may we all be heard
words are bells
let them ring!

Thom World Poet Austin, Texas, USA
Global Radical networker and activist for promoting the live Creative Arts,
at every possible opportunity, especially in his home-city, Austin, Texas, USA

Friday, September 30, 2011


Julia and Chris wished to share their bliss-where they were engaged upon the hills of Dorking
So we drove in the van to a track and walked back to where the view was spectacular
We had seen WW2 pillboxes dotted among the green slopes
still waiting for some invasion of the Euro
We sat down in a concave space/picked blackberries
and wondered which type of mushrooms were most edible
Did i mention that the view was astonishing?North and South Downs split with a plain
wherein trains passed by to Reading and Woking.
We wandered smilingly sharing time and energies
back to the track wherein cars slipped sleekly down through slips
into towns still open and waiting.Goodbye forests of Surrey
Farewell, Dorking and environs.Bye bye woods and Julia and Chris
Thank you for sharing your engaging bliss!

Wednesday, September 28, 2011


Watch i as he dances with ingredients-assembling baked beans,eggs,sausages,chips
each frying,bubbling,boiling,beaten into harmonic patterns over fires on the gas range
He herds and musters,cuts ,slips,carries,pours each on to ceramic plates
wide enough to hold the whole spectrum of a Big British Breakfast
Slim enough to aid digestion.This is ART!-in the making/creating/presentation
We each devour in moments what took almost hours to prepare
Legends arise about the night we ate morning food,
rhythms of the day became confused.
Mastication is an art form,too
Next time,we will time each item
to make sure we fit within our proper eating seasons

Forget Malvinas,Margaret Thatcher,General Belgrano-
tonight is open mike and the talent is young and hungry
Tribes gather to support and encourage-spluttering songs through microphones
to reach the willing ears of those assembled here.
Night fires on until almost 11 pm,and young man first time
begins anthem HATE ME!to his generation
Silence enters the room-respect grows
He worries about flat notes-but carries the night
with an arc and a smile made of pure delight!
He has been tribally initiated-glows with accomplishments
Thanks the host for creating this sonic temple
goes home with his parallel friends/transformed
Trans forming...

Atlantic prawns and
calamari ,chips, whitefish
Add some ketchup,too!


This plain pub of oaken beams and stout construction was built in 1476
years before Columbus discovered America-a century before
the Greensleeves played by Anchovy on classical guitar tonight
In fact,before this form of classical guitar became standard
So when the stage is cleared for original poetry and music
evocations of previous incarnations became as close as beer
Men with beards still stood at the bar .Conversations still rose
with laughter and camariderie in the night-but the fact that 
the huge square gas lamp outside was now electric-and the lead lined windows
had thick panes of original glass-also tinted the starlit night
Tiny toilets and hidden gardens where sun has played with snow and rain
made this sanctuary more than history.We were playing to more than those assembled
Ghosts and shadows of past drinkers,thinkers,players,singers
gathered around,surrounding fact,they outnumbered us
The weight of ages,of histories sunken in oak and daub
awaits those next waves of sounds,incorporating all
within the slim thin mobile phones of texters and callers

Monday, September 26, 2011


She knows where the cheap aisles glow-
generics and half price items-tea bags 30 p
milk one pound-essentials like bread and sugar
gather in her Holy Hands as she scoops them up
vigilant as hawk for her hunting and gathering
means sustenance and nourishment for all
within her settlement.She flashes fast past high prices
checks coupons for bargain basement styles
selectively editing what is presented for her eyes
as she only ever carries a small cage(wire)
Now she deposits all upon conveyor
Now she checks and calculates
Life is like a kingfisher morning-
one can neither wait nor hesitate..
Now she has paid and gained her points card
Now she is planning her return
Like every shopper for survival
this is the theme we all must learn alike...
Lightning strikes...


Post STATION PUB (Nutfield) performance,Chris decides to share what he loves
It is these woods of Surrey-backroads thin and as yet untouched
He spins the van through impossible angles,like an Ark of the Covenant
points out stories of his past which live in these woods yet
Stretches of A25 out of the old Reigate Road-where kids like him would race their cars
pre-speed cameras and waiting police.Motorcycle courier in London,
he learned the Art Of Speed-he could take any road
and get to where was need.He pointed out places that meant the world to him
driving through woods on a clear Sunday night-re-entering his dreams
Lights on the trees showed a world that was true and clear
He knew all the backroads and alternatives to these
I was grateful to see this side of a world i had flashed past
even if the lights of the van could never hold  back the dark
There are spaces we will visit that mean the world to us
To share these is a privilege/to return to art life spark!


Start with your face mask down in the Thames-
see eels,crayfish,weeds,fast fish flash past
Join a diving group-seek wrecks to peek at
dive deep in clear water among Liberty ships
sailing ships from another century,hulks
with unexploded ammunition and craters surrounding
World Wars make more skeletons to explore
You can float gently down in to another world
within the shell of a past that was once beloved
Know that what remains is only artifacts post plunder
and most have been long ago stripped of significance
Maybe you will find a Uboat wrecked off Cornwall
plates and heels of boots once worn/little cannonballs
you carry home to remind you =you dive in to the past
once you commit to the deep/these dreams return
every time you sleep...

Sunday, September 25, 2011

did i forget to mention?

the astonishing sunshine-how it opened blue skies between clouds?
those green lighted trees that touched across roadways
and made another green world into parks?
the brightness of musicians whose sole putrpose in playing
was to add to the general joy-those jam sessions that led to
unknown meanings/with ellipses and soundscapes employed?
the kindness of friends who made each moment golden
with care and consideration/hospitalities
and those new visions and versions of elders
whose wisdom added to each of these?
did i share how happy i am to be here
in this English moment,with these English folk
and all the hates and hurts and horrors
recede like a hairline/like a tide for a surfer on the way out?

let us go for a Sunday drive-down to an English beach

big van to Littlehampton-down little laneways among Cathedrals of Trees
we village after village-thin snail trail roads made for oxen of another century
Fast cars splashed past-Sunday cyclists,motorbikers gathering in pubs
Sunday lunch families on picnics-down to climping beach
where the barrier had to be raised for the van's high yellow lights
We sat on the stones and rocks of tides past and still to come
built imaginary rock empires-half Twin Towers,half Tower of Babel conversations
Little  rock universes,seashell stars,solar system shells climped together
We paid for the time and rode in to the green trees,
through forests and woods adjacent to streams
where children fed mallards and we made jokes
about real estate and fences against woods
Icecreams later,on a National Trust view
we drove round Sussex and Surrey  anew
to see Chapels of Trees we had never seen before
This may be a little world ,with little fields and little roads
yet the spaces between the cages make for wonders of ages
suns shines within you-enjoy the view!

LYMINGE WRITERS GROUP(Lyminge Library ,Kent-Saturday September 25,2011

Libraries are the right space for poets-roomy,airy,casual,kind
So when they gather (with a theme of ANIMALS-
it is always more than you would normally find
One by one,their love of form and harmony
finds sound and sentences,shape and structure
Ears sharply alert,smiles fully engaged-
worlds within words winged their way inside
as sunshine spread across the windows wide
Each uni-verse orbit clicked in conjunction
when each of those present gave the gift of their presence
One will be doing a theme of SACRED AND SECULAR
Another adoring the art of Mary Oliver
It is what you love will save you-
poetry and harmonies,community in libraries-
all adds to the light in that room-
every time they meet/greet
sweet as a smile on the moon!
until she asked permission
to rise up to the microphone
and allow her own flower voice to bloom
The roomn heard her-silence around her
Quiet normally,she followed the dolphin waves
and stayed with the musicians.She sang of magick and the moment-
how her musician was her lover-how love illuminates
and Light heard every word.Again she rose to lament the loss
of one who left his body (musician)leaving only a body of work
Remembrance part of the ritual.She blessed us all-
Cinderella midnight,as we packed up cords in the van
and carried home her harmonies again..

DUKE's HEAD(Capel-Friday 23 September,2011

Given a back room in a pub anywhere-
bring in your musical accessories(professional)
Start the jam even if you are on your own-
join with the fun when others come-
but start your art as part of the future
Any space is a base for adventures!
Harmonics in voice,guitar,poem,song
all add more to the vibe that fills that room
Space stations begin with such a spinning orbit!
You have tonight to explore more sound imagery
Every second may unfold like a map
for any explorer who walks through the door
instrument in hand-plug in to the band
and make new what has never happened before
(and if a poet may enter the mix-add him to the licks
that add to the kicks that make the room soar more
than ever before-for any bright soul who enters your door!

Saturday, September 24, 2011


Magician of the ukelele-refugee from Manchester-in Petersfield one evening
called upon by the host to read a poem-he sits..Silence...tension
then he bursts into song!Tonight he plays his ukelele like a sitar
or some Japanese koto-when asks to play,he begins with jokes
then flashes to a John Cooper Clarke style Mancunian rant
holding the audience to ransom and only releasing them after a wordstream
slows to a drizzle.He smiles and sits down,Zen.
Genius magician/musician/wordman-he has come to Write Angle to play
with the assembled poets who know him as theirs
He has found a home in their arts.He shows me to my car-we laugh
with the wordjam released for another evening/he can dream
Mancunian humoring in another fine Petersfield WRITE ANGLE scene

Sunday, September 18, 2011


We met @midday @the Guardhouse/with a wondrous view of Huddersfield Valleys
We stepped down stone to the path to the Folly/where we formed a circle on seats and rocks
Poetry began ,and was fresh for the folk who saw themselves in verse worked  for them
Jeff played his guitar to accompany/Trevor composed rhymes for the moment
Martin shared love poems in public and jokes in private
Passerbyes stopped,listened,imbibed.Rain waited for the lines to end.Sunshine rhymed.
We sat,meditated,levitated together-sharing our lives as we have done for twenty tours.
Around us,trees,plants,the sounds of Sunday sports,traffic filtered backdrop of sounds
much as the Castle Folly became visual Shakespeare set for our modern Romeos.
Children on excursion trooped slowly past,listening ,absorbing
Men with dogs on leash were invited both to hear and speak
Courtesies were extended to each and all and every.Magical,unique,friendly-
If you come across FACEBOOK photographs,or YOUTUBE videos
know that none of these fine images can represent more than a leaf in the storm-
a branch of the human tree still hearing poetry/where the outside world
hears only  ...


Iconic image of one man falling with grace towards his most certain end
from a Tower hit by an icon of Western Civilisation.Two collided-both ended.
One will arise while the other will be reinvented.Pre-censorship,we
watched his fall as if from Eden in the sky-a choice made
to be followed by others high above help.To die usually takes lifetimes.
Brief flight as more than metaphor.Wingless weight.Choice taken.
Only afterwards the censors denied decisions-'they were pushed'
Splats upon pavement cut from broadcasts/as were images of so  many others..
One falling man when one in ten made the same decision.
Even when his identity revealed,questions remain-why?how?
Through broken windows or from heights of Towers
Sailing down with improvised failing tablecloth parachutes
we all watched.Until the TV became official  commentary
and the truth of image stolen from our eyes views.
Since that day,we have all fallen -into wars,casualties,pride,anger,distrust
A new Tower reflects our need to rise again.
One falling man disputes all our opinions.

stone fences

he is learning stone fences-
the art of assembling stone to keep sheep in
and foxes out.Centuries have piled stones/made fences between us
Walls and fences divide both ownership and titles.Wars make walls
to define and divide us from each other.He is young enough to see
how houses made of stone defeat winters of discontent and freeze,
how homes of stone will shelter all and every and each
how the materials of age are used to keep all young warm
how we are sometimes made of stone.He learns
by watching and example.Perfection can wait.
He is young enough to ses how fences outlast we
whose time upon this rock is only temporary.
He has time,learns in time,as walls rise around him
Soon he will be made of stone,and will assemble his life by hand
and a home will be built around him.He is art.Life loves him.

Saturday, September 17, 2011


World Wars forgotten.China is right-trade is the front line
Foreign foods with European labels stack in rows and boxes
along with kitchen utensils,wines and cleaning materials
Bargains await with circus colours /here be juices of exotic sources
as diverse as those nationalities at home here from all countries
Bright as the signs denoting price cuts/should you forget your bag
a trolley costs one (refundable)pound while plastic bags 5p to 9p depending on size
There are TESCO TRIBES,Sainsbury Solo Shoppers,Morrisons Minions-
 all as different as their prices.i like Lidl,ALDI,NETTO-generic ,anonymous,open
so long as you have the dosh,the cash,the dollars,the Euros,the pounds-
you are as welcome as any body else.Maybe one day you will end up
on their shelves...


River of consciousness/content slips past SPAM filters
to lodge in the best minds of my generation/all of whom are online 24/7
aware of change and the formats required to adapt
Laptop dancers no longer Internet Cafe-they have their own server/blog/website/PAYPAL account
set up business at the drop of a password.Mobile as phones,independent as data,
niche markets met via digital demands.No going back to abacus.calligraphy,telegram.
New new replaces/displaces faster than WIRED magazine.Soon we may be MATRIX linked
via command modules implanted as dogs and Alzheimers patients already are.
Sooner we are already subject to universal surveillance with all signals intercepted
Soonest airline security will become Mall security,school security LOCKDOWN
Soon everyone will be scanned as a potential terrorist
Stare in to the camera-watch your image identification(facial recognition)be found
Own the process or be subject to it.2011 more advanced than 2001 and 1984.
Equinox streams Netflix history channel conspiracy theories
Tune in-turn your self on-drop signal data-update your cliches
Physical immortality =cockroaches,rats,plastics,radiation
The new new new will have this sold back to you in an updated format
All that matters is whether you can rent,borrow,download or buy your data
All data is replaceable/neutral.Only we impute meaning to the new new new new


Sarah Palin followers see her as the Second Coming
Rationality fails against propaganda
even when her movie fails/she entertains
despite data to the contrary
Building7 was a demolition job
UFOs exist @ Area 51
All myths and legends have an element of truth
Nellie lives in Loch Ness
Right wing think tanks affirm right wing views
Media news mediates mass opinions
Data selection reinforces prejudices
Believe what you want to
Your GOOGLE searches seach you
You leave a trail of data behind you
Forensics can find you
anytime they want to
Conspiracy theories may all be true
What if all and none were  ?


On the brightest day of the season,we walked among the fabrics
Gold and jewels sparkled on scarves and tunics/Asia ,India,Pakistan
draped with cultures perambulating aisles to a Cafe where a milky coffee
met a Yorkshire Pudding (stew)in a public sunshine conversation.
We strolled through exotic second hand shops /stopped outside a fish and chip shop
taste tested TESCO /returned to the free car park to seek Beaumont Park...
In the heart of Huddersfield,a public park of 29 acres with foxes,rabbits,birds and visiting dogs
all hidden in cycles and seasons with mothers and babies in strollers among trees,shrubs,greenery
rocksolder than any family-a Folly central and stellar,awaiting you midday Sunday...
BRISTOL,where the weather,like traffic lights,changes
We sit in the Morocco Cafe ,couscous and lamb
Bright as the art of SEE NO EVILmurals
on walls long daubed by Banksy,one of many
whose tidal estuary port of call welcomes volunteers Acoustica
conversation as community..


All her world is art and always has been.Pink is her color/scarlet her theme.
Her kitchen imports a new black refrigerator/freezer.
She stubs her toenail shifting it in here.Blood red in her shoes-a new splot style
She smiles as the throb turns blue and black as bruise
Pink looks thin now with these new deep red daubs.Blood in her shoes
blood on the floor.Her black refrigerator rhymes with black blue bruise
tea tree oil in warm water/a bandage/she feels new.To be pink in a world of red throb
All her art is coloured.

The refrigerator came wrapped in plastic.Plastic within more plastic.
The river has Coke bottles plastic floating/detritus/debris
When we die,will we be stored in plastic?Radiation and plastic live forever-
our small four score and ten a scratch in plastic eternities. Make me temporary..

It took a while for the rain to fall like a curtain upon our walls
Cold moved in first to reconnoitre-streams sang down to street level
Home is where you stare at the cold world outside
while staying dry within


Text changes via technology.Before history,it was lists ,almanacs,herds ,ownership
Even Bibles were chained to Latin pulpits.Museums of dead languages(French Academy)
Only a few could own books/papyrus re-purposed/reused/recycled as palimpset
Reproduction  was oral as troubador/folk/blues/storytelling-until 78rpm/tape machines
substituted artifact for original performance/displacing griot and magician /soothsayer/medicine man
making a cult of the book/rules/obedience/military intelligence.Computers post Surrealism/cutups
make concrete poetry out of sliced texts .Copyright of GOOGLE maps?Classics post author's life?
Art assembles/montage/collage images-we READERS DIGEST words.Steal as re-purpose.
Romeo and Juliet(itself stolen from the Italian/becomes WEST SIDE STORY/musical /film.
PYGMALION becomes MY FAIR LADY becomes EDUCATING RITA /morphs American...
Originality a false god.Creativity via editing/riffing with allusion to themes and styles retro /perspective
NEW relies upon ignorance of OLD .My friend  is sueing GOOGLE for digitalising texts without permission.
Banksy and Damien Hirst ,Dali and Warhol showed appropriated images as their own
Factories of apprentices make signed art reproductions-like fake leather jackets sold at laybys.
Access to text almost universal-what is to be done?This digital mock literacy a supermarkup model-
if you can Wikipedia or Wikileak,what firewall can stop Anonymous?Intelligence agencies false fronts
test our readiness for digital warfare.It is ongoing.Access is not enough.Texting is not poetry
Internet programs have a genesis  in  military.Our exodus is when rioters use Twitter and Blackberry.
Syria and Iran and China censor the Internet and deny access.Modern literacy is an active application of activism.
Words are dogma/too slow for network news.Images of burning TVs and Burning Man the new Gutenberg
Grammarians run Museums.Dialecticians loot,burn,pillage ideas from Vandals and Vikings and Visigoths
Everywhere is burning-books,ideas,thoughts,concepts,emotions.The fire next time-another Ice Age?


Top hats (£35),Beatles LPs(in original unplayed condition-£45),
Silver sparkling antique jewelery displayed behind glass(various prices)
He hugs and smiles and mentions the best has been stored
'some lads in Manchester during the riots -my shop name was on their Twitter..'
We explore all the floors wherein violins,guitars,clarinets ,gongs assemble
with price tags denoting their antique status-mirrors,Bibles,chandeliers ,
all piled like refugees in random associations,stacked and ready..
He is as interesting as anything here-long hair beer barrel smiler
with a quick wit and a readiness to bargain.If i had £20, i would be top hat thom-
as it is i gain a smile and a survey of once loved artifacts,awaiting new lovers
Acts include the spinner of plates/folder of napkins
cutlery picker upper/server of entrees/taker of orders and the tablesetter
Ringmaster father orchestra leader guides his minions
with a deft switch of his eyes and  points the way to just desserts
In a previous lifetime/in some aspect of Italy-the circus migrated
to Huddersfield,where every night their inddor show attracts an audience
who pay not just for food-more the colours and presentations and lights
Yes-the Grappoli Family Circus will be serving YOU tonight!

'young people are only partially with us @any time' (Alex Krysinski)

texting ,phoning,distracted-their peer group calling
social networking,ongoing links with what is important
Tweeting on a Blackberry,using iphone and ipad easily
they are the children of this text mess internet,connected
at all times,accessible ,as Carol Ann Duffy says-
txting is the poetry of our childrens time
and their time is digital and instant as now.
We are so THEN-they are so ZEN
Ride the Tweets before they become as redundant as email
as obselete as telegrams and cord phones-
soon the young will have bar codes
may have matrix leads to connect to the cloud or the grid
probably will evolve beyond reptilian greed
into some as yet unseen digital downloaded Third Life dream
wherein we are all avatars,role playing life games temporarily
until transmission is interrupted via some violation of our firewalls
and a new hacker virus is imported via spyware or malware
to restore us back into some semblance of meatspace
whereby our children are less programmed -
more spontaneous,insurrectionist,individual ,anarchic,artistic
carriers of their generation's bliss-this temporary time tuned planet
calling each to each..


Texting @Grappolo's @Marilyn's birthday
Texas hats and a clap for her special day
Italian pizza ,a seafood feast-half our oceans drained
to fill our appetites.Ethan 's GAMEBOY Behaviour Modification Machine
distracting him from a table full of celebrants.
All gods and goddesses resurrect in Huddersfield
as it is in heaven/always has been-and will be again
Beaumont Park midday Sunday 18 September!

Drink from the free tap behind the Chalice Well Gardens
Opposite the Red Dragon iron-laden waters=
Candles,flowers,apples,altars await-
within the dark,a circular pond wherein
you may divest your garments ,stand
and sing within the waters.Man with a dragon tattoo
immerses,splashes,stands in this cave dedicated to the waters
we drink from and came from and absorb back in drought heart times
Carry these waters with you at all times.

You first sketched the art on skin
that curls tattoos in /now you witness worlds
of Sade and Masoch.Pornography not as interesting
 as those Hellfire Clubs wherein all fantasies of flesh
might resurrect in scripts and costumes and trust
to involve consenting adults.Share the truth of this=
who is your audience?All of us.


These open air art galleries/diverse oxygen factories
help dilute toxic dragon fire carbon footprints/end @elders
Art matters-Yorkshire Sculpture Park-hidden art altars within homes
add to the dreaming trails.Gardens matter-composting organic materials
for roses to bloom and food to grow from seed to flowering
Seasonal apples,pears(windfalling)/walnuts harvesting
domestic flowers in every pot.Indoor herbs for healing
making bounty out of beauty.This pilgrimage to The Blessed Isles-
towards the Good,the Beautiful and the True.You matter(it is no matter)
Your energies call and this growing world responds in reasons seasonal.
Everything matters.It is not matter.Energies are all we are..

Winter is a dreaming season/cold comes in and will not leave
Your skin as white as snow/nights both dark and cold
You dream of Spring,and wait/half your life for Light
wind and rain spring to your green attention/this world is more than origins
Seeds always lead to harvesting.

Sunday, September 11, 2011


how many cathedrals and churches,abbeys and chapels
i have slipped in to -if only for the art and music and silence therin
a door opens(large wooden frame-we slip in
a pump organ playing with a trumpeter accompanying
we stand,witnessing(they neither see nor hear us
when they finish,we applaud with respect and leave
to seek the living music on these streets

here a Monsignori Theatre in Boulogne where Didiere Malherbe performed
to scattered French applause-outside a mall of cafes and restaurants
celebrating conversation

inside this huge church,an organ playing Bach
wrecked walls and blackened paint-an altar with a huge crucifix
the music heals all wounds-all wars around religion

parents and children in strollers sit and stare at parents and children in strollers here
their voices are plays -a universal language.the streets are singing...


Enter via Eurotunnel(Folkestone-lined up and security checked
Drive in to a double storey air conditioned carriage
each containing five cars parked snugly together
Directions are given via information LED-
20 minutes later we see Calais.
Sortie(EXIT)A16 to Boulogne on "The Opale Coast"
Sweet sea town with a one way system.
We seek her mysteries.Park and walk.

Was it her visual feast or the sweet aromas of treats
that led us in to the French lettered display of cakes
Baguettes later,filledwith crab,ham,cheese
with desserts Pan des cholate and Swiss
we are given a gift of croissants/as welcome
Smiles for the digital camera.A sit down feast
Every corner offers brioche,glace,tarte,pan chocolate-
aromas invite us inside.The smell of real cofffee calls-
rich as Croesus,the best of Gourmandie inside us.

Art is everywhere-sculpturesof sports figures on the A16
Verdigris green bronze statues of French Academy members
still standing in free flowing French fountains
Avenues named for Victor Hugo.Napoleon survives
as Rue de Napoleon(and we do!)-finding two centimes shining
yet the art we love and are most involved in is green-
one giant aubergine standiing ina roundabout tall and curved
Later,we seek the leek that lurks/those mushrooms that sprout
in public spaces where cars must adore them
Lifeis too fast to photograph/mere memories remain
Our love for food and art is sculptural
Call me-aubergine!

Thin streets .We park and walk/window shop
Perambulate past astonishing displays of art
buy only the basic essentials-
a Chinese fur horse with a knobbly knee
One pop gun with no pops
Cereal for the French milk morning
Chips for a bus shelter feast
Water to wash all these treats down
We seek the sea(the tide is out-
we walk to the water/on sand as solid as history
Hope loves the sea.She takes her shoes and socks off
and paddles to infinity

Hope asks as we see tiny fish and secret crabs
in the clear rock pools(rocks and sand surrounding)
Net men with their children are harvesting the retreating waves
for moules(mussels),flatfish,cockles,razor clams
As the tide comes in ,we retreat away
One huge cauliflower cloud overshadows
Wimereaux hotels and skyline.We sit on rocks
and dream ofhere as home.Night is coming.
We must find the tent.Temporary as tomorrow
We still have tonight!

FRENCH MOVIES(Les Guerrres est finie)
A fist fight erupts upon the streets of Wimereaux
We are watching from a five fist distance
One man,agitated,seeks another
as a lover(lost,angry) Alcohol?or just an argument?
The recipient judo kicks the punchdrunk
Women scream.Men separate the lovers.
Even dragged away,he must return-
a lesson to learn in the back of a van
full of le flic with witnesses in French
writing statemenst of slander.This moveie
camein colours of bruises-nothing black nor white
With no subtitles nor translation.

At Reception,she is laughing at me
when i ask for a discount for free humour
dispensed generously upon arrival
Her husband as flat as a blackcoffee
He sees only work and morbidity
She giggles like a little schoolgirl
when i asked "who killed your Indians?"
This is a theme camping park with tipis
and a huge cigar store Indian standing tall
like an accusation at the entrance
We all feel at home here(FRONTIERLAND!-
L'ete Indian Caravaning-like pioneers in a foreign land
We speak little French/laughter the boat
with so many passengers/defying translation.

TENT VS WIND & RAIN(French Indians)
It was blue calm when we arrived-
we had seen tipis on the horizon
swerved in circles towards them
went in to the Offfice(INQUISITION)
asked for a site for the evening
Passport,license,ID and 34 Euros later
Lot 121 on a grassy knoll our campsite
The tent is blue and moderrn,we are ancients
The bed is air inflated,we are the foot pumpers
The day is warm and we must set up settlement
before impending clouds bring in wind and generous rain
By miracle and black cat distraction,the tent is now diagonal
One side shelters mother and daughter
the otherfather and son.Between these,this snoring poem
We are by battery light beseiged by rain andnight
A gentle symphony of snores will soon zip these
adventures into one we will share for ever more
before the dawn...

In the blue tent(which is a chanber of laughter)
Max discovers a daddy longlegs
Hope discovers a moth in full flight
Previously,a black kitten with several exotic diseases
A tabby cat with a wobbly leg/both of which were freely bequeathed
by the camping establishment to anyone foolish enough
to feed them jambon and let them rest upon their sleeping bags
So the Boulange Camping Circushad now a managerie
ofimaginary spiders,migratory moths,oneblackkitten with exoticdiseases
one tabby cat with a wonky leg/2 smiling children dreaming of rescue
under the rain that stayed and played upon the tent
where a family dreamed Boulonge French dreams
imported from England..

Wissant-along the Coastal Road by morning
we made our way to Calais-stopped
by joggers and wads of walkers country hopping
Concrete poetry bunkers fromWorld War2
still remembered German eyes/while we
saw only digital camera witnesses to history
Ahain we stopped and shopped and walked
in a pilgrimage for coffee /past flowers and sculptures
and gardens that beamed Sunday.
We found our Eurotunnel way -dreamed home
Folkestone,Lyminge,Kent,Sunday September 11,2011

Saturday, September 10, 2011

always about to

and Zen/when act replaces intention
displacement in to the material phenomenon
elementary my dear particles-we are between spaces
the hung stars are historic light/long ago expired
we are temporary as parking meters/pay to be here
await the next as if /asif we can/trespass upon silences
withradio TVcomputer iphone ipad Gadgetland
awaiting each of us with a smile and a passporrt
to be stamped out by the next wave waving at the window
asking only to be let in to play with consciousness

being between.act and consequence.direction and result
map and the hidden worlds.winning is only what happens
when you decide to learn the art of losing everything

snow dreaming

it is not white-but it is silence
covering all .adding shapes and forms that lead to mimesis
snow people/snowballs..Stick limbs protruding/tilted hats/carrot nose
coal eyes.Slush while melting,mess and grey .Black ice dangers.
Skid through this.Stop when chains are insufficient
Like slaves,throw off restraints.Wildly mutiny!
Snow will not resist,just absorb.Soft mountains.Wait for water melt
Flow down guttering.Collapse roofs.Implacable weight.Snapped plumbing.
Mountains morph into emotional hills to reclusive blocked walks.Wait.
Time is water,running out.We become smaller under snowfall.
Winter is patience and endings.Lives of snowflakes,falling.
Merging in to one a lesson of snow.Non-negotiable instrument.
Mass over weight over time.Your life is snow.Fall...

The "B"word

each morning miracle a gift from brighter gods
each night dream a goddess
every moment's breath forestalling death
every tree =more oxygen
every wave a beach for dreamers
every sea a hidden fish
every sky new vapor trails
every instant =bliss!

losing the art

only one emotion @a time-i count clouds
and i fall like Twin Towers asleep-a dream enters(with antlers)-
asks me if my DELETE is working.
Editing recently means i do not know-so
i ask the dream what is the resolution.?
SNAP! back in to ocnsciousness/a daze passes
awaken in to sporadic washing washing-
thisis the way todays slipped like cards under my table
Tomorrow a movement motion French symphony
stringing familiars into threaded conversations
mixing silences with sound policies
Waking uptakes whole lifetimes/each day a dream
until night takes us deeper /further/braver
into an unknown unknown,and Donald Rumsfield resurrects
to remind us September 11 was an inside job.
Building 7 was a demolition..Bastrop bushfires.Love and amazement
You can only feel one emotion @a time
Make mine wonder!


in retrospect and miniature
Not Narcissus yet necessary myths
we need explore
Tantalus/Aesop/La Fontaine
need a retrofit/an update
to cover cautious optimism
and enhanced interrogation
All the ghosts of September 11
will rise up and address the nation
defying all popular sentimentalities
They pitch their bodies out of buildings
We have survivors guilt/compassion fatigue
know too much of massacres and intrigue/
fall of nations compromised by diplomacy
still"huddled masses yearning to breathe free"
underneath this one world economy=
you and me

people are disappearing

First the homeless one by one/in a jail cell or a Potters Field.
Next the young in schools or job cages.Then the old in rest homes with no rest.
(An empty bed one morning)And here we are among the anonymous
the shape of shadows slipping on the wall.Until noone round to comment
on this at all..

loving london

start with a one-day offpeak travelcard
for a highspeed javelin train between
ashford international and st.pancreas international.
Walk(or bus)your way to the National Portrait Gallery(free admission)
where english luminaries are depicted in oils and photographs
(This time Mick Jagger from the 1960s,with pix from record sleeves)
Walk(or bus)your way to Trafalgar Square ,where Prime Minister Cameron
is boosting the Para-Olympics,surrounded by best of Britpolice and many media
Walk to the Academy of St Martin In The Fields,then bus to St Paul's Cathedral
If you do not wish to pay admission,choose a buffet from Chinatown or Pizza Express
Catch more red buses to the Idea Generation Gallery.Stop at the Owl and the Pussycat pub.
Atten a launch of Nigel Waymouth's 1960s art,which launched the UFO club
talk to Mouse who did the lights for Sgt Peppers,and who shares the lyrics
dropped into the trash and casually left there.
Hear tales of legendary bands-Pink Floyd,Jimi Hendrix,Soft Machine
all who played the UFO club-a spawning ground for International Times
soon to become TIME OUT.Meet the survivors of the swinging 60s-
still bright of eye and sharp of mind.Respect is due their brave accomplishments..
Take some pix to prove you were among these luminaries
Catch a bus then train then bus then high speed train back to Ashford
Drive home after stopping at ASDA and talk excitedly about London,September 8,2011

you are your kittens/prepare well

count your days on a calendar if you will
my friend has guinea pigs/four have died/four remain
she cares for each with love and equanimity
each will die and not be replaced
they occupy a temporary space in her capacities
graveyards of guinea pigs litter her yard
Death is more than a mystery-it is an end
Every journey home needs to start at the beginning

Thursday, September 8, 2011

last days of the village pub

we need to meet.we need to talk.
we need to be with each other while it is possible
come on down to the pub and have a nattter
not a franchise pub with no choice of lager
more a warm wooden Ark of smiles and laughter
with two of every creature on the pool table
and bubbles of conversation filling the liquid air
This is not romance-nor history.It is happening as you read me
So i went down the local to see what is
and the Coach and Horses in Lyminge exists
as a village pub where folk still gather
to keep up with the news and each other
And we laughed and joked until the night grew dark
and we walked back home with a conversation sparked
by a space where words were both warm and welcomed
and we regretted the loss of this fine tradition
and we may never be here again/when
pubs are closed and closing /and
where can we meet in a time of austerity
to talk ourselves back into happiness and prosperity?

if these walls could dance

they would be all ages-
elderley arthritis bone jump
young spring step grass smiles
middle age plump matron jiggle
wild thin juverniles kicking high
it is the people make the music
instruments ofenergies in theirhands
they play the hall like exploratores
dance you in to another land
and the band may change but movement remains
the way to deal with work and woes
step inside theat dance hall and you will know
where the community goes..

Wednesday, September 7, 2011


forget you are in a different time zone-already in a new day
and you have already heard all those speeches
we are just getting exposed to.Revolution was a Beatles tune
and it had different endings-just like Russia ,China,Kampuchea
You want to believe in human nature-yet even that became a pop song
Every cliche has been expropriated.Every song a bandwidth and wagon.
In Frontierland,one can pretend the West goes on forever
You remember Chenobyl,acid rain,Sellafield
and must live among ruins of past invasions.
I can only visit .Grit tough and dirt poor,
you withdraw from debate when speeches
are replaced by muskets and bayonets
Bodies of miners ,Luddittes,Fenians,Chartists,Socialists,Communists
Karl Marx wrote his Manifesto in your British Library
Trade Unions still march on May 1
here,we believe all can be changed by a NEW NEW
You have seen the olden fall in to decaying mansions
You still have a National Trust.
Blake's New Jerusalem vision survived Industrial Revolutions
Punk music now as passe as mohawks and chains
I get distracted easily.Remind me again
about the cyclic chains of tides of history..

[austinpoetry] WAKA!

Woke to anew.
Lost shell old-
welcome to nothing!


This body/planet

to catch our attention


Another Path!

62 cycles
still new each morning

as you look inwards

cannot rule all weeds!


Tea Ceremony(not the tea!
Coffee Shop(for poetry!

5-HOT MAMAS 5-8 @2401 east 6th/KICK BUTT 7-10 @5775 west airport-OPEN STAGES!

rescue remedies

we have a rescued cat(TOOTS!
still wary,wilde,free to scratch,claw and climb,she
does not know how lucky she might be
You have a rescued dog(BASIL)
he is barking,nervous wilde-
you send him to dog obedience classes
but he forgets
Sometimes,when i look into their eyes,i wonder
what has happened to them in this wilde world
how it is they were abandoned/.Whether they remember
more than the traumas which make them insecure
or are they to be defined only via disasters?
Are owners like their pets?
Are we recsued via them? Is caring for another
a form of rescue for the human animal?
I look in to your eyes and wonder
what led you to compassion,caring,graciousness
Can we all be rescued via kindness?
Is there enough room in this Ark-
for two of every creature?

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

every leaf a mulch,every compost garden

we live among what has been before-
relationships sinking,deserts of emotion
within all tides are sailors,dreaming waters
their last our first,only,every harbor a port
They translated all emotions in to thoughts
They make maps that we must update-
here a roadblock,there a variable speed limit
All the while camera eyes digital as distance
judge yet will not asist.Yet'i love the modern world'
accept all change,remain as water and as flow
into the new that grows/deeper than all we know


Visualise flowers,a garden,wilde and rainforestry
Coloure,scents,sounds of living among fernery
This jungle lives inside you and me

You roam as primal and as free
as virtual is to AVATAR imagery/we
are hunters of the impossible dream

You wander,associating with good company
Noting Eden before,Armageddons after

Paths are plentiful awaiting exploration
We are primal instinctual actual
Creating what is out of dreams of what may be


resurrecting circle,spiral,tribe,orb
elliptical as Chinese poetry
smiling rivers

all elemental transforms
us in to we/who affirm such alignments
as necessary medicine

bye,bye,dualism/duelling duets
hello more and many
altered natives...


My grand father was a tall clock in our long wooden corridor
booming hours like Big Ben
my father was a wrist watch
he wound by hand
and i note the absence of public time-
the lack of sharing in a digital world
where we do not have the time
to share.

you cannot stop breathing

nor do you desire to-
this will to live is paramount
and can be shared with all who share this air
the waters surrounding us,the land we dance upon.
Speech is silver,listening golden
Exchange rates are conversation/the dialogue of civilisations
asks only that we hear and continue/knowing less than before
wanting more.The rain outside will not listen/
nor each day return to burn again.All we have is creation and continuance
this is the WHY.You have the HOW-noe the next step is...

speakspelling sparks

for fire from hearts is ignited
when the winds sing through
the grains of truth we hold in our hands
Breathe of life animates when
we circulate like seasons
find sails that fill like sheets
spill these seeds into the willing earth of air
watch !as harvests of interest arise
bright,green,new-to find those shapes and forms
consonant with our growth
\Life begins like this-it has long before us
and will long afterwards
We are surfers on a series of waves
The wind carries us away


we once used to speak with each other
now a virtual flashmob has occupied space
to make it both hyper and virtual
we cannot go back
but we still wish to link to human beamings
so we write and read and listen and respond
by any means necessary
distance sets in-time stretches
we are still at ground zero
with a black page and an open stage\every where we glow
now is the moment to reach out
this is all we know


It is Max's second day at his new school
We dub him SUPERMAX-and(by request)
Dad Dave accompanied him on the bus
all the way to school.Max is nervous-gentle
Change is hard.He likes his friends and would prefer
things continue the way they always were.They cannot.
The best we can do is give THUMBS UP! to the inevitable-
pain,learning,suffering-the education of innocents
takes whole lifetimes/and,if we fail,we are kept here
until we learn the language of change
is a hands-on experience!


as it has always rained\and will always rain
Jayne Eye rain,Wuthering Heights rain
Charles Dickens rain,not so different
to W B Yeats Irish melancholic rain
nor Dylan Thomas' Welsh village rain
more Thomas Hardy southern England light rain
Victorian graveyard rain.Trainline rain
hilltop rain.Rain that has swept and isolated us
for millenia,and will continue with us and despite us
as long as we are here and the BBC opines predictions
of the fires next time..


Terry Pratchett called the M25'world's biggest parking lot'
so i drive under security camera signs,with speed camera lines
etched upon the circular circus,aware of my rental car speed
and the speed of every other car flashing fast past me.
At Heathrow,Disney lines fivefold deep held hundreds of us
in temporary detention awaiting inquisition via a veiled thin Muslim woman
and a smorgasbord of world nationalities.Bye,bye BNP!
The turbanned Sikh who took my toll fee on the Guildford Tunnel
smiled when assured how lost i was driving in circles in a small country
The cameras tracking every vehicle on every major highway
will not stop collisions,nor riots-only define victims via TV
At the Services,i cannot find reverse-so wait out the parked car in front of me
until freedom meant a direct conversation ,pleading the sandwich munching coke drinking driver
to release me.Roadworks are forever in a stalled economy.
VARIABLE SPEED LIMITS are policed via security
POLICE vehicles with bright yellow signs watch vigilantly,milking motorists
the last tax on meaning and motion in a classical verse society
I am home again,temporarily.I enjoy English hospitality.
Have another cup of tea and smile for the cameras...

Monday, September 5, 2011


i have half a mind to lapse in to nostalgia-
about the Golden Age of poetry
when everyone shared their words and thoughts and dreams and songs
and met at every available opport/unity
to make/create/renew associations older than time
This is you.Now.Yes!and we compound and spin eccentric orbits
like privately funded space projects.We subsidize ourselves
If there is a way to add to and make new this moment
find us polishing our space capsules in preparation for launch
Flow goes with us @all times
We are in process,in orbit and in flight
There is no point repeating choruses of past lies
The gift of present intention makes all right
(we will be here all night folks!-
this is only half a thought-the rest you get
once you express your response
to the possibility that we have only begun to sing
and dreams enter new/ each and every evening...

Friday, September 2, 2011


Waters of wisdom need neither chlorine nor fluoride
The well is dry bone.Fracking cuts in funds.
We hold the myth of Babel-yet bombed Babylon
We watched as antiquities were plundered from Iraqi Museums
The Sahara used to be a rainforest(until those Romans
Nottingham Forest extended over half of England(Until Henry The Eight's navy
There used to be hundreds of varieties of corn,apples,trees
Now Kelloggs,Granny Smith,pine plantations
Diversity is @the core root of our culture
Our pirate language freebases and jackboots its verbal thievery
in a colonial expropriation of linguistic assets
yet we kill and ignore the source of their rainforest wonders-
indigenous elders have no young to speak mysteries with
We text message ,Tweet This is not haiku-it is cliche
Unless and until we find and fund librarians/etymologists,
we will be monosyllabic dinosaurs.Extinct.We lost the ability to reach
to each other.Teach more languages.Listen to the elders.


Rumi vs Hafiz/Kabir.Mind over matter.Is there a soul?
Spirit resides within-each sings whirlwinds
Spiral dancing Sufis on the head of a pin.Spin!
Las Vegas gambling wheels vs Medicine Wheels.
The Wheel Of Progress vs Chamber of Commerce
Your head and heart vs liver and kidneys and spleen
Why do we extract appendix when appendices make better writing?
There will always be enchanters,poets,lone wolves,fool moons,tides,waves,you
are more than molecules.Even atoms are theories.Elementary as particles
Energies to those Floating Worlds that welcome us when we attune to orbits fresh with optimisms-
to create anew within the blue skies of unique and only Earth.We visit here-
four score years and gone.Life is a song.We learn the words Zen forget again
Waken each new morning to the same birds.One sings HEAD!-another HEART!
One says we are primal ,animal,mammal,reptilian,primitive folk art
Another we are bright Renaissances of Unfolding Flower Gardens.Water both!
Weeds and flowers both need to grow.What happens next is always unknown..


sometimes i am as village-pointing to the skies
when huge Behomeths rise on jet Icarus engines
(only Challengers burst into flamed failures...)
like meteors and Mars.I hunt for "cloud"and "internet"
hitch the "information superhighway"-missing metaphor
i am as literal as Plague.Fetid water Sudan/Somalia.
First World bursts into London flames
Heat burns down Texas.Whether warming is global or local-
i feel it in my misspelt melanomas/cancers of our chakras
Industrial disease making mongoloid/experimentation madnesses
i am as rainforest to bulldozer/throwing spear words@military helicopters
You do not leave space to breathe.This painting too modern-mess of squiggles Wall Street
where bull marketry is new Minotaur-and Theseus cannot slay this Myth of Marketing
"Jobs"when machines have replaced us in the factories of obscelescence?
Robots on assembly lines,offshored.! i wish to hunt,yet end up shopping
Bison sold on salmon farms,crocodile leather pants up waterfalls virtual
i am a child in the cloud,databanks recording every conversation
Security cameras track and trace my footsteps,but it is far too late
i am a nylon cloud.The rainforest is made of plastic

we are all one being

and every raindrop is rain,every snowflake still snow
pitter -patter of gentle massage more healing than thunder of criticism
lightning war upon those you love(they are you,too-in another skin
and when you water war,you drown.Frogs learn this-
each lifetime elementally bound.Every pond a reflection
"Mirror to a mirror stand,echoing infinities"
There is nothing that is outside us
that is not mirrored within.Every affirmation finds home
in your specific skin.Sing and the Uni-verse responds.
You are never alone.