just empty souls  remain
no loss or gained ground
no hand to show
so on we go
another and again, then again laid down
more is less it seems
no ace up a sleeve
woe wends a way and weaves a sorry tale
woe on me so blow my little run away
better dead than lost
there is no cost
a bet is won or lost
I am dead either way

Human Race

A slow starter
bringing up the rear
falling short of mindful choice
the cruelty of a bloody race
the nonce in limbo
another stallion causing an affray
men in cloth deciding fear
onward.. speeding up outside
bringers of songs falling back
mother's child the passing fancy
short head and unbridled love
a dog against all odds
horses and beasts of darkness
shame and torso's for sake of love
vodka shots on the rails
crucified by whips
again and again a rider comes
profit loss the winning streak
odds on chancer takes a lead
sickness falling back
death and loss a chalice
a race of malice

Later thinking

Baby its the last time I dont know ...or care
the words ring around molars of mercury fillings ..hums
one gold and cost so much
may sell it soon
my mind is going ..with luck
his breath runs out yesterday , am worried
why does it rattle my speakers
what reason do I recall that song
a dog walks across my path ,
it looks casually
all dogs are casual
men are not
women are always going somewhere
my hand shakes and he puts the cup to my lips
drinking too much
I dribble now
sort of embarrassed someone might see
wiped it with my finger
my car gone now , crushed
left my book under the seat , its flattened now
why cry
the last time thats why
anne of cleves
her body smelled
he said her breasts drooped
I like droopy breasts
breasts.. why not tits
must be posh
upper class , a king must be musn't he
surely he didnt marry her and then change his mind
wonder if I would like her
but someone else wrote it
been dead 500 years
smelly now ..almost
time flies, words as well
wrote it incorrectly
he said tits I bet
go out do something
it reminds me so will stay in
so short of money
am old now
I dont know again
she left with everything
or did she , not sure
will look in her room
later maybe
the window is dirty , may kill myself
later
daft idea,,, is it ?
heroin would be nice,,here on in lol
though cant afford it
not called that now some other name
crack
times change
change my name
george.. sounds old..Bastion ..Sebastion ..yuk
there is a tin of beans in the cupboard , some bread
I know that man with that women walking to the shop over there
he was a tramp once
she saw him and said you should not be like this
now he carries her shopping
he looks tired
I am tired , but must go out
...later on

Box

Under this tree I lay
comforting brass beside me
from tepid wrestles the now boiling blood
to heat that which I seek
a dress that gives a heart a beat
the perfect form beneath the distant waves
never breaking on a shore
the surf rides like me
furious, red on a pumping vein
the box, the empty hollow pain
and the key to charms of lore
no sphinx to pass away the night
no bestial delights
her dark hairs beneath my skin
rise like the gorgon's, moist and shine
hurt her, she cries for more
seen from mirrors, its now all mine
her line is determined then
she tells all in strokes of graphic blindness
the rape was kind, she is alive
but like a leaf in autumn's sun
taken by the wind
her mind no reason to be real
and fearsome creatures take turns to see
this magic spell she casts on me

War

'Many moons', the indian spoke straight at me
'pass the cruet', adding a sound of war inside his voice
the tepee was smokey and it billowed up
a drain from his lips in gurgled words
'no drink or drugs', he said
'nothing here for me'.
I offered a linen cloth
he smiled and laid it out
'breakfast' he grinned
'no'.. I said it twice
'the druids left nothing ', I responded
looking at me with spite he drawled in an indian accent 'dagger'.
I snatched back the cloth
he watched tv over my shoulder
'so we watch then'..he spoke over me
'if you please', drifted into silence
I didnt care, we sat for hours doing nothing, he said nothing
'a waste of my life', I said standing up
'do we fight?'
'bighead', I said turning on him
'bigmouth', he shouted as I left