may 9th

a poem about a chance encounter



walking along the thames pathway
on one of the bits thats more like a dingy alley
shielded from the bright spring day
i chanced upon a d list celebrity
a mediocre comic actor leaning on a wall
- and i know this is the point where i point how tall
he looked compared to a few inches on my tv
or some other obvious inanity -
i fought the temptation
to engage him in conversation
where in joint speculation
through my revalation
he'd reach a realisation
that he used to be almost ok
in that thing he did back in the day
but his work since then to date
has been little more than fourth rate
he was leaning looking bored with a film crew pointed at him
like a cross between a stalker and a mis-equipped assassin
and the three of them were waiting for some moments at a time
that were consecutively devoid of passers by
to have the chance to deliver what i suspect was just one line
and never one to miss the chance to make a statement - i
decided i could make him understand where his career
went wrong without him needing to want to hear
so i further delayed that moment when he could finally go
by making sure my walking by was
really
painfully
slow

may 8th

a poem about ordinary miracles


not so long ago this would have been considered witchcraft -
the asimov definition of magic exemplified
but sitting and guessing as someone photographed
what has never been seen - just as if i'd
briefly been transformed by technology into a god
with passive superhuman powers it was odd
that at the time my mind wasnt blown by the implications
just by my disappointment at the limitations

may 7th

a poem about jazz



ive been silent for too long
but with the first chorus of the first song
under my fingers
i dont have to think as
once again im caught
in the collective thought
of jazz
hear the rhythm, feel the groove
drop the ego theres nothing to prove
just blow
and let go
and the flow of the
jazz is within you the
jazz bone muscle sinew the
jazz your creating the
jazz were restating the
jazz reinstating the
jazz
how can we be over so soon after begining
call another tune cand count ..2.. me ..2, 3, 4.. in

may 6th

a poem about saturdays



in theory saturday
is my day - my only day
to spend how i please
when im not an employee
yes saturday is meant
to be mine for advent-
ures, expeditions, excitement
but another one - try as i might - went
by in a hazy
blur of lazy
lack of crazy
wake up