Sunday, May 14, 2017

there was an impolitic teaser
known widely as Sleazer Theresa
who said will but then won't
but I do and I don't...
this geezer should be in your freezer

Monday, May 08, 2017

heave and heave again

I am angry with you today, dead elephant friends
and lovers. I feel myself there amidst
the scattered gravel, the scorpions,
the very scent of murder.
I want to feel you again, but I shall not
now, for the beat of my life denies it, as does yours.
I would not rouse you if you were
not needed on this occasion like the milk
of a dying mare in the harsh sun. So
I ask if you will rise. And I ask,
and ask please. All your ghostly forms,
please rise and lend your heft
for you are needed, and you would
not anyway have this bond were
it not that you had some instinct spirit
of war upon which I now call.

Rouse yourselves, warlike women,
from death or from sleep, or from
your lovers; our children have need
of you and your warrior spirits.
As ghostly elephants from the swamps
may you arise, laughing, to wage war now
bedecked in cobwebs, dripping
fearsome things of love, moaning
in your mightiness, with vines and ivy
adorning your grey backs as you lift
all of you from the mires
then looking south or west
decide no, and decide and turn
this way, mighty beast,
for we have war now.


Friday, May 05, 2017

Clare de la lune

not like it's real anyway she or they
sat next to with their her but i thought
stupid i thought it was or were or might
but have to say and stutter that this or these
before the fire in the front room
was uh the best uh time of my life
it's i suppose not great to learn
of the qualifications, but here and there
we are and is all wrapped and trying
to live through our filters. i don't know how
really but mine still allow love. it keeps coming
like a bat up a chimney a first date like
a zebra just walked in now wants
ta piss all over your floor
alien creature, forever now unknown
came out of this chimney with love
dead all around me in red strands
gotta swear one choked on one's own ass
so sad but the survival and everything
grates and then it steams up
your narrow garden, wide
garden, all that it is
forgiving, most unforgiving ever

just a little lights go out


Wednesday, April 19, 2017


I flush
the fish away
she beats a kettle drum
the children watch the funeral rites
struck dumb

Monday, April 10, 2017

Love is a weird old Church near Corwen where All is Forgiven

even in real life i won't not now
or i will try not to
you owl
fuck in the tree
i gonna hoot too like more
mad than you
i won't stand here sayin no hoo hoo
that ain't how
ya hoot
make me a owl now
ya fuckoo


Monday, April 03, 2017

hexenoic acid

I was in my other self my bad self
in the very stink and reek and altercation of it
and she recognised this of course
I did too but not being this self
it felt legitimated and righteous
as any other madness
it reeked off me and she reacted
as someone would react to a huge wild goat
that suddenly materialised in their car
and grabbed the wheel
sticking its heavy hoof
on the accelerator, cackling and spraying
I woke up in jail, beaten up
just being left to materialise back into
the driver's seat
it stank it reeked it felt like
one inhabited the skin of many goats
you fuck, I thought, not really even knowing
which goat
or whose wheel
or whether this was that road
or the other road, the fucking
goat road upon which
so often we cackle
she left me a note saying I love you
goatface and it made me cry
like a goat heading for a ditch
in a stolen car


Sunday, March 12, 2017

the altruist-narcissist dreams a dissociative dovecote

... he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe
... upon all the living and the dead—James Joyce

one morning for a few seconds
upon waking

I knew all of your secrets, knew your byways in and out
your off and on upside-about sideways glancing of a soul
—that wary askance that keeps you semi-whole—
till you did creep upon me, half-asleep, within-without

and these rooftop morning
pigeons, not the least dawning peep

now ceased to coo in their redoubt
and—though in mourning—blew

both west and east
as lonely souls released
they, madly, flapping flew

sadly, both ways only
as you


Saturday, March 11, 2017

such bleak mornings
your angry ghost at the foot
of my bed


Friday, February 24, 2017

America: it's like watching
a brain-damaged child
punching its own face
again and again


Thursday, February 23, 2017

Romanticism is all about death
about an unsustainable level of feeling
this stuff has got me heartbroken and beaten up
and banned and in prison
all of them plosives
Romanticism then--
it's probably only good if you're looking at it
in a fucking zoo

"Humankind cannot bear
very much reality"--Eliot.


Tuesday, February 21, 2017

The Duodeniad (2017 remake)

La Rage—sing, goddess, of the Rabies of Achilles

the Pope now has an HIV-infected Gay lover
—this has led to a considerable softening of his position
regarding the use of condoms

words that won't wash out: tubetrain/rucsack/Krak des Chevaliers

the Chinese eat cats like crackers
but that's nothing to the French
who drown young beaked boys in Armagnac
bury them in woodland in Spring let it all mulch down to thick soup
they swear by the fortifying properties

his vegetal body his machine massif
his midriff his central nervous plexus a clock
a barometer to be tapped and adjusted
it tracks responsively the snaking isobars set it in train
like a Victorian clockwork golem
trained to follow a bannister commit strangulation upon
a sleeper on the highest floor he intends instead
the meridians of psychic commerce every time that she
walks in the room
 rage sing of rage golem sing of
Aung San Suu Kyi at one end of a telescope
a little uniformed general with his mouth grinding the other
like a cat with nothing else

rage sing of rage he says all silly with a new bike and hat

North Utsire/South Utsire: a sea giant moderate to good
occasionally poor at first

who could love your face so full of interior disfigurement?
the Vatican explains that on a case by casis it has never opposed
the use of condoms if you have been kidnapped by Islamist baboons
force you to commit acts of disgusting coitus on a monkey
but regret that you will still attend the 7th Hell on the grounds
that to be able to commit said act at all you must have had something
going on

we took me and some friends took control of the world sometime yesterday
in ways too subtle yet to be understood

I have decided not to give up wanking
there is a pleasant place just outside Hell where you wait
until the Pope catches up
it's all just a formality now
papers and ID please how often did you do it
were you married no well in here please
try to cool it in the waiting room there will be opportunity later

the Vatican explains that it has never been opposed to the use of
trained monkeys for sex

The Papa has issued clarification-condoms

Hunkpapa winewall at the margo
in eery breathbasks


Samboo's Grave at Sunderland Point (revision 2017)

Samboo's Grave at Sunderland Point

Let us not arrive on our deathbeds knowing
that we should have done more, that we
should have listened more closely
to our heartsMadeleine Shine
On our deathbeds we will cry to have it back,
this wasted timeAlice Aforethought

creeps of sunlight over the salt-marsh
there in the wind from over without
Barrow and Overton, from here to there
up the Irish Sea the overfalls sing
then all out southward freaks of wind

curving in eastward on the intent, the raptor
look of it (in 3Dlook again, Samboo
(bells everywherewhat bells?
nothing left below only a tiny skeleta)
your mother dead on the beaches, the bone-beaches

of the endless western Afrique; far-off the sluff and slough
the gold and the kohl the markets of Cathay and Shendy
for this for this, you here, you herewhy here?
all of it, ten thousand years in the marram the cow-heads narrow ring
and no homecomingjust this loneliness
just this violation of the co-opting into everyone's dream
everyone who came here to stamp (and steam)

like cattle about your little garden of squashes
pumpkin-head boy from the meridian lands
sleeping soft and lonely beneath below and black
of beyondand how was it done, Samboo, was it just a wheelbarrow
some seaman's cart; no gymkhana plumage, no funeral cortège
only the function, the deposition, the sediment
the geology of the placement of a little black heart, deceased
there at the wind's wild edge where it mattered most and least
dislocked now from his beach-heart and heave-head
trampled a thousand over, Samboo universal Samboo
weeps soft over the haunted bay
whirls thrice through the cockles
lingers a moment like a ghostly Susan
then thinks again, then is gone
here, spirit, here … we have caught your soul and you

are forever our little semantic boy
all in pieces and scatters underground
squashed and overarchinghow little and lost and longing, all of it
how tiny and lost and ferocious
down there Samboo, down there in the warm and endless cold
where your mother gulfs across all of time
some great universal choke
where is my mind?

across all of this, swooping bells, worlds of light


Tuesday, January 17, 2017

so body its own pataphorics

love you most when in need of sex its urgent look
its height of attention to the topographic light from below
the horizon early in the year
that this then cannot be modified or proclaimed
as goodness that requires no control or cessation
its own thing it is and more in the making
it binds like stopless weed-growth rooted deep
its ramification fungal and all of white tendrils, filaments
who snake into and within breaking down of wood debris
lest we be drowned a hundred feet high in it all and below
so insignificant in that lost other world our human walking
submerged in your envelopment wrapped all up
in all of it that crying moment when your head, borne aloft
explodes like aircraft through this another glass roof of love


Friday, December 16, 2016

"Powerful feelings: the emotions recollected in tranquility"

-- Wordsworth or some other Romantic fool.


Thursday, December 15, 2016

flahrs (for you who like flahrs)

not one more moment, not ever
but may you be full and honest
in all your fillings and love
may you in all things whatever
for one cannot countenance now

(so foul a day anyway but love
such stray as though we would
to the riverbank or something
 as we walked, look the shake of

tiny little petals
we look upon them
we marvel, oh
look now, one of us at least
look, for all of our shakes
in even effect


Saturday, October 08, 2016

DELPHINE by Rainer Maria Rilke, translated in 'askance' by Steve Parker.

Those reality that their peers 
to grow everywhere and to live 
gave, felt on related characters 
Same in the resolved rich, 
the god, with dripping Tritons, 
overflowed at times exceeds, 
for since the animal had shown: 
unlike the mute, stumpfgemute 
breeding of fish, blood of their blood 
the human inclined and from afar. 

A crowd came, the cracked, 
glad when she felt the tides shiny: 
Warm, Zugetane whose train 
as confidently ride crowning, 
easily attached to the round bow 
as to a vase hull and rounding, 
happy, carefree, safe from injury, 
erect, entranced, purling 
trucking and diving with the waves 
, the trireme further contributed cheerful. 

and the skipper took the newly agreed 
friend in his solitary threat 
and devised for him, for the companion, 
grateful one world and believed to be true, 
that he loved tones, gods, gardens 
and the deep, silent star year.


Friday, October 07, 2016

darkening snow-clouds
over this waiting lake and land
black birds whimpering



Saturday, September 24, 2016

shine (2009)

                                                  after a few weeks of this new start
though she could see he was trying

she could also see that it wasn't working

she loved him and everything

but she couldn't keep living through this
like this for ever
& so one night when he was fucked up

she slipped the gun
into his open mouth
blew his head all over the wall
behind the bed
where they had made their babies
she sat there afterwards for a while

cried a little
made some cocoa
read a Stephen King novel
until she fell asleep next to him

in the night she cuddled him

in his dark uncomplicated wetness


Epitaxy (2010)

"All of you know nothing; I alone know something" - Wilhelm II 

let this be an end to it

flowers unarrayed funerary sprays of moment 
..........................(whiter than Gogs) from the Northwith 
..............a surrounded look (just don't, don't) 
...........................or looks ..............on which 
..................they take wing each other his face 

shines flicker with digital craquelure 

"all this is drift only of interest
to the novelty hunters it obscures the true processes beneath

once in Macau in Spring 
a man sat in an alley with shears and 
live tortoises "zunguzung .......................the archbishop warns 
ungu..................................that Sharia law is soon 
zunguzeng". be implemented wholesale 
- Yellowman.......................across Europe 

they have lock-ins nightly till two
it is here that the real business
of the speed-dating enters its
tertiary phase 
........................................[behind shutters outside 
........................................policemen with moustaches truncheons 
........................................lanterns whistles smell trouble 
........................................up iron drainpipes of the now true process] 

you'll have to stop all this masturbating he said why doctor will it 
make me go blind no it's upsetting the people in the waiting room
B. Manning where flyspray flowers shook safe as houses 
at the passage of steamtrains—there there

is this drift into breakout.there.uncertain (even 
as) informations have not come to.our inattention. 
leave quietly the back door.there. 

they have till two by the back door uncertain .........he beat Old Ama Kow the first with a hammer fracturing 
...........................the rim of its shell began to open it 
with the shears its head concealed alive 
...............................(((legs moving in clear distress there there
as he cut in was impossible (not to look) in Old Rainwater-Macau they sang 
O lost songs of turtle goddess love not to watch 
.............................down running culverts 

to the harbour dreams (now virtually 
certain) quietly by the back door 

the busy temple terrapins in plastic bowls 
of banknotes assure the safety of seafarers 

..........................(that Stonings 'n' Beheadings 
..........................of adulterers and homosexuals 
..........................routine in London by 2010 a arcbishop infronted accusatives of High Trees and Heresay 
..........................qualify earlier abatements 
..........................—I didn't mean it as it sounded and one would really call the Queen a MILF 
......................................he says like aloud) 

new terrible vernaculars array themselves 
....................................on all sides on the beaches 

(want to die peacefully quiet in my sleep 
like my father not terrified screaming 
like his passengers - B. Monkhouse) 

.......................and landing grounds 
bedecked in bright bunting 

there's just no arguing with you now, is there 
let it 
be an end to that

(this poem was published in the Burning Gorgeous anthology 2010, and was nominated for the Pushcart Prize 2010 haha!) 

Wednesday, August 17, 2016

Iambics for the Dead

two end walls (mist)
of the ancient house
in the hill above the sea
the grass is (like fairies) rough
but yields above the knee
and there we swell
two chimneys snuffed
askance, we, side on side,
to sea birds' beck and call
(your wall there, my wall
looking hovered like the sea
hanged above the fall
of moon and sun
and rush and tide and spree
Saint Mary's Well
below the springing steep
the crickets every step
so the grassy (sun-filled) leap
and rear and wash
the maddened hare
upon the rock above the sea
all we know divided
as bells the boat
beneath the stoop, the fall
and bright at last
from Bardsey's overfalls
breaks free
the clutch of two
walls sad as smokeholes
fireless, grassed over
whistling as all
midnight is long in you and me
hillfog, love, one and one makes three
fret and spark and twee upon
these walls where once
a tree or two (again) made three
where midnight once blew strong
in you and me

Tuesday, July 26, 2016


dreamt you were a friend again
on a sunny morning
sharing a single bed
this lasted for three seconds
after waking

one assumes everyone
in whatever circumstances
such respite


better to have loved
and won
don't fool yourself


Thursday, July 21, 2016

unlived, unread

whatever its story now
its pages become dreams
lost to all futures

time gone away
lights gone out

a book that slides from the hand
of a sleeping reader
an ending before an ending
hitting the floor

all reality conspires
to this question:
does the impact here
rouse the sleeper
or merely shuffle off
undressed, derelict
into the unrecoverable
of dreams?


Monday, June 27, 2016

Haworth Park and the rock festival

on the grass with the boys with ice cream
heavy rock it takes me a minute
or two to realise this is the same grass
almost exactly
my time machine swinging
the car park the things that followed
born to be wild
it's too much too hot
down to the swings
our impressions left there

in that grass that spot
almost exactly
down the steps up the road
ice creams finished
we are away down the ghost road to
the Pooh Sticks Bridge
down the mud where it has
been raining hard and undried

in get in
it's enough, we run and run
it's enough
closing the door behind them
shutting us in and out
all a flurry of handings and leavings
bye boys
see you soon
there's no shutting out the grass
the day
the time machine, the long future without


Friday, June 17, 2016

Let us not arrive on our deathbeds knowing that we should have done more and listened more closely to our hearts—Madeleine Shine.


Thursday, June 16, 2016

Time for this all over again...

"You are nothing to me until you are everything to me" -- American Hustle.

Saturday, June 11, 2016

tangles of hair
in a lost nail brush
the day starts badly


Sunday, May 29, 2016

a war on tar

brown or black zones, unstable of matrix or distillation
into the breath of bystanders, over many generations
Lysander at the Hellespont landing
at midnight
triangulated who knows they come running
in light all of it now in pieces on the floor to skate
like matches made in porcelain by mongrel disdain
went to see Sylvia's grave not stylish or cultic, but a kind

planting even of borage perhaps in symbology eek bees
which beo she approbeth in bear and wulf-honey
but anyway of a peace near the gothic reviv and the setts

unbrocked in gelato and quattrocento figures of rhet and stet
maraccas and whistles there were and a clapsed columnar
and in the writing a bullfinch at the glass looking, scratched


Thursday, May 26, 2016

Anyone need this explaining?

"Socialism for the rich, free enterprise for the rest ..."—Milton Friedman.


Monday, May 23, 2016

Nocturne (2010/16)

imagine a journey on a ship
and the ship is on fire
okay forget that you are floating

on clouds and you are a Hindu god

in the bushes off to the left something
is waiting for you and you are about to die

what does 'datejust' mean?

a man on a ship humiliates himself
he leaps on the table while drunk
urinates in someone's soup
this an old time steamer between
Liverpool and New York (and your Mother)
gets on stage and this is not
a Graham Greene novel

Miles Davis is on this ship
when the man starts urinating
in his soup he reaches up with fingers
almost each a foot long takes him by the throat
pulls him down says listen

the man by now is too drunk does not listen
goes on to attack the captain is looking
for ice ought not to be assailed so

shows his buttocks to the ladies in cabin 339
laughing as he does it oh life on a ship oh

of all he sidles alongside the chaplain
has by now spotted the ice has no time to waste
hey you wanna do it he asks
not now not now says the chaplain
for ice, ice

morning the man remembers little 
but signals come 
by noon he knows enough
within him starts to die
good intentions fail he cannot
venture on deck apologise
to the other passengers

not that Miles wants an apology
Miles thinks he is a fuck and isn't interested today
in a fuck
while he rows through the bodies

the Purser's daughter's body was not violated
but the intentions had been clear enough
at 2 am when he approached her bed
with suggestions of Jazz 

man doesn't know how to return from this 
retires to his bunk
where he lies urinating in his own soup
buzzing like a kazoo

something has died in him from this events
would rather now he went down

whose lights are even now 

I have fucked up again 
so profoundly 
that though the ship sinks
I will lie here and mime
for you just can't keep doing
this pissing in soup
not if you want
to stay in the group

Miles sculls soft
imagine him there blow
in the cold
nothing left
Carpathia hours later
where's the president?
a great sea monster beneath
a monkey at the prow laugh its arse

oh the birth of Jazz on the frozen sea

little pixies in Elmo blue 
drowning on all sides coughing as they go
you ever see someone drown they cough then go quiet

but I love you you know I do

keep your hands off 

something went wrong
all over frozen wrong
don't pick me up
play on monkeyface, drown