The Blue

What becomes of blue when sky leaks late
deliveries too posthumous even to resurrect
a meagre shelter.

In opposition to atmosphere we say “out of or into”
as if nothing did come.

When

When there is nothing left to burn but the stake, which is commonly viewed as fairly decent fire wood, you could say that it was time to go electric. Can I suggest the Hendrix heater which, it must be said, has the drawback of only being effectively switched on by an experienced left-handed engineer, who for the duration of the heater’s use has to be employed by you under the terms and conditions laid out in his handbook, which includes such idiosyncrasies as his right to believe the said heater is working when it clearly is not and the possibility of his right hand seeking similar employment at a later date.

All Ears

The hand that sidesteps the bite, feeds itself
on the back of a camel whose leading straw
broke on the road to Rome.

OrEith-or

Either peppered with or
swinging the mill back from forth
to hear between the grind reduces
the sound of sight.

In the dark there is no form
and any resemblance is neither black
nor white, but a wavering of hands
holding air.

After Hours

When irregularity calls, there is no time to pour latency away, down the plug-hole of our.

Hours

If I said two dozen hours
would that split the day for twelve
or scramble morn-noon and after-ing?

Surrounded

by postponement
that rearranges precipice, flattening
the up-hill hours.

V

How useful an untimely lean may be against vertical inclinations, any upright fondness for sheer, prematurely tends.

1 Comments

Asserted within, (a confidence no trick can keep)
since aside manoeuvres by incentive: a need

for something other than, whispered as shout
or left understood, as if beneath occupied appreciation.

Dear Turn,

Was it the last corner that resolved everything?

Or your new head-dress?

It may protect your motives if not moves.

Perhaps that is how straight-forward led me astray.

28'a

An insipid solace (comfy lack) furnishes
a fair-weather risk
with haywire farce (cracked sun in the circus of chance).

After smog subsides
a cosy sprinkle left out of
sweep braves absolution,
the foreman of sorry,

upstaging a greedy diversion (hobby-hunger)
swallowed in translation to preserve pith.

Whisking detachment into silhouette (profile beat)
with a tissue that teases riot
genesis, sluttish yet bland

too graphic
and grim

as suspense hinders chronic charisma.

... restoration.

A return to ahead. Slivers of intoxication cut to the effect of cause, letting slip a hint of round, sharpened on inexpressible edge. The concealed results of hone, brush against high wires strung between art- and –iculate. To walk them is to tread words into the atmosphere.

After Sidoli

Clenched

clenched from afar (an out-of-town squeeze)
unsettles the tonic (of disturbed refreshments)
heading off from the scrub (bushes avert)
matching dilutions surrender (watery reproductions – “we give up”)
nippy strides memorise (learning to walk…………
ideas with no middle ( )
drop more examples
alone

a lone a drops from idea and astride memory nips solution in the bud. Damp and drunk on distress, tightening distance lets near go.

"A...

...solitary instance furthers, falls…”

through thoughts that remember the quick step of quit, thinning out identical undergrowth, leaving pick-me-ups to shake distant fists.

App eal

A single-sided crowd bids for the other

pooling a dip in their undulation

teasing dual fascination apart

Aftertaste

Yesterday, creased along midday, slides off the tongue.

Spurs-of-the-moment

Shoving all limits in the closet, she washed wonder down
with a tolerant brew: part tea, part not;

part thirst-haste, distraction quencher.

Before ground struck the thriving steps
swept under carpet’s enchantment.

10+’s Lover

We are two ones: attaching
a restless power to victory
barely resolving to kick
discontent in the meaning.

Like asking a bombshell to reduce shock
or trim the other cheek.

From one cool scene to a sinking silhouette
a faint ticking
hears background noise
as we line up to launch entertainment
and suspend refuge until humour stops staring.

, smearing the ‘a’ in caution

blurs the abandoned guard, leaving any slip of the anointed one open to manipulation

…a narrow escape, is only a replica

Character transfer, repeat after me: carbon carbon…

Lend me two frauds, a double agent, and a can-con-phony

(quite a quartet to slide the tuba tones)

and I’ll slip you imitation.

Stealing the blush from your sunset

Green and go, in all its departing glory
will face flush again
when level reverts to level
and reading backwards retires.

Do away with the evening of yourself, because if you keep setting, I won’t be able to see you anymore.

TaKinG thE BriM__ TooK thE BrOoM

I’ve been invited over to Taking the Brim – thanks Clifford!

Otoliths

Issue three of Otoliths, edited by Mark Young, is now live. I’m excited to say that I have two poems included.

Settling up with today <<<<

‘yes’ - always noticeable when reimbursed with no

The stamina of revolving doors

turning backs on the dizzy heights of
existence – out/in: equals in orbit

42/b descendent of 99 - here & 42/a is here

Blinds & Patience

parting over delay
long shade relies

on enough setting
of up chalked

marks with themselves
colourfully cracked

/I drew you in pastel hues that didn’t suit your complexion and when the snap came, it was too much to expect reliability from a sketch/

“before distance calls time…” by Glint & Fade - here

The 7 o’clock itch: scratch it and tick.

Transpiring from here

“…commonsense misses its mark when struck by the flamboyance of restraint…”

Think about commonsense on its starting blocks: ready with some sound rationalizations, to run the distance with logic. Ready, steady, think. The lavishness of possibility or the egg and spoon attitude: boiled at a price.

“…to unfasten their reflections in an attempt to lose track of their arrival…”

When you look in the mirror, who sees you?

“And yes, when you fall on hard times, you will still have brown hair and act as if you’ve lost the script...”

J: Has anyone seen my wig?
A: It’s massaging your brain.

“Bend eleven restless rulers into one…" ( transpiring from here)

In my experience rulers don’t bend that easily, but there is a technique to try. First soften your ruler with sweet talk, flattery gets you everywhere when it comes to measuring, then gradually arch over a curved surface: in the name of dimensions, of course. If that doesn’t work, crack the ruler in half on your knee; impatience may not prove anything, but if nothing else, at least it bends experience.

“…uncover that polished comic…”

Shiny humour: laughing at daylight.

“For the sake of string, tie up more laces.”

Yes, you can use string to draw boot edges together, if laces themselves are tied up, but remember, in making music with each step, not to pluck on more than you can hear.

Sidebrow

The Letters Project - Reviving the epistolary novella

Read my creative responses Halt & Hither to the work of Carrie-Sinclair Katz at Sidebrow the online & print journal dedicated to innovation and collaboration.

Strange jottings lift
overturning edges that vertically avoid
tip-toeing to sound
out white.

(When unsaid is left internally repeating, echo backs itself.)

A washed-out certainty
steps up visibility, to only seem clouded
and yet be otherwise
available.

“.. this odd illegible flaw… capsizes my vital difference…”

Using the usual blot doodling… upends a lively mixture
of p to b, where plot thins and character wilts after bailing out of the story-telling dinghy just before epilogue. On page 49 soggy prose reads: sleeveless buoyancy: a jacket for life.

Click: a lead from 9

“…simplicity swaps observation for absorption.”

Next to ease, any trade in measurement assimilates rather than scrutinises. Or: I sat down beside you whilst we exchanged and digested our vital statistics. Healthier than dissection as a way to get to know someone.


“…the rear of scandal / robs your performers / of plausible watchers...”

Rolling backwards over gossip, is similar to stealing a match from a musician who strikes you as credible, but nonetheless you’re still glad to be in the audience.


“… escorts without links and travellers / unharmed by onlookers)…”

Let me take you nowhere and see if you can spot safe & sound.


“…, apathetic weave / quarrels in the alley...”

Listless plaits perform a head strong tug of war down narrow streets bordered by velvet walls. It can only end in a headache.

During a downpour it may be possible to decant cloud dregs and save them for a sunny day.

an arrow
points the way drawn,
dividing the triangle

a finger
lifts
fusing the line of attack

i liner

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Raising a thought

Living Therein

I drew dots
that on joining
outlived their inline.

Yet this didn’t prevent
a full - point - stop recurring.

When a line lies flat:
________________

is it out of consideration
for tired words
or has it fainted?

Introduction,
the new conclusion:

Hello…

The End

I chose a string-less-pull,
a limp strand,
over forced cords.

It meant something to those
who were counting.

Taking Task

Efficiency stands anxiety up – in vain – as an uneasy
stalker systematically keeps the date unkempt.
Apparent disarray attempts to rape capability -
when all goes well, tension turns on fear for
consolation. Even so, the job gets done, under siege.

Possible Wins

Armed with enough fruit
to coin the drum beat of slot,
liberty chews at the crust of cash.
But why stop at cherry.

In step with stone
rolling mosswards
so to gather less
even in your midst
like a boulder overly attached to incline
might be never late, without 'too'.

New Blog - 'and, in fall'

I’ve started another blog as home to an ongoing writing project based on word substitution for momentum. Originally conceived as a text-art installation, for the meantime unfurling at: and, in fall.

F’2

Emptiness regained an opposite, seasoning
my mind with a high dive for lateral.

(I heard whispered how
an ounce of shoreline
weighs more than the
time to swim there plus
an inch of seaweed.)

It was getting late and sea was protesting against tide:

down
with
ebb

What sense in levelling wave.

Float…ing

On becoming separated from my ideas
I wondered if it was true that to
‘keep your head above water’ requires
a buoyant brain: more upbeat than grey
matter acknowledges.

Having discarded their armbands, those ideas
were capable of reaching some shore
by means of backstroke and wit alone.
Leaving me with a crossed mind and salt.

...then again, it depends on supply and the notion that filling your own shelves demands a revised form of independence, stacked higher in return for a purchase less petty.

If I could buy myself, who knows if I’d be equal to the acquisition.

Back Pedalling

In memory of today, I reverse my mind over this life. Hitting a pothole circa autumn '91. Notice a neglected sign: re-surfacing - expect long delays. The asphalt years.

Poepstsiimmiissmm

Putting pessimism on tenterhooks,
entices optimism to infiltrate.

Visit 40x365 - click

Names listed,
four 0 turned,
365 40s awaited: ( =s 14,600.)

I arrived yesterday at 209
and met perfect Pat.

Words, years, days, people
it all adds up.

Excitement’s cousin drops by
along with that old junkie, adrenaline.

What a drag pressure rising is. With some
front coming across all stormy. For weather,

this talk is way too small. If sun
dropped out, how laid back would we be?

Next day: over-exuberance tackles neglect.

Versions spin. Halt.
Pinpoint the looked-over.
Grind fact against fear.
Embed blame -

but not in sand, this time.

At least, last,
I can’t elaborate, but
lets say: corrugated diversions tide me over.

When I click here
it all floods back
and ‘if’ re-ignites.

Unforeseen sights travel the length of a gap:

this opening keeps me sufficiently ahead
of myself, so that when I glance back, uncovering

too much to omit, scenes become ransacked by recall
and I pocket a memory that won’t tolerate interruption.

Before long, I spread it along a sleeve and run my arm through.

At mirror’s edge
you linger undetected.

Any other gaze
relaunches identification
without forgetting

that a pair of closed eyes
remain open behind lids.

Who

Appearing as; depending on…

On naming the blackbird, it
was noted as being just that.

Whereas its vivid beak spoke
highly of nonconformity.

Encased in bold outline
wisps of impetuous intent
owe weight to reality.

An outstanding idea, leaves
behind a debt, that no amount
of thought can pay off.

And still nothing is straight
and again requires that I hold it.

No crossroads quartering continuation,
this sequel punctures deflated tyres
and rides flat out.

A precarious salute to the stationary
leaves one hand steering, or so it seems,
while the other airs.

Why aren’t you moving? Comes command.
From the outskirts of self a slight shuffle –
though only for show.

“I can only hear that which I have already heard.”
Blanchot, Awaiting Oblivion

I raised your voice
over (all) hearing.

Elevated a certain sonic barrier: horizon side.
Ahead of,

reaching delay…
when a late repeat sounded premature.

It is later,
but prior to familiar. I knew who to answer,

if not how.

“… from the crux of a thousand impossible situations…”
Djuna Barnes, Nightwood

A 1000
… launched by one

Instruction:
hold your 1 by its tail
thread the stem
through the '000's.

Result:
something like this:
-0-0-0- plus imagination.

At one with the noughts of impossibility
there is nothing an ‘0’ cannot add to a situation.

‘I’ happens
around another corner

5 x 10 is an iffy number

this mind tracks itself: thinking needs entertaining or entertainment

another 50 bends round in the road
another ‘I’

Reason shimmers through reason
at last there is no earlier, but brevity
ignored in place of sense. A

hand, lasting trace over all other
impediments. An ‘if’-powered
second, conducts.

Up:
at the peak, there is a running commentary
on success: the “we made it” monologues.

Indiscretion adores momentum.
“but I only came along for the view”

The director approaches the edge
sensitively he treads the bounds.

All surfaces have limitations, if you persevere.

Up:
at the summit, there are three days and nights left,
one for each emotion not yet undergone.

Acute tragedians, they run through adaptations
with intent: climactics abound.

Dramatising insecurity with ice axe props,
they digress from peril.

It’s a long way down from any stage.

Up:
in the history of heights, the kerb is not far to fall.
A guttural croak sounds descent.

Single-mindedly striding the yellow lines: cowardly
parallel, lingering on responsibility.

The scarlet smoker drops his butts,
alienated in collaboration.

Too much stimulation confuses confusion.
If I lived life over, I’d roll my own.

…” Ready for when the lift doors open on chaos.

(A cage that takes you higher than ego ever can.)

Tickets for the natural way: it’s such a raffle…”

Oh yes, you said, if you put enough fulfilment in the grate
it eventually lights.

First inflate the self.
Then painstakingly avoid pins.

“Going up”

Apply rouge to nostalgia for a healthy looking past. “…remember me well…” But the object of today’s caution is an alliance with the made-up. “… at times it was difficult to disguise…” At no point does gullibility resign itself to the artificial. “…ready to…”

Ready, again and again, it’s the only way. “…

Escape From Qualification

No quick fix crevasse
in the long run of promise.
Testing metal against metal
like a primitive electrician
doing time, who forgoes power
on your behalf. Taking a measure
of detachment into solitary confinement,
he buries the roots of detention alive.

Stretch

What paces now
paced then.
When times two listens
each costs the other
about as much again.
In all probability I didn’t hear what was said.
As a shoe is unlaced
does the foot question?

An occasion approaches:

satisfaction eludes the unripe; in reverse the beginning is an end already reached. Life normally presents cover, if you can distinguish between light and dark. When I saw you again after all these years, I chose a series of reactions you would think natural. I had always wrapped up well, by reminding myself to forget the white shirt left behind.

For a lemon
to make a comeback
it must confess to rind
the citric hypocrisy of its
flop.

Real as this
judgement is, sweet-talking
doesn’t always fool the juicer.

In Shape

Off duty survival
has an uncertain way
of preservation. With
nowhere to go besides
the centre, a rotation
may not change your view.
I agree, there is freedom
in circles, where you can leer at curves,
and prowl boundaries; deciding your own
dimensions. But these points between points
only direct, for as long as you see yourself as round.

The colour of reading,
like a straight rainbow,
thrives in the mind's eye
where pigment meets lid.
There is nothing that cannot
call itself blue
from time to time,
or wonder if treading
on the hands of a clock
might divide the hours.
As in the case of some
histories, the 'i's
undot themselves
and draw a line under
the unforgettable.
It was you who told me,
and it came between us.

Triumph in miniature
lends balance to rigour;
sandwiched between r ‘n’ r
a tastier loan might
forfeit this filler.

Reading Reacts

A collaborative project by Amanda Cragg, student of Chelsea College of Art & Design: The London Institute, with writers and poets "...to show new possibilities as to how literature can be integrated into people's lifestyles. It explores the placement of literature, and the relationship that it can form between the viewer and their surrounding environment."

Visit Reading Reacts to find out more, view images of completed works around the city, ongoing ideas, and to read or make comments. An extract of my poem Bus Stop was displayed on a digital bus timetable on Monday 29th May in London. Images of which can be seen at the blog.

Bus Stop

a temporary halt
where waiting tires of itself
as oncoming traffic
remains red-less;
how the eye yearns
for a numerical match
that adds home
to the equation

In receipt of a lifetime
that chalks up continuation
at a knotless rate. Interlaced
with silk, whose worm hasn’t
yet turned. A thread between
day and night, re-tangles us
with stories untold. Where, to
discriminate between fictions
only leaves room for one
thing after another.

Seated: the body's
messages bend, loyal
to edgy lyrics, an
arrangement archived

for posterity. The havoc
that safeguards attack,
also wrongly names
accomplishments that

just happen to gain.