Poems, Uncategorized


I raced, I raced on up ahead

Was it something, some wretched thing I said?

For in the air the very scent of you hung,

And I wrote your name into everything I’ve done

Then instead I ran it

I ran it all this way along to me

I wrote and I sang it wrong.


Wretched, wretched me.  

I arc your name into infinity

I write your name into the skin of me

I sing your song to some family

Of hopes and dreams.  O! hopes and dreams:

And I hope cold dreams can make some song of me.


Come back,

Come back from the dead above

Hold me lonely, my lonely love

My sorrowing such, seek me out,

O seek me out

And by my life of touch,

Just reach out to me, and,

Soft and such, your touch

Now finally.

Songs, Uncategorized

And Deers, sudden, feral, burst out on every side……

Trippy Gum…well, here we go.  

This looks like fun.  

And yes, I would kiss her feet, her, or her, or her.  But you knew that, didn’t you?

But what does that have to do with anything?  It is another one of those folkey, trippy days.

Perfect really.  Like these two….

And then, as for these two, well they eat a lot of bad quality pizza. 

And as I say, have fun while doing it.




Poems, Uncategorized

How Long this Seat of Flesh?

How long this seat of flesh, how long has it been thrown up, driftwood on this pebble-crunching and freezing beach? For a time, it was just rolling over and over in the breakers, slowly turning, waterlogged, bloated, a wandering mute minstrel, a half-sunken submarine.  Unseeing tourist, wandering the ocean caverns and walls, knocking on coral doors.  It wanders but does not see.  Eyeless, staring where eyes should be, caught up on the wave, until finally one washed it up, half-sideways, and the next, or the one but the next, pushed it up to the far reach.

How long has this seat of flesh hung suspended in these tendrilled creeper wings?  The vines curl around and wrap and wrap and gorgeous red and blue flowers burst out on every side.  They turn and turn. It does not fall, no not at all.  A sloth hanging, a moth suspended in a web of death and lurid life.  Life that explodes out of the gore onto the forest floor.

How long has this seat of flesh lain on these blasting sands?  Covered sure by halves, and by parts, it lies still as Bedouins pass by on their daily bread.  And traders smile and chatter oblivious to the universe, but the universe too is oblivious to them.  Yes, it passes as if time itself passed by.  

How long then, how long?  How long must it go on?  How long…how long, how forever long?

Forever, O! forever and forever, and the dreams steam up the glasses of the peering tea-maker, popping the seams of the lonely tea-maker who, wiping some unexpected tear from her eye, makes haste to serve the tea lest she suddenly remember it all.  Perhaps that is how long, perhaps that is how long it take. 

Poems, Uncategorized

The Seat of Flesh I draw

So, this seat of flesh I drew close about me.  I caressed it a little, fingertips and nails leaving little white trails across the skin.  Like lines on a sable plain, raising small rills of dust in the distance.

And once again the seat of flesh pops open, but I snapped it closed, locking my heart and esophagus up in their bony cage.  They encircle, the ribs that is, they encircle, and I go to the circus woman who will, if I give her enough song money, punch them until they snap and crack.  I watch her incoming fists, and see my entire wall of flesh moving, heaving like a massy sea.  Her fist would break through into the red foaming heart, but no, I am too strong.  I am invincible, strider of seas, wanderer of the mountains, and leader of expeditions seeking to ford the lonely stream.

Taking hold of the seat of flesh, as anyone would take hold of a sodden mattress, I drag it out into the open day, where it, stupid, blinks and stutters.  I hold it up.  “Anyone?”  But there is no reply.

Ok, right this is now too much.  I pick up the seat of flesh and I fling it out into the sea.  I turn my back on it, but it is there waiting for me when I get back to the car.  There is nothing for it.  It needs to be whipped again.  I sigh. I lead it into the closed space.  I take out the whip, and it counts back to me, one, two, three.  It splits, and little welts appear on the skin.

The seat of flesh itself sits at times. I feed it like a dog.  It capers around, excited.  So easily pleased.  The fact that I burn it, whip it, and spit on it is all forgotten.  Ah seat of flesh, when will I escape you!  It just sighs and traces out in its own blood some words that I also write, just now, just for you, my quiet and dreaming reader: “I love you, John” 

Songs, Uncategorized


Well, it is winter….so my thoughts drift to summer, warmth and all that….I did a Summer post once before…or I meant to. Well, whatever.  

Here is a version of the original (written 1935 apparently) by Norah Jones….

And here is my current fave, Lana Del Rey, doing a quite different song, called Summertime sadness actually….which I love (Miley Cyrus also covers it of course).  But well, I like this one, I must say, red dress and all (even though she is in a white dress):

And then some others I think I posted before, and well I love them too…

MCR singing in that late lighter style just before they broke up….

And can 23 million people really get it so wrong?  (Yea, of course they can….but what harm does it do?…..Vybz Kartel etc

And there are others….





Poems, Uncategorized

Seat of Flesh


Seat of flesh, soaked in sorrow

Open these borrowed doors of time

And kiss these rows of whining lines

I write onto my whispering skin.


Seat of flesh, stripped and borrowed

I sell myself and smear sips of time

Onto lines of washed out dirt and rhyme

Which search the hurt like fingertips. 


Seat of flesh, waxed and whipped

I peel my skin by strip and rind

And lace this tomorrow of mine

With the mystery of you and me.


Seat of flesh, sorrowed and wet

We drip and let the blood we bet

We cry out and blindly set ourselves

Against all eternity!  

Songs, Uncategorized

Lana Del Rey

Still thinking about Lana Del Rey.  “Born to Die” is a fantastic song, her voice with a hint of depth and texture…not quite a smoker, but made me think of it.

But this is different…this is a song about, well how stupid people like me – men – are.  And yes, I think it is possible.  Lana Del Rey, though, did not need to do that, of that I am sure.  She is funny and, well, talented.