and this morning i wanted a cigarette

the stench of quitting hung in the air
thicker than any smoke
you could taste it on mens breaths as their
resolutions made them choke
a cloud of collective health-consciousness lingered
round each packetless pocket and purse
the drumming of distracted fingers
tuneless tapping tense and terse
and i wanted a cigarette more than ive ever wanted a cigarette before
and i wanted more
a fistful of fags and a faceful of fumes - o cigarettes galore
i wanted to blow smoke in their faces and shout "are you sure?"
stop stopping, quit quitting maybe who you were is fine
and if your wife wont let you, you can still have a clandestine
secret affair with the lover who warms you like fire
i would have been preaching to the choir
with a patch on your sleeve but never in your heart
a new year should be about a new start

triggered by a conversation about holioaks in the city

would you like to see me model bras?
the lacy lines of lingerie highlighted by the scars
of harm that decorate my arms
or do these tracks distract from other charms?
quite the reverse,
my souvenirs of hurt
just make my breasts look pert
your heartrate quickens through
staring at my knickers do
you want me or do my scars sicken you?
would you like to see me model bras
on adult spinoff tv? my old scars
were never really there - just actress faking
conveniently forgotten when im making
a slightly differnt show and a lot more cash
so just shut up and ogle at my pants

i cant believe i have a baby

all it took were a few hours of someone elses agony
and now i get to clutch your tiny body close to me
bask in reflected beauty and try to resist the quickening
of the urge to spluge emotion through a pen into a sickening
"you changed my life" kind of song - you know, like will smith did -
but you're way too cool to let me be that dorky - we'll resist it

august 1st

a haiku about a very british idiosyncracy




a grown man coats his
spaghetti carbonara
with ketchup - i cry

july 31st

a poem about a nap



i miss the mental dreams i had while sleeping in the daytime
so with three days hard work out of the way i'm
laying down to die a little
whatever i should do instead it'll
wait
sedate
i lie prostrate
and dream of being incognate

july 30th

a poem about a harvester hangover



eat all the salad you want, they said
take a bowl help yourself from the cart
i needed my moneys worth, though someone else paid,
so i ate one salad just as a starter
one as a side salad and one more for luck
and with casual disregard for my heart
each one was smothered with dressing and muck
i felt like the king at the time but alas
this morning i feel like im ready to chuck
bloatedly floating on warm jets of gas
as my salad condenses to one fecal mass

july 29th

a poem about moving



as everything i own is crammed
into a rented transit van
and a couple of cars and a few people's hands
struggling silently to summon the trust
that people will protect my possessions they bus
with requisite care from a crash or a crush
worrying if i wrote fraggle not fragile
when packing in haste or illegible tag while
differentiating "to box" or "to bag" - i'll
cut to the chase i have blown to much capital
on consumer durables to risk a mishap at all

july 28th

a poem about an airpump



stopping at the petrol station
because my tyres need inflation
a problem with the regulation
let me and my tyres down

the shop employee shakes his head
"it worked earlier" he said
what will he offer me instead
not even an apology

july 27th

a poem about un-archiving



i filled a dozen heavy bags with secure waste
from 1997/98
that wasnt worth keeping in the first place

july 26th

a poem about a bag




today i saw a plastic bag soaring majesticly
dancing in an updraft - it was just like that movie
by which i mean of course that they were both a bit of trash
momentarily mildly entertaining as i was walking past

july 25th

a poem about correlation



through casual-glance social experimentation
ive discovered there is no correlation
between the attractiveness or otherwise of a body
and its owners willingness to reveal it in slutty
clothes - though the inferrence
is that its somehow related to confidence
factored in with tollerence
to the payoff between hotness and hollers - once
youve been wolfwhistled by builders i suppose
you learn whether youve got what it takes to walk round in skimpy clothes

july 20th

a poem about skylines



the sky today has that surreal
quality that makes scenery
seem superimposed like you could peel
it off some background screen - a re-
usable sticker book
thumbnail pick away raised outlines
peel back the edges have a look
you may just be surprised to find
the world's a sham behind the scenes
like "reality" on the tv screens

july 19th

a poem about summer in the city


regina's line about cleavage is my earworm
as the warmth raises levels of therm-
ometers and skirts - embracing melanoma
captured in a capsule of communal commute home a
topless tattooed builder, a sweat-suffering suit
a pair of ladies fan themselves and in a move knut
after his trouble with tides would have recognised at fut-
ile they wish fervently and loudly it was cooler
but youll never win by whining and theyll never be the ruler
of the climate or the time it takes until the next ice age
i reckon they'll be dead by then - though i dont know their precise age

APOLOGIES AND EXPLANATIONS

i am a muppet

2 months ago i lost the ability to post to this blog due to a catalogue of errors which would only make me look more stupid were i to try to explain them away.
i continued to write this blog offline and will try to get all that stuff up, although i think ive lost a large chunk of that as well


lets call this zero again shall we - maybe the next chapter will be more reliable

july 18th

a poem about direction



changing in another place to head a different way
a matter of a few degrees deviation since yesterday
a shift in shifting background scenes that somehow still feels wrong
accept the truth i have to travel this way from now on

july 17th

a poem about listening



i know i had fun talking
but did you listen?
as i scribbled and gibbered and got animated
imparting the start of a chart of a startling truth
i may only have been knowledge not wisdom
but did you listen
you were there and you stared did you care or was your nodding
just humouring, or mental runimation
is there any point in persisting
did you listen

june 1st

a poem about futility


i did the groundwork - thought i was prepared
but it all proved worthless when i got there
and due to "circumstances" we couldnt go ahead
we hung around for a bit on the street instead
got bored and went home

may 31st

a poem about singing



in a cold empty room
she sings twisted lullabies
in front of a list
of dead men

casts a wilted bloom
aside as the sound dies
ceasing to exist
then starting again




thanks mandy

may 30th

a poem about the theory of approximate physical equality

blocking the pavement
almost as if theyve meant
to offend
a girl snogs her boyfriend

she of below average beauty
though her bum seemed fairly cute (he
was furiously fondling it and
i could barely see it past his hands)
he was similarly visually mediocre
with no obvious redeeming physical feature
i think she could have done better
though it didnt look like he would let her

may 29th

a poem about throwing things away



ive always abhorred it
but the time has come for a memento audit
gaping blackholebinbag gravity
draws things away as heartpangs grab at me
the previously precious so callously discarded
converting treasures to trash no matter how hard its
eems - the me that kept them is not the same as me
and ill never return to being who i used to be

may 28th

a poem about unexpected praise


the unifying factor
of my detractors
you give a ringmasterclass in mocking
so in many ways
your one subtle word of praise
was as meaningful as it was shocking

may 27th

a poem about getting wet



hesitation
my trepidation
about precipitation
is those first transitional seconds
as the torrents convert me from dry to sodden
through the surface tension into the state of being wet and
accepting

may 26th

a poem about tasnim



im a junky for your chunks of meat in bangladeshi gravy
without your amchoor aloo im jonesing and im craving
the tang of tamarind must be laced with something addictive
youre my pusher of peshwari - dealer of the curried fishes
blood more spicy than an iv and when the meal is over
my pulse joins in that tune you play with far too much vocoder

may 25th

a poem about motivation



i get up in a haze
of apathetic rage
i stumble bumble tumble
some way through the days
im not sure whether i ever
had motivation
im not clever and i never
found remuneration
in money worth the effort that i needed just to earn iti
ve got to have a reason - i just wish i could discern it
ive given up on fame - its lame - im too ugly for tv
and i stopped trying to be popular about 1993
its great when i create something almost posessing beauty
but its not enough to live for and i have no sense of duty
i despise the pride and prjudice of a patriotic nation
theres no need to spread my seed throughout the overpopultation
we can survive without a drive for constant procreation
i may be slow but im not slowing
never knowing what keeps me going

but i think its probably you

may 24th

a poem about missing people



you were missing
but im not sure if you were missed
and though its probably ture
we'd notice if you didnt exist
im not sure who cared
that you werent there
though we may not be a quorum
i remain pretty sure im
the only one who remembered
to be missing
the missing -
missing
you

may 23rd

a poem about stupid questions



i know
thats not the an-
swer you were looking for
but its
the an-
swer to
the questions youre asking
come back
when you
know how
to ask for what you want
i cant
cope with
all your
irrelevant interogation

may 22nd

a poem about shallowness



dont try to pretend what youre saying is deep
youd be out of your depth in dawsons creek
or a puddle or a piddle or a dolls house bathroom sink
you have so much to say but so little to think

may 21st

a poem about tunnels



winding a lazy meander
under ground
under the water
narrow tube of traffic
a horizontal edifice
illuminated artificially
and at this time of night
theres less light
at the end

may 20th

a poem about packing boxes


flat
to empty
to full of memories
in less time than it takes
for life to do the same

may 19th

a poem about trying not to watch big brother



i know i say this every year
but this time i am steering clear
of big brother
i know that every other
series i have started with good intent
i certainly never meant
to sit and stare in wonderment
and wonder where the wonder went
we dont care for the spectacular we only want a spectacle
to react reactionarily - to pretend we have a practical
impact on exactly what we're seeing on our tv
its like when childrens bbc replaced jackanory
with ill fated series "whats your story"
a week long weak drama written by phone in commitee
fronted i think by sylvester mccoy who
used to be doctor who

but maybe im wrong or just getting confused
the point is they dont make tv shows like they used to
just set up, point a camera and get out
like an infinite beadles about
and a dull one at that
the box boxes us in like schoedringers cat
if we look we're finished - if we dont we only might be
i can resist for days on end but im captured by the nightly
live feed as im failing flailingly to be dreaming
did somebody fill my veins with coffee with no cream in
my body needs inertia but cant quite fill my brain in
i'm paralysed with "meh" and in need of entertaining
it wont be long til theyre people not just shapes
and then probably merely seconds til theyre objects of my hate
big brother - i'm not bothered, but show something moronic
and i'll soon be addicted to pouring scorn upon it

may 18th

a poem about a test



theres a part of me that wants to be proud
but its not a success
that can separate me from the crowd
who's going to be impressed
that im now officially as good
at what everyone does
as everybody else should
be? but at least ive turned them into us

may 17th

a poem about self recrimination




ive been thinking about what you said
its not just the things which upset
or disappoint but also your regrets
and mistakes to which you can apply
the rule that important things you can let slip by
but insignificant worries replay and replay in your mind

may 16th

a poem about umbrellas



if i were given power to control
the laws that govern others - my vitriol
would outstrip compassion in my plan
and top of the list of things that i would ban
is the umbrella
i would criminalise their sellers
manufacturers and fellas
who carry them as well as
anyone who even thinks they are good
whats wrong with a hood
which keeps an individual dry
without posing danger to the eyes
of an innocent passer-by
with pointy spider spikes
i would rather we all got wet
than have selfish strangers prod my head
in passing
so im passing this law
someone should have done it before
ill be the umbrella
queller

may 15th

a poem



sometimes i feel full to bursting
with nothing

may 14th

a poem about the dump



even the rubbish
is a victim of the system of segregation
each skip a select clique
from electricals down to rotting vegetation
im struck by how cliche this
is as a metaphor for the class system at the heart of our nation

may 13th

a poem about seafood barbecue (almost)



i wasnt expectong to have anything expected from me
but i seem to have ended up as an ad hoc commis
prepping a section
listening to zeppelin
letting music, food and camaraderie rock me
feeling too much like that fat-tongued mockney
the organisational skills may be lacking
but the fish is delicious and the prawns are cracking




_______________________________________
a quick thank you to those people who have sent me encouragement about this project. to know that someone else might be looking is inspiration to try to raise my game

and a quick plug for h's poem blog - link in the sidebar

may 12th

a poem about a strange realtionship



its always good to hear from hay
she claims not to have much to say
yet somehow always finds a way
to make me have a better day
i laughed hard enough to blow my computer in
when she regaled with tales of cat neutering
or whether sandwich establishments suit urine
and i dont think i know anyone astuter - in
fact she been there for me if im down or upset
she knows when to admonish and when to abet
shes the kind of ally i can never forget
she's the best friend that i never met

may 11th

a poem about the inexplicable



last to leave the pub, much later than i realised
in disbelief i stop to rub my beer-eyes
not far off a white wedding
dress stumbles, lurches heading
my way unflattering on an flatterable figure
- take an average builder only two thirds bigger -
have i entered a surreal dream bubble
within the real world - im not seeing double
but i am seeing a skinhead with copious stubble
the kind you might see and be wary of trouble
in a white wedding dress and some white high heeled shoes
walk the straight forceful gait of the nothing to lose
with the occasional stumble of drunkenness
lurching from steetlights to puddles of darkness
then hes past me and leaving a view of the tatts
on his neck and the gape of his dress at the back
and leaving me wondering if i had dreamt it
or was it a message and if so who sent it
or was it a bet - if so what did he win
or was it his own way of just being him

may 10th

a poem about tourists



a young mediterranean couple
stop me on the bridge
with that tourist request
for an improvised photographer

some american guy
seems more than confused
by the worst guitarist either of us have ever heard
busking random noises

a girl who seems to young
to be touristing alone
seems terrified of the homeless
or did i misread that

a gang of friends
in skimpy german clothes
laugh in that way that makes you wish
you were in on their jokes

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

may 5th

a poem about semiregularity



sometimes you want to go
where nobody knows your name
but someone recognises your face
and treats you well
these are the joys of being a semiregular
all the benefits of being appreciated as an individual
with none of the needless hassle of conversation
i would rather know people by nod
than by name

may 4th

a poem that might be more just a little rant




if i hear one more person
make the awful starwars joke
or talk about the sequential time and date
they slept through
i might just have to yell

"noone cares
and anyone who did might care
or has ever cared
or could possibly even be persuaded to care
tortured into caring
or forced to pretend to care
has heard this
more than enough times
to be sick of it"

may 3rd

a poem about inferiority


its always reassuring
when youre in-
credibly bad to
see someone struggle worse than you ever had to

may 2nd

a poem about poems


i never wrote a poem for financial gain
i never even really wrote a poem to get fame
though i have seen other poems and wanted to do the same

i have written poems as catharsis for pain
i have written poems as way of keeping sane
and ive sometimes written poems just to get thoughts out of my brain

i never wrote a poem for a contest or a prize
i never wrote a good poem in several hundred tries
though ive written many poems - any way and any size

ive written poems about drowning in eyes
ive written poems about things that i despise
and i even wrote a poem or two about hemlines rising up thighs

i never wrote a poem to try to earn respect
i never wrote a poem to try to get me sex
no wait, scrap that i tried, it was just i didnt get

ive rarely written poems for humourous effect
ive often written poems to commemorate upset
and for every poem like there are a couple of dozen i reject

i never wrote a poem that could make me belong
i never wrote a poem thats literarily strong
and poems i write often seem to end up as songs

a thoughts too short - a poem flickers then its gone
i worry when a poem i write starts to get too long
i feel like my poems on that game show waiting for the gong




---------------------------------------------------------

im feeling all biblical about the way this blog is now 40 poems old

may 1st

a poem for labour day



im not quite sure how but i was too caught
up in my own busyness to spare a thought
for the international brotherhood of workers

so much for showing solidarity
a vague desire for greater parity
seems to be whats left of my indignation

i hardly had a heart for rioting
but my protest songs are now sung too quitely
long defore theyve served their pupose

i never changed the world with a 2 chord song
i never used my art to right a wrong
never pressed my claim for compensation

against the careless iconsideration of the wto
but its still labour day and ive still got the chance to show
the world only seems to value the intrinsically worthless

so though i cant be arsed to riot that dont mean that i dont care
im still some kind of fighter - fairly free and freely fair -
i may never be che, but hey a beret would muss my hair
and the televised revolution generations everywhere
bringing systems down from inside - far too gently but i swear
theres revolt in my revulsion and a bullet in my stare
we'll find out how to poison cream - so fat cats had best beware
were flicking v signs at the back of globalisation

april 30th

a poem



somewhere in my head a MIDI brass
section with its ersatz blare is blas-
ting out its wrongswung block chord harmonies
i put them there - now they wont let me be
a weak imitation
a "laugh at the foreigner" translation
they create the right vibration
in the air but not my soul

april 29th

a poem about a pub



somehow i seem to have ended up
in greater londons least efficient pub
its quite full but cant be called busy
but none of the barstaff want to service me
im not sure if thats because theyre, arrogant, lazy
or just too stupid to need less than three
of them to work the debit card machine
10 minutes or so later im served
by the arrogant blonde one whose words
try to imply "im breezy but aplogetic"
whilst body language screams that "im-fit-and-i-work-behind-a-bar" rhetoric
when shes neither all that nor strictly speaking working
unless her job description reads "flirting and shirking"
so now im too much poorer
with not-quite-a-pint of beer
which im glad to have drunk
but not entirely sure
im pleased that it had to be here