Those..

I know you'll agree with me:

They make me livid:

Coming over here and taking our council flats and towels.

I bet in their country they can't do..that.

They probably don't even have towels over there,

Unless it's on their fuckin' heads..

And another thing:

It's political correctness gone mad.

It's political correctness gone mad.

I'm not allowed to say I wish they were dead,

Or that if my girlfriend slept with one of them

I'd kick them in the head.

Oh no, I can't say that now,

'cos that makes me a racist misogynist

(whatever they are),

It's like I'm a stranger in my own country.

They come over here,

Nicking our jobs,

Signing on the dole,

Sleeping with our bitches.

Those..

..don't even know

how to treat our women..

It's,

Political correctness gone mad.

It's political correctness gone mad.

You couldn't make it up..

That's twenty pounds please.

Here's nineteen-ninety-nine.

keep the change..

The Honeyed Abyss, The Night Torn

Palms brush-stroke impressions,
Moonbeams stoke, seep and melt,
Sliding skin diffusing,
Divining;
Gazelle liquid eyes shimmer fathomless,
Bewitching;
Hair, charcoal dew - yarn-spun,
Frames the night,
Sealing silken whispers electric,
Comingling: The Honeyed Abyss,
Enraptured in the sparkle of Orion.

Fingertip streams,
Unclasp Time's necklace:
Jade.
Purest Now.
Nothingness.
Amnesia.

The life lifted,
The landfall - Dream.
The Nature Awakened,
Yearning eternity
imprinting commentary
on the moment.

The night torn,
Just plucked away,

The cruel birds arrive,
I know, I know:
Soon:
Work.
Oh..

Next!

Need a mortgage?

Drill your eyes.

Then?

Parents?

Dead or alive?

Take their money and their life -

Milk, parasite,

Milk the fuckers dry.

Then?

Grand parents?

Oh dear,

They've no right to be alive,

(They've no right to be dead for that matter!)

It's in the fuckin' will,

Or it will be,

So go for it!

Just go for it.

One small thing:

Don't complain,

When your eyes widen,

A few seconds before one of your fetid offspring,

Your fetid, hateful, ill-begotten offspring,

Fires a bullet -

Bull's-eye,

Through your fuck head.

Don't take it personally;

See it as a chip-off-the-old-block,

A blood-hound tracker-mortgage 2nd generation application.

It's your kids,

Your kids,

Giving something back.

And they don't wanna see you suffer,

See you dribble and gurn,

Down on some granny farm:

You have no right to make them see all that,

You selfish bastard.

Next!

ephydriad descending Thames Ganges

ululation

oud panther waves slink India ink

night boats thrum dreamfire elixer

fairy-light washing-line-piers swing Shanghaied lanterns

swirling moon-dial whirlpools glisten

tremulous lovers' tuliping lips time-slip swoon

amorvolous

landslide teardrops absinthe drip-drops

layered illuminated filaments glimmer

ephydriad descending

swerving ecstasiate

slow boat twelve-fifty

unicorn

Bermondsey

scintillant cosmogryal night river

dolphins salmon universe saffron

pearl-diving eternitarians

wish-fulfilling sea shanties

shanti shanti shanti

anciently Thames Ganges

Bermondsey

'ari

Krishna

bottle-filling ferries slide

loading-skip floating zen-less anchored quayside

water falling legless glass consciousness streams

amber emerald kohl crimson trampoline

clash-smash tinkle-tinkle thudding solar plexus

bells' citadel nexus

lapping motor-oil-blue sheen unpipping dimples

coil river unwind!

Goya spires reascend heavenward raining melting candle-dips

slanting

mellifluous..

sssss

puddle eyes hush tongue incantation hurdling wordless

mosaic expressions ceramic profiles tile translucent stirred shaken

slaked

mislaid

tree shapes

slayed

resharpen

ululation

oud panther waves slink India ink

night boats thrum dreamfire elixir

fairy-light washing-line-piers swing Shanghaied lanterns

swirling moon-dial whirlpools glisten

tremulous lovers' tuliping lips time-slip swoon

amorvolous

Gnostic Gnome Rising

Bin Laden was dead,

And the careless bastard's dead again,

So we're advised to be more vigilant than ever,

Against the eyeless man bloating in the ocean;

The gnostic gnome terrorising plankton.

For he shall rise from the depths.

Welcome to the new and improved War on Terror,

War on a noun,

War on a method.

God, I hate advertising.

Heaven Can't Wait

A gloom of pigeons swirl,

Painting a crown of thorns,

I boil sideways below.

My flyover hangover blooms like an exploding kidney dialysis machine.

Floating rocks ninja-kick and cymbal-crash

inside my skull,

Screaming for a trapanner.

My coordination all mad cows' disease.

Avalanche incoming!

Doh-re-me,

CJD.

My inner ears register:

Vacuum-flask sonnets,

Another imploded afternoon,

Sipping dehydration in The Purgatory Tea Room.

Sonic booms discharge brain-dentist missiles.

I am demented today.

I am demented today.

And as I have no aspirin perchance you have a gun?

Don't worry I'm a pacifist;

I won't do anything wrong as I kill everyone.

And today I pray for The God Squad to ding-dong my doorbell,

For I shall lay my loving hands on those believers' strangely beseeching throats.

Tenderly,

I shall jump-start an extraordinary rendition heavenward,

For I believe in forgiveness.

Blessed be me then.

Please don't doubt your faith,

Not now.

You believe don't you?

Just see this as a test then.

Surrender to the choking.

Don't fight it.

It's all there,

It's all there waiting for you.

The Two Games Of Two Halves

Women play their mind-games of 3d-chess,
Studiously,
With men who play bingo trouser roulette,
Ludicrously.

It's two games of two halves,
And the house usually wins.

A Muse On Music

Through streams,

Air hangs,

The babbling music strings.

Nocturne Dance

From one night-time office window,

I zoom my gazing out, out, out,

Searching for others

Dancing the vacuum dance,

Tilting windmills at motion sensors,

That only seem to recognise phantoms,

On Wander Patrol through these elevated moon/Junes

Built from semi-recyclable materials,

Built to make office-time last and last,

And last..

You cannot get hay fever from a plastic plant,

But that won't stop them from trying,

These triffids of air-con micro-climate-change,

Never change.

The steel-sealed windows reflect, reflect,

Outside windows inside windows,

Like black hole fractal mirror Picasso's.

Stalactite

Remote

Guernica

We identify ourselves with pass cards hanging

from tribal lanyards;

Chakra

Sometimes it makes me feel like bungee jumping the vertigo,

Eyes samba tripwire reflections.

Without-word-thoughts I wander,

Wondering;

Nightdream Believer.

Aum..

A couple of cleaners,

Amber-in-aspic,

Are steaming a floor nearer to the sky.

A

Throwing bottles bagged,

Into a green wheelie skip;

And,

After hugging,

They talk for a few seconds more,

Before separating.

It's just after 2.35am,

Again..

Ultraviolet sheen,

Dead screen savers,

Grey diagonal blinds;

Are those red building lights helipads for flies?

Floors blink black,

Silhouettes windmill,

Electric eels shuffle, click, flutter, ripple.

Oxygen expires plastic plant photosynthesis.

2.36am.

Aum..

Five-A-Day Magic Mushooms

The bulbous deep, deep, emerald magic mushrooms no longer looked so magical,

Not for a long time.

He'd been "borrowing" them from next door's back-garden

(when they were asleep at night),

for around four years or so now.
Church goers too!
He smiled: You can never tell by looking at people:
Church goers growing magic mushrooms!

And for four years he's smoked them,
Snorted them,
Curried them,
Even boiled them once -

Like a vegetable,

And they tasted absolutely vile when cooked.

Bleeugh!

But did they transport him to the sitar-reverb realms of Nirvana;

Strings plucked by Buddha, Krishna, Hendrix?

Uh no. No they didn't.

These so-called magic mushrooms,
Never, ever, opened any Huxleyan Doors of Perception,
Rhapsodies of Eternal Light never danced hypnotically behind his third eye,

Or even his two ordinary ones for that matter.

At one with Creation? Never!
No angels ever sang,
Or higher beings telepathically communicated.

His dead pet cat never returned as The Sphinx.

No messages from beyond the grave ever offered direction or wisdom,
or mystical revelation;

Secrets he would then delightfully share with this philistine wasteland.

So he resolved never to touch these over-rated fungi again.
He walked to his garden bin,

And threw them all away - for the last time.

The last time ever.
"I'll stick to supermarket cider from now on.."

He closed the lid and walked back in thoroughly dejected,

Kicking a defenceless garden gnome by the porch door.

His next door neighbour watched him from their bedroom window.
"Sue, come here, Look at this!
The cheek of it!
He's been stealing our broccoli for four years,

Now he's throwing it all away,

And he's just kicked his garden gnome!

He told me he's a Buddhist Druid.

What kind of Buddhist Druid steals broccoli and attacks garden gnomes?"

The Ingerland Statue Of Liberty - The Unveiling Ceremony

Jerusalem.

England.

The Ingerland.

Princess Diana,

A neon glow-stick raised,

Arcing ten-to-two,

Her robot arm sways,

No moving parts,

No moving parts,

Huddled masses mexican wave.

Ingerland. Ingerland. Ingerland.

Don't knock it:

It's good for tourism.

Before The Watershed News, April 4th 2011 (Swearing in the Name of)

Headlines:

Carnage in the Ivory Coast,

War in Libya,

Drowned refugees off the coast of Tunisia,

And,

Near nuclear meltdown in Fukushima.

You may find some of these very graphic images disturbing..

And next:

Footballer controversy:

Swearing into the camera!

We have edited out

his cheeky behaviour,

And his naughty words.