Sunday, May 30, 2004

Scribbles – A collection. (Copyright Impossible songs 2004)

Scribbles – A collection.

Introduction: How did it all come about? So far and yet so near, so obscure but so very clear, a pick and mix of lunatics, play fair and pay your fare for a day away from abstraction and distraction, bit in the nape of the neck to great effect by the spider woman and super hero man-child of the great Scottish divide. We exist outside of time in another climate like hermits and muppets in a strange and great society of nothing in particular. Those who join us are unwelcome and those who speak or think or imagine us to be what we are, are themselves the very nadir of our conscious existence. We are trapped in our own ingenious cage of temporary rage mischievously drunk and in permanent anger and laughter, haunted and focused on bad language and bad publicity that only just about exists.

The fringes of life are inhabited by the frayed and the frayed knots, the clever and the uncompromising, the jealous and the greedy the lonely and the less than but more than you think needy. Maybe we are, I am, they are all these, just because we thought that out thoughts were beautiful why should we be punished by being ignored, when all we need is love like everyone else and some one special. This is the music of the other’s sub consciousness played loud and distorted, unreported, unconventional and purely intentional. Sniggers and snipes cast aside and made bigger by our relentless self-belief, relief and self-ignorance. We triumph quietly while we hope you listen and I don’t apologize anymore because that is so pointless.

Sixteen days of rain came last year and I on sheltered each of the first fifteen then I decide to go out on the sixteenth and soaked myself in the cool and wet and the high and dry in my mindset of unlikely being wet in the rain, again.

The nonsense of the sentences revisited and revised, edited and discredited so I fled from it and tried to forget it but the beast will reappear as often as you least expect it and as infrequently as you let it. I was the one who fed it and starved it and let it go wild and snaky with it’s red eyes in the dark teaching me to avoid and stay away. And I did. Then I ran to it.

So what if I’m a blether or pretentious, mad or mysterious, cranky or cantankerous take what you like and shove it, stuff it, love it. Take it to bed, make it, make love to it, written said and unsaid, lazy and full of the hangover of a fully lived life outside of the restrictions of advertisements where we actually do do something different and think and use our brains to colour in or explain how it was that we went there and (to coin a phrase) came back again.

Original Rainy Friday?

Funny day power cut wet hair
Black bag in the driveway
Tape driven drive no queues
Dried my hair in the ladies loo

Phoned the health club open early
Continental breakfast complimentary
And I’m late for all these meetings
IKEA outstrips the Bible so intriguing

Hooray! he wants me back (so bad)
He phoned to say goodbye
Now I’m home but the tine is wrong
Oatcakes and flapjacks where I belong

Spin in the car to the beach and back
Power off again twilight black
Funny day we talk and talk
I’m so tired I’m so hot

(To the queen of misfits and car washes
An oil painting moving and talking
Renoir Lady and Renaissance Woman
Caught in a power cut, catch us if you can)

Shadows dance and candlelight takes your features into fairy light. We are in this other world this other world is uncomplicated, but related, stepped over the threshold by dream’s vehicles exhausted and fulfilled in sensory pinnacles. Everywhere. (Ali & John)

I think it was when

When we gave our children names, with all the checks in place
Couldn’t predict the chance and games, adult life and crime dictate.

Like a snowflake on your palm, time melts and understands,
The one’s you love, you harm,

Flesh and blood drawn up through icy depths,
Tricks and memories, rewinds and keys, truth so depends on your point of view
But I never really took the time to sit and say these things to you.

Be a slave to the worship cult, talk to spirits and lay your hands down,
Lift closed eyes to heaven, seek hardship, and beat yourself with the rod you found.

Then you see the magic of love come my way,
A wilderness fantasy journey made, without leaving the spot,
A scrapbook character in a Passion play, I’m ready but perhaps you’re not.
Throw everything at me that you can,
I promise to take and understand.
Throw everything away you hate,
I’ll give you back the time it takes.
Throw me away as so much trash,
Recycle what you can for cash.
Throw me to wolves and lawyer friends,
What I deserve I comprehend.

When I cried out

When I cried out to God, no answer came back, no cloud.
Like waiting on a birthday envelope through the letterbox,
Like a headlight cutting through fog
When I cried out to God, a mystery of magic ran through my head
I think I saw, I think I heard, I think I saw a design.
Like a blueprint in the rain, torn up by a dog.

And the sharpest minds and biggest brains all came unstuck
The traffic light’s red and police bogged down in puddles of mud
The camouflage of civilization uncovered and raw, and it’s all your fault,
That’s what everyone said, I cried out to God and crawled back to bed.

All the Things

All the things I said I’d do, all the plans I had for me and you,
All the cherished thoughts I would nurse, I’ve seen them turn to dust.

Dust blown in the wind, never more to return this way again,
As far away as the east is from the west and they say his way’s the best.

All friends that I thought I had, all the good times that now seem only bad,
All my life returning as it must, it’s to you father I pour out this dust.

Dust blown in the wind, never more to return this way again,
As far away as the east is from the west and they say his way’s the best.

Song for Olivia

She said, “why did you run away from us?”
She said and smiled, face lit up with trust.
Where’s my answer now, where’s my words,
Sketchpad replies that just don’t work.
I can tell you everywhere I’ve been.
But I’ll leave the truth till your sixteen.

She said, “why do we have to come with you?”
She says and grins, hiding in the blue.
Where’s my quick mind, frozen and blocked?
Tongue-tied and blank, in fear in shock.
I can tell you everywhere I’ve been.
But I’ll leave the truth till your sixteen.

All that
Living and dying in ignorance
Which part of your life makes the most sense?
Living for now in the past tense.
Some where over that rainbow
Black crows fly to a pot of gold
Carry the carrion back home.

Friends and faces – how you’re fading fast
Seen through this mist, it could never last
Where are we now? No turning back.
I sum up my life in these sentences As if I could care – no pretentiousness
Try to defend, but it’s senseless Saw a dim light in a widow shine
Followed it back to a place and time I’ll stay in that room, I’ll make it mine.

To have and to hold, still lingers on
A watchword when the feelings gone
A thief in the night with no respect
I touched your hand, you bit my neck.


The family visits play at polite,
The family argues in the night,
Pots boil and plots are foiled,
Trapped in a tar pit of dinosaur thinking
“That’s the blood of Jesus you’re drinking”
But I don’t buy into the wisdom of men
That builds God cathedrals to lessen the pain
Worship is empty and lifeless and sinful
Dressed up as happy, but competitive and painful.
Empty seats where faint voices echo….
All so long ago.

The truth about Scottish Politics

Here was the last line of European defence,
That line of strategic consequence,
When we though the problem was over the horizon, but it was..
Busied and hurried away, sold for a farthing then given away.
Nobodies proud anymore even if they ever were before.

Hills and sky, windows far away, down before us all
Here were the tall trees; here were the stones that ached to tell.
Water and glens to die for but they don’t belong to us,
Nationalism schisms covered in traitor’s dust.
Marching feet and swinging arms
A common enemy to fear and fight
Now metal clad radioactive rots in the poisoned water
Stagnant as a pool in the darkest forrest
Politics can only promise nonsense
And deliver your worst fear.

The immortals are mortal after all
I know because I saw them fall
And the shock that it gave me was the coldest
To crack your back with burdens and guilt
To hold on to the nothing worth having anymore
“Welcome home son I’ll show you the door”

I couldn’t believe you didn’t believe
I couldn’t fathom the depths of the shallows
Boats sank and anchors floated
Prisoners looked out and gloated
Another fine myth exploded.

Sugar Queen

She should’ve been a sugar queen

Living in an icing dream

Safe as a mouse in a candy house

Quilts of sponge and whipping cream

Sheets sweet and glistening

Stretching, stroking, holding more

Sleeping, touching, midnight lunching

Awakens like she’s, never before.
(Ali & John)

A Work in Progress

This is what love feels like and nothing else will do

But that’s not true, not always true

Better than second best, better than the compromise

The primal force you gave, I share with you.
(Ali & John)

Nuit Blanche (Sleepless night)

I’m turning and touching
You’re aching and nursing
Here comes that heartbeat again
We share the moment that never ends
Here we are in our insignificance
Molecules mix in irreverence
I want to take a bigger chance
I want to express it all and enhance
I want to trigger the experience
I want our spirits to grind and dance

You are the love I’ve searched for
Held my head underwater in the swimming pool
Drowned in your arms asking for more
Drunk and sober as we ebb and flow
Crashing like waves on the desert shore
Who would believe we could generate more?
Who would credit such a final score?
I create in you: you create in me
You seem as sweet as the honey that sustains me

I stepped from a shipwreck
Fearless, fearful and wind swept
You spoke to me a secret language
I translate as you tighten the bandage
I fall apart as you pick up pieces
As a siren rocks to call the species
In-between the velvet clichés
Who are you where are you now?
Lost in the wonder, dead in the here and now.

It’s another sleepless night
It’s another dream in flight
Falling far and touching down
Skydiving and hitting the ground
Zero inhibitions when I’m with you
I teach, you teach we lie in a row
We overflow and over dose
The sleepless night, the comatose.

I turn all my attention to you
I drink and suck and pull all over you
Here come those feelings again
Here comes that primal warmth again
Stinging like meteors burning in the sky
Teasing the nerve ends, spinning them dry
Splitting atoms of energy burning so high
The end of the torture as we shake and fly

You speak I listen I talk you absorb
You fish and I bite; you cut with your sword
You catch and I carry. You smile and I taste
Love slips me under the cover you placed
We are the story the words are the form
We lie and we struggle but here we belong
In baskets and basements and chimneys and rooms
On rooftops in circles on high peaks in storms

In lightening in weather in extremes and in peace
In silver in mineral in ghosts in-between
In East in the West. In the heat and the pain
In the best in the worst in living and slain
The spirit that calms you has the perfect name
Has the beast and the angel has the strength and the flame.

You give me sleepless nights
You give me sleep at night
You make me sleep tonight
You turn my sleep, you turn the knife
You sleep with me; I’ll sleep tonight
You crash the mirror to smithereens
You lay the pieces in these jagged scenes
You take the edge and cut the bone
You grip my hand and lead me home.

Your glass is etched your glass is cut
Your hand is warm your door is shut
You crawl I build You crawl I hurt
My nerves play tunes you freeze the sun
We share the moment that never ends
Here we are in our insignificance
Molecules mix in irreverence
My chemical friend my soul indulgence.


We went to Paris
We saw the sights
I couldn’t harness
Your strength at night

I saw you eating
I saw you shower
I watched you sleeping
I felt your power

I flew home lonely
You flew alone
We met with baggage
You bought for Rome

We’ll go to Frankfurt
And then Japan
Then somewhere warmer
Not Afghanistan.

Busy People

They are so busy
The people you see
You wonder if their time
Is ever free

They’re stuck in meetings
They’ve agendas
They need to network
Then seminar

They are so busy
They work in bed
Sleep with their laptops
To keep families fed

And when it’s over
Who’ll fill that gap?
Where will the time be?
When they relax

My life is your life
We share a clock
My time is you’re time
I’ve got a lot.


Contrary to what most people think
I function better with a drink
I function well with wine ingested
Except for driving, that’s detested.


If I want a headache, I drink the amber nectar
If I want to sleep in, I sleep in Ali’s sector
But I’ve never touched at drop, since March of zero two.
Such is the sublime affect; me has had on you.

How many times

How many times have you said you love me?
I tossed and turned to see a figure
I looked for clues, the mystery got bigger
You have taken away my sense of time
You have taken me on a climb higher
But all the time comes flooding back
When I hear the hair drier.


We lay on the couch in a birthing position
Talking and joking and stroking
She was wriggling
She was giggling
We made up a story
Trucks and drivers, bandit hitchhikers
Highway robbery by the 10cc full
Bandoleers and bandits rule.
She said, “that can’t be”. She didn’t make me prove it
I’m older than I used to be I ‘d probably just get 5cc.

Visualize the devil, any way you can, shape and species
Woman or man?
Hermaphrodite doll or angel of light with jackboots,
Whatever way you try you lose.
Devil’s all defy definition. I’ll wait for my big moment of recognition.

Meet the devil

When I next see the devil, I will be at the end of the queue.
He seems like such an old friend now, so I’ll let the other’s pass through.
Most will be bright Christians and charity workers too, and members of the emergency services and social workers.
There will be puzzled fans of Star Trek, dog and cat lovers, Indian businessmen and all kinds of politicians; everyone will wander why they’re now in this position.

For me it’s easy, I’ve nothing to explain, no strain, he’s heard it all before. From me.

Inchgarvie Factor

We never really planned that meeting
Now and then glimpses, fleeting
I just remember my heart beating
So hard.
So hard in my chest, and my breathing was tight
But I remained in control, to grin and fake and scold
While a lifetime opportunity, was suddenly in the hands of me
The hands.
I brushed my hand on her back, I couldn’t look but I could see
Everything was under attack, the most precious part of me
And later then, she told me how she felt that electricity.
I wasn’t prepared, for my secrets to be revealed,
I spoke on autopilot, but my determination’s clear
Here comes the chance to voyage out beyond those reefs
And sink and sail and drown and dive.
I have to take the chance here.
We fell and fed and ate and dread came over me,
And consequences dragged my thoughts far over unseen horizons,
But the way was always clear. So crisp and fundamental.
I just couldn’t see it for the tears.
That was eight months ago, but the time never really counted.
The trick is to live on beyond our boundary
We’re so close and so distant, as worlds and entities
Spinning like crazy, sparking as the forces pull us
Letting go and letting in as these spirits rule us.

A Test

She said, “ Who’s best? Me or her?
Blonde or dark? Blue or brown?
Write the answer down.
Tell everybody in this town.
Spread answers and gossip and rumors around.
Sleep with her and never me, we’ll see, we’ll see.
Slink away from friends and family, we’re going to ignore you anyway.”

So I said, “Nothing”. I just walked away.


I think I hear sounds
Then along they come
My ears must be ahead of my head.

4 Verses.

I tried to photo the ghost
I tried to phone the dead
Sent a letter to your lover
In an envelope bright red.

I tried to steal the freedom
I tried to kick my reflection
Made a poisoned meal for no one
Failed to pass on the infection and infatuation.

Made a pass at passing shadows
Slit the sheets in your clean bed
Danced to the spiked rhythm
Playing around inside your head.

Four verses is never enough
Four verses cannot catch the lines
Four verses show the sticky patch
Where my imagination lies.


It’s become a normal fascination
Necrophelia sweeps the nations
Glimpses and tastes before the past
Grainy pictures and Technicolor blasts

None of it ever happened
The way it’s been written down
How much of anybody’s life would stand up to
All the probing and profound?

It’s not about nostalgia
None of us lived in those times
It’s not as if the hereafter
Is a closet for lifelines

It’s all more than obsession
As the pavement artists drew
The superstars live on in the dollars earned
And we’ve learned nothing new.


There’s a rabbit in that shop window
A substitute and aid
Correcting the mistakes others made
Do it yourself is always best
Better than the tired out rest
It’ll explore you
Bore you
Maybe make you sore
If you do it one time more
Red or pink or purple
Could make you gurgle
Works in two or more places
There’s delight on all the faces
Customers in many places
Business women and other ladies
And all other parts
It starts when you press that button
“I’ll take one please”, said Mrs. Hutton.

20 Pages

Don’t spoil the view
Don’t trash the splendor
Don’t take anything away
It’s so hard to remember.
So I,
Used to have attention span
With all the width of memory
Flung out with the garbage man
Now I’m extra sensory.
I wrote 20 pages, took ages, but I guess I cheated, it repeated, it wasted space, it walked in space, it suffered needlessly, from expansionist theory, filling gaps and holes, losing control, so I declined, and tried to cram as much as I possibly could into a few lines…

Artistic temperament

Artistic temperament
I should be in my element
Compulsive and tortured
Pressed to find answers Tested by questions As I salute solitude, Moments come like hot tongues, White bright thoughts, And mysterious chemistry, Pulls all together In incendiary alchemy Electricity to hold Separates the base From the gold.

No Title

Keep this coming
Find another way
All your passion burning
All my letters torn and thrown away

Keep this going
Find a better path
All energy and sympathy
From the aftermath

Full use of a limited vocabulary

Still afew leaves to fall
As the trees fall asleep in the winter cold
This is where I’ve brought you to
A stripped and bared out soul.

Still afew days to go
Before reality surrounds me with its stranglehold
I shake it off but it clings on through
This is where you brought me to.

Still afew words to whisper
Before the love cracks and bends and folds
You shake but the tremor runs through
These are the gifts I bring to you.

Still a dream to piece together
As the landscape soaks up the eternal weather
The gale that rips and tears in two
Only anger and pain I left for you.


At the core of your ice there is fire
At the heart of my fire there is ice
Diamonds and rubies scatter and dance
Defenses compete with desire

Patterns compete inner children conspire
You freeze with the ice as I burn with the fire. (Ali & John)

I wish

I wish that I could cry
Burst open like raining sky
Holding out no more, no restraint
Letting out and breaking in.

I wish that I could cry
Pressure cleared as passion flies
Touch myself in that trigger place
Fire and forget and purge the space.

I wish that I could cry
As if that would justify
As if tears and feelings counted much
In the damning healing I need to touch

She and her

She said you’re fucked up
She said you’re screwed up
Hardly a muscle can function at all
You’re a sad state with no control.
You find no peace in the darkest sleep
You find only wilderness and wizardry
She said I’ll keep calling you in there
She said I’ll travel with you, I’ll be there.

Amelia Island

Amelia Island, I’ll always remember you.
Without a Mother Nature, lost to the Mother Earth
Only God’s creation and the paradox of my good health.
The perfect sunshine brings that perfect storm.
Amelia are you woman or some other place?
The bridge I walk from land to sea, those mirrored stars in space.
I see blue houses, washed up timber on the beach.
And where in the world are you between this flesh and bone?
All my questions slide away from this sandcastle home.
And I’m gone again tomorrow, hardly here at all.
Lightning jumps across the sea, the shrimp boats anchor fast.
The clouds build nervous barriers as the hurricane rolls past.
The horizon yawns to meet it and swallow up the day.
Headlights in the rainstorm, I can’t even see the road,
Be my guide, invisible friend, in this weather overload.

(July 2001)


Seeds don’t die in the ground, though they’re trampled by the crowd.
You can’t kill this dreaming corpse; you just say my name aloud.

There was a silent wall between us, and your whisper was all I heard,
But the penny still didn’t drop, it had never occurred,
You say you’d pass me in the street as if nothing mattered,
You kept the guilt and fear intact. We had our ashes scattered.

Where eagles fly and circle high I want to write your name in the heavens,
I want to reach right up and touch that spot, so you’ll keep me safe forever.
Battlefields and bloodied grass, the green grows through as the shadows pass.
A light will shine out from the East; you’ll feel the fresh breeze as your hearts released.


I watch these birds that circle, In the

Winter sky.

So close and far apart, Like

you and I.

And I never dreamed of this,

Present place.

Great tracts of empty life gone,

Our separate ways.

I hold you close and your,

Heart beats near.

And I touch your soul only your,

Voice I hear.

Tumbling down, all of the,

Walls I made.

I’m so bewitched, so in the,

Spell you gave.

Things of the past rise up,

To challenge me.

I hear that curse, voices,

Condemning me.

I feel the black; I feel the gloom,

They send.

Heavy as night, they order my mind,

To bend.

But you’re here now, you’re near now, I’m clear now.

I believe in tiny miracles, of the big kind.

But you’re near now, you’re here now, I see now.

Believe in tiny miracles, of the big kind.

Isn’t it
It’s amazing how much time you’ve really got
You think it’s slipping by, but then it’s not
Believe all that you like but let me say
There’s time for everything in everyday.

Don’t start to panic
Don’t get too manic
Time is elastic
See it bend round the planet.

It doesn’t scare me now, things that may come
Face the future sticking out you’re big red tongue
What’s not cant hurt you, what is you can’t control
What’s never been, cannot be seen, so let it go.

Don’t start to panic
Don’t get too manic
Time is elastic
See it bend round the planet.

Time sucks time sucks
Einstein never meant to mix us up
Things that matter are here and now today
And the sun is only eight minutes away.

Don’t start to panic
Don’t get too manic
Time is elastic
See it bend round the planet.

Quarter Century

I got more than itchy
I got more than nervy
I got more than plain unhappy
I got more than crazy.

I got the urge to scratch it
I got the germs to catch it
I laughed at my unhappy
I went crazy with my crazy.

The house where we stay.

Like some California dream time

Here we are out on the coastline

Every day is like the best time

The last time is like the next time

Me you and the cat

What do you think of that?

For the moon we push out

Left without a doubt but with a part to play,

This is the house where we stay.

Like some strange hypnotic rhyme

Like the sentence in the sign

Every day is another colour

Every look leads to another.

Wrapped up in a blanket of stars

A cosy and comfy sofa bizarre

A wine time and champagne start

Over the edge of a hungry heart

Motel Room full of Marilyns’

Spectrum bubbling into troubles

Bundled up for all to see

Hide behind the softest silk scarf

You still make no sense to me.

I can see you through your clothing

I can smell you in the air

Deliriously camped out in this bedroom

In a lens cap love affair

We should drink champagne together

Laugh out loud and cut the dark

Stalk the memory for forgiveness

Summer’s day jazz in the park

This is no fashion shot assignment

These are the words you’ll wait to hear

“Let’s make love in this excitement”

Then we’ll slowly disappear.

Hope Ellen

In this strange life nothing is certain
Maybe you already exist behind some curtain
Why do I love you already?
Like an idea still to be proved by chemistry.
Science and religion
Can’t answer my questions
Where dreams lie sleeping – you will live.

Square One

Heads crashing as these souls collide
Pure and poisoned, challenged easy ride,
Wishing for a pen pal and never for a lover
You wish I could have charmed you, but never made you leave her.
Wish you could convince. Don’t you want to touch her?
Release the tension trigger. Go love and never leave her.

So now I’m climbing a ladder out of sleep,
And you are back at square one in the lost and found,
Long time living in the lost and found.
I couldn’t pick you up, you stayed put down.

I just don’t know how to work the cool button,
It escapes, all of a sudden,
Making love in the morning really messes up my hair,
The day goes better, but where, goes where?

Escapes and seascapes, by the sea shore.
Once I had a little pearl, one I hold no more.
Riddles and rhymes
Hide hope between the lines
Lies too white to break
Fears too strong to speak
Sweet nothings trellis climb
Leave trails of dust behind.

So now I’m climbing a ladder out of sleep,
And you are back at square one in the lost and found,
Long time living in the lost and found.
I couldn’t pick you up, you stayed put down

10 May 2003 (Ali & John)


So you were put on this planet
To torture me?
Mutual masochism?
Disconnected rainbow schism?
Does this have to be?
Is the only way we can communicate?
This paper chase creativity?

It always was the way
It always was the route /(root)
It always was the string that tied
The bond, the hope
Although we tried
To let it go, move on
It always was the end in view
It will always be the way
For me and you

This fragile reconciliation
Sets in concrete fabrication

So I was put on this planet
To torture you?
Mutual masochism?
Disconnected rainbow schism?
The spiraling ensues
This is the only way we can communicate.
The paper chase continues. 10 May 2003 (Ali & John)

Mr. Right

So he’s Mr. Right for you
From my point of view
Other couple’s can’t have this problem surely
Still I love you truly
It’s not like he’s a shadow
Or a memory, some shady remnant
He’s living here right now
Over there, high in that tenement
Antiseptic isn’t a good way to describe a relationship
I was there once in that kind of sanitized championship
It sours the sort of thing that kisses and makes up the cheese
Kissy kissy but don’t you touch, you can smell the fabreze.

Fifty Polaroids

Fifty Polaroid photos stuck up on a wall
What happens when we start, I can’t explain at all
Multi layer, multi level, multi function our conjunction
All the swimming and the drowning and threshing
In this compulsion

A picture of your knees, a strap upon your shoulder
Stored away in my daily library
Come back after hours and let them play
Opening and closing eyes, a continuation of then and now and then
To make sense of the day

You’re listening for my feelings
You’re hearing my desires
Bodies react in a lover’s pact
Energy triggered as the need conspires

29 May 2003

We might buy a house

A whole house
And have it to ourselves
And no one else
Except the family, if we could agree.

House hunting

House hunting is relatively easier than hunting wild or even annoyed animals
Houses remain stationary and seldom hide
They are often by roads and pavements, in groups.
Occasionally alone or piled up on top of one another to form larger houses called buildings.
Buildings can be boring, their occupants snoring, at night, in dim light, only to be woken by branches and twigs broken, torches and pencils and excited words spoken by the house hunters.

14th June 03.

Inventory of life

It all must add up
Be abrupt
Not corrupt
Each passing day
Catalogued against possible decay
Memory’s way.


We have gone mad on tape
On walls on floors it’s everywhere
Shining and blinking
Its messages sinking in glue and cut strewn mayhem.
Data abandoned, once important plans ran down and stranded.
Landed nowhere.
The fate that awaits all tapes.
Sterling and lira, yen and secret treaties
Curled up and repeated
Father son and now orphan
Framed for our amusement
And your confusement
“Whatever made you think of that?” You say
As if we could explain anyway
And we neither want nor have to
Conjoined ideas are far too


Beckons from the kitchen or cafe
Talks to me from cupboards and fridges
Packets and breadbins with rolls or croissants
Cat food dog food soul food junk food fast food

Crisps and lettuce, soup and sausages
Sauce and salt and sweet and sweeter still
Cake and paradise and passion and dizzy heads
Slices and trays and plates of buns and bread.

I met you one lunchtime. Couches and legs crossed
Handbags and notebooks Phones and contents scatter
We eat unhungrily (and don’t tell me there’s no such word)
We must be back at a certain time
These other things matter.
But not as much as the lunchtime I first met you.


The difficulties in fitting in
The time between the time between
Try to mix friends and family and work
Like some ungodly recipe
A mystic blend of blood and friend
A clash of priorities and ends
Doing right still leads to wrong
To strike a balance and still belong
I still want to be included, invited in
And not concluded
Mixed and fixed to feel at ease
In a cosmopolitan squeeze
Of all that’s bad and good
The price of humanity and parenthood.

Holiday Plans

For some people all of life is a holiday
But they don’t know that.
For others all of life is spent waiting on that holiday
But it never comes.

We’re all in a big departure lounge, moving and waving.
It’s just that some don’t know if they’re coming or going.


I used to think Edinburgh was easy to get around in
Until they improved things
Now I am wondering
If I’m suffering from a rare type of perceptual dyslexia.

Last poem on the page

There has to be one
And this is it
It’s to take up space
So it’s a load of shit.

The invisible

A voice in the crowd that calls out
“Which one’s me?”
An orphan searching for a family
A refuge for the refugee

“Why in the world God,
Did you choose me?”
I’m as crazy as a man can be
What part have I in history?

The numbers don’t add the maths won’t agree
The formula is a blur to me this line can’t square that geometry
Step back and see, get outside your head
Turn away and look again instead
A pattern flows and shows itself
The figures blind then expose themselves
The eye and plan compose and recommend
The falling ray strikes the edge again.

You want architecture that explains it all
A conundrum message to inspire and call
You get the product you deserve
You get the sting, you touch the nerve.

Velvet, velvet, velvet, Internet of crushing lust Anxiety and question, beads of perspiration.
To strangle the sweet white neck convinces and break the hearts of swans and princes.

Other pigs

Snouty noses muddy eating’s sloppy sloppings
Swilly pickings of muck and fodder
Turn me odder,
Squeak and sweat and hairy backs and nudgey fighty fightings
Such bright things. Who but sows and hogs delight in?
Farmyard pets and pettings tongues and tonguing and torture
And bullets to stun the fun before it even starts
Pumping blood from dying hearts and curling curly curdling tails
To oink and sulk and just display the pig like information
Transmitting nothing of your situation.

Lazy Poems

Rub the rhyme like magic card tricks.
Names and letters fall easy to the daydreamer
Luckiest in love never to complain
Never fighting against or with the strain
No motives or petty crimes to explain
No early battered rude awakenings running in corridors
And shouting excuses behind me as if a difference was made.
While you lie and lye in the shade.

Breezes will do for me

Breezes pick me up like pixie dust, must.
Floating and swaying
I hear my name and songs playing
On the sun flakes you are saying

I tried to describe a bright holiday
A mind trap shrunk wrap getaway
But you understand so much and little
Of me the man, suspended in the middle

If you were the breeze I’d be your slave
And gladly give way and let its wave
Wash and soar in aerodynamics
While you hold me in my panic.

Some say the wind blows where it will
As if a ghostly mind connected all it’s gusting and puff
But to see you at the end of the tunnel
Would be light enough.

Was that my tea?

I opened the widow
For the sake of fresh air
For the sake of the air
The room blustered
Was that my tea I though?
It wasn’t so special
To write about
Cooking odors need to escape
And feed the great wide yonder
My only small room
Stands around me
Frames all sorts of words
And strips of music just come
Like the marvelous things they are
From that mad place inside me
Not bizarre
Not inexplicable
Lickable and likable
As flat as the world
And warm as an icicle
Frozen water words to inspire the world.

I’m not bothered
About what is or isn’t said
Who said indifference was dead?
Who said anything was said?
The trusty social workers
And political masters
And others unknown and un-named
Who mask themselves to hide from blame.

Smug TV
Smug Scottish TV
Try to inform and entertain
Was that my tea that passed before me?
On the settee
Save a spot for me
To cover the next best big thing from these small places
And hoodwink all the nation with disgrace
Smug and soporific Scottish TV.


Blackmail shouts and shouts and shouts and
Opens it’s blackmailing mouth as wide as it can
Sort me feed me sort me feed me agree with me
Or else or else you’ll know all about it you spit
When my pile driver emotions kick in

All you‘ll get is pain from me and my blackmailing love
All you’ll get is my lack of respect for you and your stupid
Stupid love. Stupid lover.

All you ‘ll get is another hand grenade from my handbag
Right round and into that face of yours. That smug face
I used to love and now don’t even recognize you because of all the twisting
Resisting, grizzling and fighting with your freely shared rage.

Blackmail uses all the weapons in its armory
The mass destruction of any legitimate personality
I can’t believe you were so angry
To snarl and spit so
The spite and hate
The letter and the rate of fire
The black mood and the poison pen mail
And me with no money
To spend
I pretend
Your blackmail only made it easier that I knew
At the time so confused, but that’s how it is with any case of abuse.

Here we come again, don’t even pretend you could do anything proper
I came a cropper. Drop me?
You loved me once and that was that
Now we’re loved out wax works melting down
Thank God for the blackmail
That so transformed me.


Nothing exists
Or exits
Takes the credit
No need to edit
No action or reaction
Nothing costs nothing
And has no compassion
And no sense of self
No spunky good health
Nothing loves me
As much as you.

Nothing can be substituted for anything
Except nothing
Does nothing
For me
Like you do.


You don’t often hear the word punky
Punk-like punk-queen (punkie)
Where did they get the stupid word from anyway?

Said William

Said journalist William Mcllvanney
“A supposedly sophisticated modern liberal society
May well be the dumbest place to live in anyway.”
I have to agree with this observation
But I have to trust my own invention
What else will tell me of this world?
Whose nerves but mine can sting and curl
The regular assault on all good sense?
As “society” conspires for it’s defence
With empty shuttling, scuttling and pretension
I’ll simply trust my own invention.

I’ll never give up believing
I’ll never bend to their deceiving
They mean well, speak well, minds like scissors
Then act like rhinos in a hall of mirrors
There is no open government
There is no answer heaven sent
All power is tyranny of some sort
They make a slip and you get caught
It’s cool to be cool and stick to an image
But who will you choose to unpick the damage?

Said journalist William Mcllvanney
“A supposedly sophisticated modern liberal society
May well be the dumbest place to live in anyway.”
This may not include some other regimes
Not so vacuously dumb more violently extreme
But I know what I know I mean
Is it totalitarianism, mad religions spinning madly?
When all control ends up so badly
And all the wise counsel, help and advice
Is targeted in the smirking marksman’s sight.
Socialists and social workers and psychologists in jackboots
Who still trample their way over the emotionally destitute.

Glasgow Herald

I sit at the table and read the Glasgow Herald
Life can be good, life can be mellow
But I have no assets in the money laundry bank
Someone will surely sue me for the loss of this emotional think tank.
My lover loves me and I love her
The sun should set and the cat can purr
The day’s now gone but the memory’s gelled
I sit at the table and read the Glasgow Herald.
(28th June 03)
They married for love

They’d say they married for love
Moonstruck by dim stars above
They’d say they married for love
As if that really was enough

Their parents glowed with pride and pain
They’re all walking down that aisle again
Festooned in dead flower heads and petals
The look of love until things settle.

The final sprint to find a partner
Lose the chance if you’re a slow starter
They ‘re all snapped up, you get the dregs
This must be love or sex on legs.

The ceremony and strange ritual
Unfamiliar words and songs and scripture
To wear the ring and breed and kiss
That strange force love, whatever it is.

A firm believer in firm belief
You couldn’t see what was underneath
Here’s a life sentence to get you started
You’ll learn to be happy broken hearted.

You lack the depth to make decision
Your love’s not real its imitation
All the pressure down on one small spot
To have and hold and then have not. (knot).

Youth and beauty never last
This shine will tarnish much to fast
There is no more magic left to try
The champagne glass is cracked and dry

Maybe the truth is too hard to take
Married lies and big mistakes
Promises and vows: what we must do
But she was the only one who’d have you.

They’d say they married for love
Moonstruck by dim stars above
They’d say they married for love
As if that ever was enough

The child may be artistic

“Doctor! This child may be artistic!”
“For God’s sake woman be realistic!”
“This is nineteen fifties Britain,
There’s hardly a pot for him to piss in!”

“You’ll make him a namby pamby bed-wetter,
His symptoms simply won’t get better.
His life will be bleak, plagued with criticism,
And he’ll end up a slave to chronic nihilism!”

“Doctor! This child may turn out different!”
But the opinions given may not be relevant.
There’s a place for all, somewhere a place.
“Doctor! Who will accept this case?”

The doctor snapped shut his black leather bag
Pills and stethoscope, books and swabs
Turned on his heals toward the door
“I’ve done all I can – it’s my case no more!”


I’m sure the future is better than anything
Anybody thinks anywhere
Who could prove or claim otherwise
Why should good things be a surprise?
What’s the point of living believing?
Less than the best
Less than an improvement
What philosophical movement
Is worth subscribing to
If it preaches more doom and disaster
Apocalypse and hell thereafter.
Who wants unsuccessful meetings?
Riots, torture and war and pestilence
Biblical disasters and continued irrelevance?
I look to you to mould your future
And one for me, if that would suit you?


Life becomes smaller when you lose hope
But we never really let each other go
There was always that impossible safety rope. (June 03)

Waterfall Cruise

I took a cruise down a waterfall
You know how you think that by now you’ve seen it all
You know how all those bubbles burst inside your head
I took a cruise and hit white water instead.


Don’t know what expression to wear on my face,
A great globule of emotion chokes me in my space
Don’t know where my feelings are or where they go
Feel the tremble and sickness of a pain I can’t let go

I just want to exorcise myself, spoon out the contents of my self
I want to be able to face the way I am, hero and victim and fragile, man.

Flesh pulls in all directions as mind remains, mixed in the potions of mental strain
Heart blocked by guilt as my confidence falls, here comes that old uncertainty to call

Taking the plunge at the North Pole, Eskimo dreams, ice caps remain whole,
Global warning stalls as reality freezes in all this trouble,
Drowned in an icy sea with no struggle.

I love her

I love her and her calming ways
Time with her is the best of days
I love her and I don’t care
Time with her is never a waste
I love her and it will continue
Beyond, beneath, far from all we’ve been through.

As we will be apart

As we will be apart
I wonder how you feel
What questions squeeze and squash inside?
I don’t know how you feel

As we will be apart
I wonder how I’ll feel
I’ll ooze and cruise and wake and snooze
I don’t know how I feel

This life revolves as it stumbles forward
This life makes bargains and gives rewards
This life deals in the bleak and the glamorous
Cut with a pen and signed with a sword.

As we will be apart
I wonder how you feel
How far I know and how much can we grow?
I wonder how we feel.

Alien Interview

This apparently took place in dream
But how can she know what she means?
Aliens of course can intervene
In the grey subconscious, and all in-between.


(Written as a reminder of things past)

…if you’ve read this with the breath, pace and presence,
you ‘ve spent another moment of your existence.

Pictures of names

(as above)

Markers are in the system,
We never know when we may need them…………..

We were there, together, somewhere in the haze,
Before the sky so upset the sea, and the hills laid waste,
Time simply didn’t matter as perception scribes it’s own calendar,
Before the tall trees fell, and the pools and pits filled and glossed over,
Crawling beasts and grotesque insects buzzed or spat and spun
Travelers were few on those roads as bandit beasts sucked through stained teeth.

But we knew each other then, forming, friends,
Gazing across undefined boundaries, reaching out.
I have a memory I’ve worked hard to find
Deep in the deep dark of time behind
We were all together, blinded in the cross over,
Hardly seeing but catching the dimmest view
But I knew because I still saw you.

What gave birth to what?
Ideas calmed seas and talked to idle winds
Never before, after or since
We stalked the best places, stood out in those wide-open spaces,
And saw ourselves.


The lazy way to write a book

Or anything for that matter

Say unrelated things that rhyme

Or scan or hold together

To half fill pages and look clever.

Funny I’m not hungry

Funny I’m not hungry
Like the rest of the world
Funny I’m not sick
Like the rest of the world
Funny I’m not homeless
Like the rest of the world – why me? (why you?)

Snacks and animals

The Doritos were at the bottom of the bag,
And crushed by the
Milk and potatoes
Another victimless crime? Oh no!
Violence on groceries just grows and grows
Some girls like Pringles, some like Twigglets
Some like ponies, some like piglets,
Some like big, some like enormous
If you’ve a particular preference, please inform us.

Simple Machines

To some everything is simple
Complex is unheard, unknown, like
The inside of a machine
Always working, busy, unseen
It moves inside and does its tasks efficiently
No breakdowns or disappointment as it
Churns away, night and day
Without a break in service delivery
So without understanding the assumption is made
That the simple result comes from a simple process
With the masked complexity going on unnoticed.

What the f
What the, if the, f was always
Such a maligned letter
Never to recover
From the alphabetic enigma
Of having such an f-ing stigma.

Little boats

Little boats have at times carried the big people in history
Jesus, Napoleon, Columbus and Magellan,
Caesar, Hitler, Churchill and Lenin,
All fitted neatly in small boats without exception.
People named in history, little boats seldom mentioned.

The great and good and evil float on top of a bottomless sea
Great tracts of water below support their tiny boats
They plan to rule, or change or fool
And in histories’ twisted pages be remembered for their purpose
As the little boats they sailed in sink below the surface.

Summer ’03

The properties of thistledown
Are not written down
Magical, deep and playful certainties,
Voodoo secrets played out in drifting strategies
The call of the depth as the shallow tries
All in a moment in my lover’s eyes.

Under the watchful eye of Zeus.

Out on maneuvers
Out maneuvering Hoovers
All the domestic complicity
Fear of flies and plastic bags and anything slightly noisy
Sleeping in corners or blanket cracks
Whiskers feel and hair stands at the back

Under the watchful eye of Zeus
To play in a sport of no obvious use
To stretch and strain and explore these fields
To act like a true wildcat and steal
But looking at you I see none of this is real
As your tail waves goodbye while round you wheel.


I was beachcombing but found no wrecks or treasure or
Pearls of wisdom or pleasure Plastic and caps and litter and bits..just..
A scum of debris that’s leftover from a leftover civilization
That still thinks it’s civilized to work and rot and throw from open widows and portholes
Sick flotsam and putrid jetsam to play on a lazy tide
That laps along – how it used to be.

Oil and grease and the mechanic’s cigarette butt, The engineer’s coke can and the representative’s condom
The wee Scottish ned’s burger box, floats amongst the rocks,
Panty liners and bags and tiny tiny polystyrene bits.
Whoever thought it was a good idea to free us into this beached slavery?
And fill the world with shit.

Rules with myself

When to ,where to, not to,
If to, then to, go to,
Speak to, look to, listen to,
Don’t ask
Never go there
Enjoy this moment
Get me out of here
Get me back in there
Never go back

Gallery å

Some where bright and sunny
Down by the sea
Shore and an open door
Clean and not too clingy customers
With stupid stupid stupid money to spend
On far away relatives, themselves and friends
Collections and moments and momentos.
We can captivate with our lovable eccentricity
That we have wrapped in perceived high quality
And peddled to you by MasterCard and Visa
To make our mutual lifestyles easier.

Well it won’t be dingy in my plan
And it won’t be too easy to understand
There may be coffee (free?)
Whilst deciding what you can actually see
The trunk or branch of some poor dead tree
Fine white wines on special occasions
Gala nights and emergency operations
We could slip into or host some other celebration
Plain walls to show the exhibits
Conversations to start or inhibit
Good taste but not overt snobbery
And a working till to legitimize the robbery.

Anyhow, it’s our cash cow. G

Simple Machines

To some everything is simple
Complex is unheard, unknown, like
The inside of a machine
Always working, busy, unseen
It moves inside and does its tasks efficiently
No breakdowns or disappointment as it
Churns away, night and day

Without a break in service delivery
So without understanding the assumption is made
That the simple result comes from a simple process
With the masked complexity going on unnoticed.

Summer and bicycles

We ate chocolate, only one mouthful and then made love,
We had to give in and stretch and recollect and write some riddles.
Guess Syd Barret must have said it all after the bacon rolls,
A basket a bell and things that don’t let you fall into holes
Well we’ve been out today once more
To realize our cycling potential in a retail park commercial
And now it’s clear to see we have the bicycling essentials.

First lost on our home motorway ring road puzzle
Sped past accidents to make time make way explode and guzzle
Asked experts and bike docs and scared kids who’re not paid to know.
But a shiny pearl’s to be collected when it’s ready to go.

Scottish Art Club garden party ate lunch there and chatted
With frames and pictures and stiff chairs old and arty frozen into their teams.
Themes and schemes and pretend to see clarity in roast beef,
Why are we in this surreal pie of salad escape? Today is the date.
Saw San Diego while she fell asleep behind sun glass eyes,
And missed the point with me. Where are all the literary?
And Sainbury’s soup and raspberry cream with guilty sugar
Bugs bite from summer cats and follow the pack
We went out, then we came back.

A summer Sunday for August and all the world visits in Edinburgh
We walk paths and talk fast and leave the rest
We live in a pavement shadow and rewrite those songs we meddle with,
Find new lines that suddenly belong
Drink wine and spoon each other endlessly inventing
New jokes or few jokes to laugh at our lives
Here we are again, go again as summer drifts by.

I don’t mind any of this or the space that lifts
I don’t ever mind seeing you as you are with me losing track of money
This is the road I chose, and I don’t ever mind finding this conscious clarity.

But I know I tire her out, she watches me and wonders,
But I tire her out, my silly ways and junk and trivial talk as I,
Still love to be her lover and she becomes curiously mistaken for a Mrs. of mine.

Strange Fiction
To understand the friction
That existed between me and you,
To have populated our thoughts with all that condemnation,
Still assuming the mighty purposes in creation
Had thrown us together only to delight in keeping us apart.

I wanted to elevate my daydream
To make it seem
Poetic art.
Elevated and elated in the mystery created
Flying on that frayed trapeze
Chalk dust and beads of sweat in the breeze
We catch and fall as the critics bite their lips
As the plot twists and fails to fit
The patterns and the bits
As we are torn and fall away
Only to live another day.

Life full of days

Life full of days

So she says

From a virus in our minds

That plagues us and defines

Those days, those lives.

What is good? What is misunderstood?

You’re never more than a step away

From the rainforest, the jail or adultery.

How good you feel….

How good do you feel after a successful gig?
Like a happy high kid
Everything you did
Was right and ok and pleased the audience
Held them and gripped them and then the applause again
We were in tune and looked good and were understood

We were seen at our best, lest anyone forget
How good it all can get
When all the practice and nerves somehow come together
Like perfect sex or perfect weather.
It was the perfect gig: it was great
Apart from the bit where you came in too late.


So many have forgotten their names, why they are here and what was intended,
Become busy in error or still only pretended.
So many have lost their identity, slept on and on, stared blankly and been stranded,
With no passports or tickets, empty-handed.
So many have lost sleep and the ability to dream, to scheme and believe in an ending.
Stayed awake, strayed and writhed like snakes and lizards, their young defending.
So many have lost their direction, twisted routes, vowels, underfoot, misunderstood,
No maps or guides, strangers inside, no soft landing.

I’m baffled, I’m baffled
I’ll never know the odds
What are tiny people to make
Of the works of the Gods?

People you can and cannot trust
Fall into awkward groups
So ask yourself this question
“Would I eat their home made soup?”
If the answer’s “yes”,

Writer’s block revisited

A successful font
Will always make the point
If your writings weak
Maybe a new font ‘s what you seek
If inspirations low
Give a new font a go
Or alternatively
Get a bloody good idea.

I can deal with most things
Things you do
Things they do
Things I do - I can’t.
Some things are too big
Some things are too small
Some things are my responsibility
And that’s all.

Trying to summon up repentance
Is a life sentence
It never comes, just remorse or worse
The still rippling memories of a distant curse.
I should feel more sorrowful
The blues should be more tuneful
Wrenching or wretched, ashamed or tortured.
But it’s not, they’re not, I’m not…..
Trying to summon up repentance
And all it’s associates
When in my defence I’m only innocent
Of their crime and sin and intent.
I just wanted this time to be spent
With another life and be content.
And wander the world far away from God
And visit the land of Nod, East of Eden,
At peace.

B52s over England

The bluest of summer skies
Clouds hide behind the sun and I
Circling and wheeling, lazy flight soaring.
A B52 flies on by.

The flattest of English Counties
Patchwork and thatchwork and tall trees
Overhead and undercover, missions and intrigue
A B52 flies on by

Some people want war, some people want peace
Some people want left alone,
Some just stay on their knees
Whatever you want, whatever you try
The angels are watching
As a B52 flies on by.


I walked into the cathedral, felt the space and the time take my breath

Saw a statue of Mary Magdalene wearing her Sunday dress

I lit a candle for my love, as sad Mary looked up into His eyes

Her words froze on her stone lips as she formed that last goodbye.

A ghost was whispering to my beating heart and at my finger tips electricity,

Here in this microcosm cathedral city

An abstract cross and artifacts, the house of God and the dead.

Mary’s back is to the choir and congregation

And heaven’s still dense as lead.

Silly Cat

You are such a silly cat you are so set in your ways
You are such a silly cat you were never stray
You are such a silly cat you hide from light and shade
You are such a silly cat Why are you so afraid?
Do you think that toes are food? That doors are walls
And that Kit-e-Kat tastes good do you think we should let you go?
When you howl and meow when it’s half past four?

Pester me
To settle the quandary
To do dishes
To do some laundry
To be busy and deflect
The neglect
You feel.
The attention you seek
That appetite that starves
The hand that bites and carves
Initials on trees and hearts
That scares the dark
And hides from the dull pain
That blunts and stains
The little tiny thoughts
That pester me.

I am an insane man.
In a sane landscape
That obeys the rules and laws
Of nature
The same nature
That warped in me
The steel ideas
The rods and sheets and reinforcements
That support and take the strain
Creaking away inside the insane.


The first thing that comes into your head
So precious but you invariably miss it
As another thought is born or torn
Layer upon layer
You trudge and drudge through sludge of thought
To reach that better thing that wheels and wings away
Always removed into the distant murk and maze
Out of the mind’s unfocused gaze
Longing for the one true thought that rings
Clear as that first elusive thing.

The two Monks

Two Eastern monks came to stay
Stolen and delivered into our home the other day
One was guilty, racked and cracked
One sought truth and couldn’t relax
The strived and writhed framed in silver coffins
Spiritual pygmies contrived and raw
Men of straw
Those monks were tortured by their past and a very present hell
Was a home they had built and had designed so well
No peace no dream no sleep no hurry
Just the endless journey back to and beyond purgatory.

A woman brought them water
And fish and oil
A woman brought them towels and linen
And spoke a language that confused
And smoothed a way
Back to tomorrow from today

The monks remain, alone at home
Twin studies of the order
Of wood cut ink and feathered stone.
By all that’s barbed in history and debunked
The theory of their origin is defunct
Their beginnings obscure
But when they started their motives were so pure.
I’m almost sure.

I can not be anything other than unfocused

I can not be anything other than unfocused she said
I said you’ll sing that lyric (one day)
I was that specific
Talking about revolutionary transport and Glasgow Zen and
Zeppelins flying back, between now and then
And buried tunnels and Titanics and the many funnels
That blows smoke no more.
I look at the sad relics of the Great British industry
The linear induction motor, Concorde, TSR2 and Blue Streak
A sketch in metal fatigue. Kingdom Brunel my boyhood hero with that stunning wide gauge of Great Western lineage
As I whistle down your great gaping railway tunnels into the blackest history
I wonder at it all, pain and blisters and grandiose dead triumphs.
The Chinese now have moon rockets and have progressed to where their father’s started,
Their fathers – the ones with fireworks
Kites and string to strike at universal perameters
Fooled into thinking that technology ever advances
And that life’s quality gets better or is somehow enhanced
When all the great ideas are snuffed out by idiot financial chance
And scientific lottery and the strongest personality
And travel in straight lines is deemed impossible
Because the historians and Victorians
Built too many mock gothic barriers in the way
And the tunnels run only into more fossils, so we stay gridlocked and on the ground, while butterflies fly around our heads.
In our thoughtful traffic jams and
Kingdom Brunel laughs and understands.

She looked like yesterday

She looked like yesterday
My breath just slipped away
I said so many stupid things
And my eyes and everything filled up with a strange passion
Since yesterday
She looked like yesterday
I was strung out and far way
I said so many stupid things
But it’s so hard not shoot straight from the heart
When she comes in looking like yesterday.

I have nothing to get out off:
You have something to get into.

So we say…
Repeat prescription
Repeat percussion
In that family of instruments
I’m not familiar with the
To knock out a tune
But I’m confident that soon
I will.
I’m not so sure about you.

Call Centre

Why are the call centres so far from the centre?
And when they get bored with the great Indian sub-continent
Or the far flung Far East or at least anywhere less than local
Whilst the long suffering consumers and public become less vocal
Where will they go?
As they talk to more machines, credit accounts in smithereens
And move the operations
To even more remote unspeakable locations
Or strike bargains with service orientated nations
Glad to be offered a banker’s hard baked bread
To lift a full rice pot instead
To reduce those crippling costs and overheads
And appease shareholders heading west
And nudge a graph line from stagnant rest
Antarctica seems best
So we’ll just chip the penguins and train them up
Implanted to press a button or pad between fishy gulps
And summon robot penguin voices
To help us make our choices
And resolve problems and queries
In sequence and in series
As nothing now matters much
We’ve long lost the human touch.

Steel Guitars

Hatched a plot
To steal a steel guitar
A slimline silver shining bird
Of a National Steel guitar
From a guitar shop of course
Note by note by fret by fingerboard
I studied strings and glinting machine heads
To steal the steel baby and steal away
And play
In imaginative corners
My stolen melodies
Some original and some
Plagiarized but precious to me
The outlaw guitar picked up and strummed
And picked and held and stroked
And released and choked and tuned
Those fine blue notes and slides and trills
Glissando and arpeggios spiraling down
My fingers so alive yet bound
To hands, wrists, arms and brains and all the technical limits
That constrain.

But the guitar dreams dead dreams in that fortress of a shop
It sleeps unsexed and vexed for nobody loves it enough yet
For I am the cowardly thief who plots
But can’t summon up enough madness or simply
Conceive and execute
So still she waits
That steel guitar still and silent shimmering
Due to my budget crisis limiting.

The phone rang
In my pocket in a noisy pub
As I was reading the paper
How odd a modern phenomenon
Reached everywhere and so convenient
Thomas Edison would not believe
Cheap talk achieved with ease.

The people next door had a baby
The people next door had a baby
It made us think maybe we could have one too
But the consequences of these sentences ring out
Like the great bell of Bow
Over a frightened city crazy and hearing this ear clanging nonsense
Shaking and scaring the inhabitants and stirring up a frenzy
Babies are good and we all feel protective
But friends and family and everybody else are less selective
And the consequences are explosive and corrosive
And dangerous and life changing In their significance
So we sadly apply common sense
That most abundant of abstract substances, And act our age and positions
And deny those so selfish feelings
For the greater good of the great and good
So we can continue to attend showings and seminars
And not embarrass our offspring or regulars
We decide to stay a couple alone able to freely go to the cinema or dine or roam or talk rubbish on the phone and what about the cost?
And anyway I’m pretty low on testostrasone so ok
Have yours and yours and your way
I’m too old to be a father you say
And she’s not so maternal these days so we’ll comply we’ll not try
We’ll be old and behave like all the ghost written textbooks say
Boring old parents and knowing better send ourselves a French franked letter
And end the crushing curse of wishing life away or worse
Ok, we’re a bit more mature than Stilton left in the kitchen of the Hilton
But we can dream and see further than staying put as father and mother..
To you lot.

Christmas Party Plan

How many can we fit in?
In our Christmas party plan
How many wine glasses and sausage rolls
And snacks and packs
And diverse couples can we invite
And unite
Set alight
Imagined conversation and consultation
And no small embarrassment
In this unlikely cocktail
Of life as social mongrels
Or is the elite of our common cult and clique?
Under our fragile roof as proof
Of how mad and careless
And carefree we’ve become
Over the past year and then some
We will shower them with hospitality presents
And revel in our mighty insignificance.


Felt dozy and cosy, slept in slightly
She touched and she left for the day’s
Hard working
And I looked out on the morning
Of a normal October feeling
Thinking how I got here
The diverse roads and routes
Jumping with faulty parachutes
Making choices and decisions
Over all those numbered years
As I replay the tapes
Look back across the ‘scapes
I though of those missing and wishing
Maybe even me well, not harm
Not wanting anymore hurt or unhappiness
In those moments that remain
Something should always change and breakaway
On my birthday.


Are really OK now I can eat them
Not a lot of them ever
But I can, I wanted to understand what it was
That all those Romans and Mediterraneans
Found so attractively healthy about them and
I’m not even disappointed; I’ve come to like them
Thinking of then ripening under some nice Italian suns
Except for the horrid little black ones.

Someone’s very busy
Someone’s very busy cutting down trees
Over there in the trees
Well they won’t be in those particular trees for much longer.

Thanks to you I have no friends
If it wasn’t for you I’d have no friends
And be confused about which invitations to send.

Thanks to you I have no property
If it wasn’t for you I’d have nowhere to stay
So I remain here, a happy sheltered stray.

Someone’s very busy digging holes
Then surrounding them with tape and poles,
But it’s a very different somebody who eventually fills them in.

Someone’s very busy sailing boats
Over there in the water sailing boats
And will continue sailing while they continue to float.

Thanks to you I have no memory
Is that what I was supposed to say?
So I remain here, a stray.

Three Verses and Two Choruses

Imagine Margery in an imaginary menagerie
What would she say to be imagined in that menagerie way?
Would she have animal looks and read all animal books?
Imaginary beasts and beastly bestial feasts?
Imagine Margery in an imaginary menagerie.

Livvy Livvy, I can’t hear you sing, Livvy Livvy, I can’t hear you sing,
I’ve got amazing mayonnaise, it’s not another craze,
It stays in this place and you’ll sing its Mayo praise.
Livvy Livvy, I can’t hear you sing

Imagine Valerie in very unpleasant brassiere
What would she say to be imagined in that brassiere way?
French restaurant looks, snoops and poisoned little cooks
Imaginary chefs and knives and pots and stale bread?
Imagine Valerie in very unpleasant brassiere.

Joseph Joseph, I can’t hear you sing, Joseph Joseph, I can’t hear you sing,
I’ve got smooth peanut butter; it’s better than the other
It stays in this place and you’ll sing its butter praise.
Joseph Joseph, I can’t hear you sing,

Imagine Melanie in a very unhygienic infirmary
What would she say to be imagined in that infirmary way?
Dirty doctors and nurses; gray patients and foul curses
Imaginary scalpels soiled bandages, potties and NHS sandwiches?
Imagine Melanie in a very unhygienic infirmary.

Not daily not big not clever
Tell me more lies
And make me unhappy and guilty
As I smile in to my other eyes
The strange unknown eyes that judge and peer and reflect some part of me,
From the mirror.

Mirror II
Deep thoughts don’t die
But mirrors lie
And populate the imagination
With a previous incarnation
And playback in relentless memory
Mirrored lies.

Mirror III
That’s not my face but is
Not hers not his
Not anything in between
That’s ever been alive
Kicking, kicked out or otherwise
Lives on in that dream place
But that’s not my face
But is.

Mirror IV
I’m at peace with it all at last, a lifetime of mirror gazing, fixating
To see that shape or shame and not be bothered but happy
Whatever way the light takes me, to be myself.

Japanese Lessons

Japanese lessons
Come in fortnightly sessions
An hour of conversation
Based upon Japanese quotations
And seems both cheap and cheerful
To obtain a Japanese earful
Expanding your Japanese ability
And acquire a full vocabulary so..
Now we need to book the holiday.

Driving it all down

Driving it all down in percentages
Taking no wages
Taking ages
To break out and break even
Still believing in the magic of numbers
Ruling our ideas and lives
Based on fingers and toes and the counting in and out
As years go by and we find and get found out
The pot of gold and fluff and feathers and dust
Shaken and taken with disbelief as we creep
Away and count it all out.


What is so important
More important
Than anything else
That you risk and put it first?
The energy to beat the curse
I wish I’d seen it and done it first.

Talking to the sea.

I know this is not sensible
To crash a conversation with sea water and surf
It’s enough
I’m talking to the sea, it sees me
Stood and still, sitting and walking
Now I confess to talking
To the sea
You see it seems to understand me and listens
Then ignores as it pours and washes over those silent pebbles
Sand and dashing on boulders and wrecks
Sticking to an ungiven task to pound the coast again
And I will talk and spend
Listening to the waves replies.

Less Love Poems
Less love poems some would protest
Less protests and love and all the rest
But love and poems and some protests suit me best.


Makes cats come in from it
Or want to go out in it
And when you are cold
I want to warm you
With my body
Close up and tight
In the cold dark of these nights.

Flat Calm

No one could bear to throw a pebble
And disturb the glassy and smooth surface
The pendulum of wind and forces gone
The flat and calm hold on
And wash and slide with liquid perfection
Oily and viscous and only slightly rippled at the edges
All the world pointing to the hands of a sleepy clock
We never want to move from this spot.


Time to wonder or meander to other planets I could imagine
I could visit space one day like any other anonymous tourist with a list
Of things to see
Some space for you and me.

Yes I am disturbed
By traffic noises, neighbour’s bins and birds
By sunlight moonlight street light pollution
By problems and by elaborate solutions
By day time TV and night time radio
By war and peace and the politics of common grief
By the spiritulized and the exponents of unbelief
By after dark and afternoon and after glow
And by all the things that are happening that I never know
Makeovers make betters and dream homes in the sun
Fireworks at dawn and midnight broken bottles and shite
I’m disturbed and perturbed
Slightly off balance, askew and stirred up
By keeping up and keeping down by paying up and dumbing down
By shutting up and dumbing down and making fun of things profound
By finding hooks and scans and songs and just bloody playing along
With the order of things that modern life brings
Spam and blogs and TOGs, ring tones and distant barking dogs
And chainsaws and sad massacres heard of far way
In disturbing news bulletins with 29 minutes of bad news and 1 moments patronizing lightweight wretched media event tacked on at the end
Like a sugar suppository of bland oratory to lull me into a sense of false insecurity in my self induced purity – of superior thought.
I will wallow in the unknowing and uncaring make believe repetition
Of my disturbed existence.
Yes, I’m disturbed. And you should be too.

Wait until

Wait until I get you home
Wait until you get me home
Wait until we both get home
Wait until we clear this weather, break the horizon,
Find the treasure, waiting, waiting,
Doing more or less so little,
Waiting for that perfect time, somewhere there to begin here
And the look in your eye, and the smile,
And the touch that can’t deny,
Wait until we’re older, wiser, richer, fitter, ready
To face the wait.
Will you wait?
Will you wait if I’m late?
Screwed up and screwed down, please wait on me,
I’ll be back to normal and clothed in sanity,
I’m coming back to reality
It was a temporary situation; I’d made no preparation,
So wait for me, that’s me you can see, I’m the one
Running and waving like a bright young thing
With a basket and bundles and the good things I made to bring
It’s me running round that bend
To catch you in the end.


In their other world
Lost to me
Ill fitting like a teenage suit would be
And so very magical
The tears that we could cry, to try to buy
Some moments back in something wonderful
Sad, crazy frightening and confusing
Full of collisions and bruising
All deep inside and with a wisdom that won’t express
I’ve made such a success
Of growing up and blocking out
I wish I didn’t understand the things I now know so well
And I don’t care now who knows or tells
The childish touch and tastes and smell
That once was my first language
Until I settled for second best
And tasted bitter things that adults say they love
And are good for you so let’s shove
Them into our lives like scary big knives
And I’m on the edge of still seeing
Everything I used to believe in.

Any Ice age today?

Cold and frosty
In a blizzard of gross loss
Climate change is here to stay
Whatever the well informed researchers, experts and scientists say
The coldest winter and the warmest summer
Do I build on a hill or move to Spain?
Have an eco-house or villa and private plane?
Buy a cabriolet or a ski-doo?
The decisions facing modern Britians are so complex these days
Mammoth problems warming and/or ice age
Lido pools and tanning cancer
Who do we turn to find the answer?
Speculate on properties with thermal specifications
Live in a colder/warmer/happier/sadder nation
A long and winding list of climatic expectations
Floods, plagues of blood and locusts and any icy nuclear winter
God used to love us but now we’re not so sure
He gave us TB then took away the cure
He gave us AIDS and lemonade, and Band-Aid and first aid and microwaves
But what solution do you apply when the problem is neither
Easy or hard to predict
Just more sick statistics that say
The future’s bleak whatever way
You try to understand or look at it.

Only the way

You leave me here
In a desert of song
On a horizon walked by space
Somewhere I belong
The only love left for me is the love you left for me.

You hold me here
In my factory of desire
On a landscape shaped by pain
Where I may retire
The only way left for me is only the way you left me.

Anger again

Thinking we are beyond that place
Only to be brought back to it
The circle path searched for by none
Now the main highway has become the one that leads
Back to anger, the anger again,
Back to bite back and fight back,
Back to the spawning ground to find unfound
To stand our ground and point the accusing finger
Or pull an invisible trigger to fire and send the feelings
Out to fight and dig themselves down and in again.
It will always come back to the anger again.
I believe in anger. I experience anger.
I move angry and remain unmoved.
My profound sentences are a life sentence
As my anger kills my spirit and strangles yours.
Lions and tigers

Lions and tigers don’t meet and greet
Are not indiscreet but
They keep themselves to themselves
And stay within their boundaries and ground
Maintain a safe distance, perhaps an occasional chat
Respect each other from their separate continents and habitats
Don’t fight over the scraps
These kings and queens of beasts understand the least
And most important of things
And though sabotaged by roaming men
Still manage to maintain their feline dignity
And never mix breeds or war or fall out over territory.
The family of cat seems to work for all that
And I can’t find the correct and acceptable words to explain
Because it’s all too upsetting, insensitive or racially insane
How so called grown ups disguised as adults might at some point try the same.

The goodbye call of “Daddy”

Hangs on the wind in little laughing tones
The precious sound of childhood
Removed and outgrown.
How I love to hear
That sound of “Daddy” in my ear
As it disappears
Into a home I dare not touch
Or think about too much
Were they live their complex little lives
Those parts I never see
As I can only breathe in their whispered familiarity.
I need to increase my daily intake
No mistake
Eat with my right hand
Type with my left
Have vim and vigour once again
And expendable energy
To expend and extend me and send me
Back to the place where I realise
My potential
Not to live life
While falling asleep at the wheel
Along this gaudy route
Eating peanuts and sipping
Another gin and grapefruit.

Where should we publish?
Books not about Scotland
Songs not about Gaeldom or western isles and skys
Tartan fiddle music and east coast pipes and herring long gone
Out fished overnight
Like victims of the clearances
Who went on to enslave the world
Where do we publish and read about?
All the greed and appetites that are out
There in the halls of Scottish enterprise
In Beano town and bed and breakfast
And festivals of art and culture and awards
For being sycophantic and truly living the life
Of the new Scottish romantic
Haggis pies and macaroni and all the Indian buffet you can eat and drink
For sixteen quid, I don’t know if I ever did.
To yourself in Japanese
Feel at ease
Construct a bamboo heart
And a sushi nerve
Patiently in a kimono
Go where the tourists go
Drink and study green tea
Wonder at a Bosnia tree
Draw a circle with scratchy pen
And let the chimes clang again and again
Fire a water pistol on a bullet train
See the bright lights
Go on and off again
And remember the big when
You did it all for the first time. Then.


When I was traveling fast in the slow lane
Thinking of the feel of your flesh, catching up with your promises
Knowing that one day I’m going to make a list of the things
About you that really turn me on
And stick me to you like glue
And wondering if it’s all the same for you.

You Have Three Names
You have three names in your name
Or less or more ,
Registry professionals count and keep the score.
Our silly given biblical family familiar trendy time warped names,
None the same as the other
Or your sister or your brother
Just the last
And that one can change if you marry
Or perhaps become a criminal
Or something similar
Or a terrorist or pop star or idol or some new identity maybe
Or for sound business reasons you commit family treason.
So the name will follow or lead you to heaven or hell
Like a badge or a sentence
This labeled inheritance
You they them me call me by
I recognize myself this way
Hear it and write every day
But still manage to find the sound strangely funny and prickly
The phrasing and letters go sticky and runny and sickly
It’s all too much associated with myself
That I have to live up to it, go through it, use it
Hear others abuse it, never quite lose it.
It’s just me, whoever, whatever I am
The common tag and bracelet we wear and never quite understand.
Passport to wonderland, who you are over the rainbow
So everyone else might know and recognize
Your destiny and lineage and national heritage that’s planted
In you and your seem to take it for granted?
God gave it? Bullshit.

Song writing
Add some dirty licks, suck picks, flinch, give an inch,
Tell me it’s better since, I did that extra work,
There was sweat and stickiness, betweeness, in betweeness
Sweetness and the road to discovery
Via the road to recovery.

Blockhead writers

Suck out the air
From your lungs yourself
No one else can do it for you
Write or think stay on the brink
Head in the sink
Kitchen walls shout back in silence
Intellectual defiance
My brain says no in a way that says nothing
Again and again on display you pray
For a better day
That never comes
The forces of nature
At their worst.


Hear the pulse of the BBC
Listen while you pay your license fee
The home of all that’s complete PC
They will not offend
They do not intend
To have a subjective opinion
Somehow tarnish their dominion
The home of Blue Peter and Record Breakers
Are there any real commentators or Mickey takers
Left of centre? Left of the TV Centre
Right of the middle in this PC riddle
No longer can I say what I might think
Or can I think what I might say
If a BBC microphone came my way
As I censor my own sensibilities
And take more of my own civil liberties
So those voices stay dumb
And help out their many chums
Living in these ethical and moral slums
That sees only the shades of grey and tones down any true complexity
So we never say anything we didn’t mean to really say.
Are we so sanitized that we’ve plucked out our own eyes?
So we could see the same way the do in Iran or Afghanistan
Or Burma or North Korea or in some junkie villa in Ibiza?
So hear now the pulse of the BBC
Listen carefully while you pay your license fee.


Is it me?
I am a real true-blue green giant of a bigot
With my learned and well earned opinions
All are equal and are the same
But I like some better
How can I explain
Or justify my weak human feelings?
The people from the next town seem strange
Those folks down the street are strange
The strangers on the bus are odd
Not created by a recognizable god
And as for politics and religion
Flies in my face and doubts a smidgen
To convince me that it’s right
Brother you really seem to believe a load of shite
And worse is your giving it your time and cash
Your ideals are just a load of trash
Unlike mine, that shine
With the crystal clarify of pure thought
Bought at a martyr’s price and so high
Believe me you should try to get a set like mine
How brightly they shine
Like Elton’s candle in a hurricane
So I won’t bother to explain
It’s just a mild form of deafness and ignorance
Happy to appear an idiot or zealot at this urinal
To let my thoughts stay stunted or develop to be something final
Tell me what to believe, I’ll try and develop past this evolutionary stage
Of bigot.


If it’s no fun anymore
It has collapsed
And ceased to be
The thing and structure
Once familiar
Now distorted
And beyond recognition
A thing
That spells and tells of a warning
That it brings
Mental collapse
Deep inside like a hidden earthquake
A tremor
Hardly on the surface
A geological mistake
In my psychological make up
Come to take

How do you want us to die?

So how do you want us to die?
Spell it out and we’ll do our best to comply
Cranky and crotchety ill fitting old bastards
We bow to our younger political masters
The wars we fought are a memory and a joke
We should suffer in silence from some crippling stroke
Only to be on the receiving end of more well intended rehabilitation
While you legislate any joy or reasons for life from the heart of our nation
No more heart attacks or cancer
No liver failure or altzhiemers
No true accidents or unsafe practices
No extra drugs or chemical additives
No cigarettes or radiation
No alcohol or sexual frustration
Good diets without the sun tanned irritations
Fairness, awareness and stress free complications
You‘ve made so many rules for us to live by
We now need some new tools to die by
Some time alone to meditate this artificial human state
That your relentless correctness must create
To ensure we all die feeling great.

You smug Christian Leaders*

You smug Christian leaders have a lot to answer for
When God finally evens out the score
He’s going to have a few things to say
But you probably won’t listen to him anyway
You’ve become so used to making it up as you go
If he really spoke how ever would you know?
Confusing the voice in your imagination
With the universes creator’s conversation
As if he gave a fuck about you saying grace
Over a Tesco dinner or a parking space
And the sins you confess fall so far short
Of anything truthful or worth a report
You examine your heart to look for a stain
And see nothing except that control loving pain
That you push and inflict on the weak in your flock
In the name of Jesus you must cover this rock
And suffer not my further blasphemy
It’ll be so easy to simply ignore and blank me
And you can keep all the treasure and spoil to yourselves
And for this and more you’ll go straight to Hell.

(* Applies to most other world religion’s leaders also so don’t worry).


Why does seafood disagree with me?
What have I done to offend the creatures of the sea?
Apart from consuming some members of their family
Who would have no way of knowing that it was really me
But I seem to have to take responsibility
For their untimely demise and conversion to a delicacy
When served up on a plate in some chic eatery
So in their sweet revenge they return to upset my tummy.

Granny and Grandpa
Granny and Grandpa
Don’t love each other anymore
Not the way it was before
But that’s not for you to worry over
You were born of younger lovers
Who had passion without a plan
With no need to understand
The sordid uncertainties that went before
The doubts that raged and kept a bitter score
That makes your love child status
Transcend the family hiatus
As special as any glint in any eye
The thrill you bring by coming by
Please say you’ll come by and visit
With the retired trier and complicit.
Please say you’ll come by and visit.

When you were small

You were small, so small you fitted into
Your mum’s tummy
Then we fed you faithfully
And you grew to be so big you had to move to Aberdeen
Because the room size was limited by our exhausted thoughts
And so you stumbled but were caught
In the warp of historical repetition
That brings resolve and indecision
And in stumbling find your feet
Only to repeat
The breeding seasons draws in so quick
You take your chances for the warmth and seismic
Earth moving operations and sensations that addict
With mysterious love and the pride of potency
Seizing moments that promise intimacy
To explode and hide in the depths of yourselves
When along comes a little somebody else.

March 24
Many things went before, news and views passed me by,
But once again I have a stupid special feeling, like the last man on earth,
I’m in touch with my own sense of shock and surprise and well being,
All thanks to the illogical and unexpected as life goes on by most undetected,
A cushion of smug cosy immortality pushes into my perceived chaos
I enjoy the dynamic of change and curse and loss and pathos
And the happy compensation of a currency that has the sweetest cost
My spin and spend on family economics and the ironic
Twist and plots, we have certainty and then not,
Glad that life is never dull. Children smile and laugh whatever
The exchange rate or stock prices or stormy weather.

Flying into Stanstead

Bloody Stanstead
Big shed like a barn
An island in a sea of farms
Jets and buses and cars and a shopping complex
Waiting in lines and in suspense
You’re going there again
For a meeting, or course or seminar
A holiday, en -route to record an album or sit at the bar
Meet a friend or make a family connection
Visit London or Cambridge or explore the M11
The opportunity to stay ahead
Flying into bloody Stanstead.

Meeting the Parents

Like me,
You probably just had a mental block
This is not an obvious plot
We seem to have no clear idea
No reference point in all this mixed media
Here we are the happy family
We clutch for the happy straw anyway
And who could deny you your chance today?
Pub lunches, menus, chat and claptrap
My good advice, a honey trap, a worker bee
We love you still, unconditionally
Because that’s really all we know
The sole direction in which we go
The only trick or punch line in the show.
I’ll ask questions relentlessly
As if any answer could help me see
Into a world unknown to me
But I so have to empathize effectively.
I hope the social work can help
The safety nets and consultants
The schemes and offers and contractors
The mysterious mid life benefactors
I’m with you 100% of the way
As these families find direction
And mirror the mistakes of their own rejection
Love to you all wherever you be
The parents of new families.

How to stay in touch

How to stay in touch
With those who go on ahead
The younger generation’s dead
To say the things they leave unsaid
Continually teaching and reminding me
I have no sense or manners exclusively
I just parrot and rant in the best way I can
To stay in touch with my younger fellow man
Who understands and doesn’t complain
If I miss the anniversary of Kurt Cobain
As if he was John K Kennedy, the year they took my appendix
Or MLK, or Elvis or Jimi Hendrix
And people die to mark our times
Those stars and perpetuators of deeds and crimes
Pantomime politicians and villains to view
There’ll soon be another crop you’ll want to turn to
As we navigate life by reading the gravestones
And remember dates and speak in hushed tones
So as one collectively moved body we can say
It was x years ago he died, or was it yesterday?

Can I be poor?
Can I be poor with a credit card, with numbers and power to purchase up close and hard?
Can I ever be poor or bankrupt, commit fraud or fall and be so corrupt, to lose my sense of self and safety net and for a brief moment forget, that I must pay it all back some day? Unless I die first.

So dying

Is it all so bad or sad?
Unless it’s children
And those deemed innocent or victims
Relatives of mine or yours
But let’s include those so far away
To allow our detachment to fully engage
And take away the reality and the relentless image
So our empty hearts feel no pain or rage
Who mourns for the witless, shiftless?
Lives that amount to nothing, consuming resource.
Values, you understand are so abstract of course.
I feel the build up in your personal tension
At the very mention
Or thought of a human cull
It’s all be done before, so despicable
So hopeless and unnecessary
But what pain and it could save if done mercifully?
With dignity and restraint
Let’s call things what they are, not what they ain’t
You can check my details and complaint,
Two or more signatures on these dotted lines
A volunteer hangman and a guillotine production line
Allow the thunderclap to sound on time
Allow the pace of judgments to assign
If we simply apply the correct techniques
The statistics would be ready in a couple of weeks.

The joy or delight in some one else’s misfortune.
How well I understand and empathize
Glory to God in those empty eyes
How I practice to be perfect and let myself down every day
In my rash and blunt self exchanges
As the chances slip away.
How good it is when things just go away
Just go, just go, just go
And how satisfying to say
If you’re on a nice piece of straight road – enjoy it.

Shared a Bed
Shared a bed in Paris
Shared a bed in Kelso
Shared a bed in Aberdour
Shared a bed in Rosyth
Shared a bed in Inverkeithing
Shared a bed in South Queensferry
Shared a bed in Pitlochry
Shared a bed in Burntisland
Shared a bed in Edinburgh
Shared a bed in Fredrichshaven
Shared a bed in Frankfurt
Shared a bed in Geneva
Shared a bed in Como
Shared a bed in Manchester
Shared a bed in Winchester

Looking through my memories
Just to get an even score
To see how much I love you now
As I loved you once before
How wanting you overpowers everything else
Like a steamroller in my soul
Flattening all lesser feelings drives
How these appetites control

Baskets of boring ironing confirm the news
Telling me normal life starts tomorrow
Eggs and breakfasts colours from the table
Not feeling sorry if normality eludes us
Then feeling sorry that authenticity excludes us
From false phone calls and strategy falls and all that stuff
That reaches out to you to make you tough enough

Welcome to our shotgun wedding
The good news of love coming back is spreading
The cancer you had was simply imaginary
Your emotions were not functioning beyond the elementary
Now you’re touching something beyond those waves
That broke on a blank beach refusing to behave
These are the ways of the ways of the waves.

Unacceptable political ideas#1

Women wear white (wedding dresses?) on the first day after their period.
Only people of the same race can marry or have sex.
Child molesters and sex criminals are castrated.
Anti-smoking laws are repealed. Gum chewing is banned in it’s place.
Speed limits are removed from motorways but reduced to 20mph outside schools, nurseries and in all housing estates.
Beards can only be grown for one month, then must be shaved off.
Anybody caught wearing a shell-suit or baseball cap in public has his or her left pinkie removed.
Women whose pants show through their skirts or trousers are sent to Tasmania for six months.
Christians are not permitted to share their faith if there is an r in the month.
Only six disabled car parking spaces per supermarket car park.
Pedestrian only zones actually mean that, taxis, orange badge disabled holders and big stupid vans can’t access them.
Tax on alcohol reduced by half - tax on DIY items doubled.
Really fat people pay special tax in proportion to their weight.
Really fat people are banned from all forms of air travel – bum circumference testing introduced at airports.
Sky Marshals introduced to keep really fat people away from airplanes.
Stocks are reintroduced to punish football hooligans, in particular Rangers and England supporters.
All advertising and telephone sales of double glazing, conservatory and kitchen improvement products banned.
Body piercing is restricted to ears, tongues and belly buttons.
Everybody must take a good long hard look at himself or herself before they go outside.
Comb overs are banned; anyone attempting to wear one will have their head shaved.
Scottish history is compulsory for all 1st to 4th year secondary school pupils in Scotland.
Use of jargon, anachronisms and buzzwords limited to one of each per person per business meeting.
Free bowls to be available to people eating crisps in public.
Wolves and bears should be reintroduced to the highlands to restrict annoying ramblers and mountain geeks.
Gaelic language support grants to stop immediately, money to be diverted towards funding jungle gyms in schools.
Scottish fishermen made to wake up and take responsibility for over fishing with bloody stupid methods for the last sixty years. All their hot-hatches and tacky bungalows to be confiscated, seine and trawl nets to use 15cm mesh from now on.
Scottish Parliament to be abandoned, new building given over to affordable housing, concert hall and community use.
All MSPs to be fired then syruped and feathered, exposed to the mercy of sweet toothed chimpanzees and forced to return earnings over 30k and donate them to proper charities.
Tanning business to be banned, overly tanned people to wear “this is fake tan” badges and/or T-shirts.
Teachers allowed to use the tawse on unruly pupils from 1st year onwards.
Teachers allowed to use the tawse on unruly parents from 1st year onwards.
Teachers allowed to use the tawse on unruly social workers from 1st year onwards.
Social Workers to be educated in “the ways that normal people actually think and live” before they are let loose on the public.
All grants to Scottish Opera & Ballet stopped so they support themselves – redundant opera singers and ballet dancers to be used to sweep streets, tidy parkland and public areas.
All car parking to be free everywhere. Double yellow line parking to be strictly enforced by burning offenders cars in situ.
4x4 vehicles of any type only sold to people who actually live in the country, have unmade driveways over 100m long or have very big dogs.
Caravans and horseboxes can only be towed on public roads between 2200 and 0600 hrs at night.
“Baby on board” stickers banned from all vehicle rear windows (also stickers about “Dogs and Christmas”, “Jesus” and “my other car is..etc.”).
DVD and CD formats not to change for the next 25 years.
Plastic/synthetic wine corks to be outlawed.
Mars bars to be available in one normal size only.
Old people banned from entering into long pointless conversations with supermarket cashiers, bank clerks, bus drivers and staff at post office counters.
Compulsory ear dewaxing for all over 70s.
Compulsory daily showers/baths for all over 70s.
All over 70s to be given a free automatic washing machine and training in how to use it, also a free pack of toilet duck.
No advertising, merchandising or sales of Christmas, Easter or Summer Holiday products until four weeks before the event.
Students to be told before they start a course what actual chance they have of getting a job with the qualification they finally get.
Student fees to be scrapped, companies with turnovers in excess of 10m PA to sponsor courses on a pro-rata basis.
Tax to be imposed on Leylandi hedges over 5m tall.
All bus stops to be made “cut in” by compulsory purchase or whatever, bus conductors/conductresses to be reintroduced.
Free refills on all water, soft drink and coffee/tea at all restaurants.
Proper, fair access and stay-over rights given to both sets of parents following a split.
Road tax to be displayed via number plate codification – non-payers/offenders to have cars burned. Tolls on Forth, Skye, Tay and Erskine Bridges to be abandoned. Tolls to be imposed on all roads entering Glenrothes, Livingstone, East Kilbride and Cumbernauld.
Civil Servants to get a 25% rise and a hearty “thanks and well-done” from all members of the public.
Kids who work for McDonalds, Burger King, Starbucks etc. be allowed to participate in an audited company profit sharing scheme.
Talking petrol pumps to be banned.
Edinburgh Council to fix all the weathered signs that say “ ity of dinburgh”.