Saturday, 29 October 2016

Nuclear Bombs In Beige


Purple mustard and beige
Became less trendy shades in the nascent global warming age
When anti-nuclear camping grannies

Militant establishment barons enraged
Yet some of us wayward lambs were charmed 
Perhaps Armageddon's reaper skis might yet slalom
So we could hide under kitchen tables evading school
Old Formica a formidable repellent of eighties radiation
MAD seemed preferable to another maths detention
Saddam was the avuncular good guy 

CIA's stalwart point man on Iran
And the Soviets

the bad guys jacking-up for Brezhnev
in Babrak Karmal's Afghanistan..

I wrote a poem about nuclear war
It got published in the school magazine
But only because I pretended nuclear war was a really bad thing
What a cynical populist I was even then
And someone felt-tipped Joy Division on my bag
And one of the older fit girls
almost saluted a dumb-founded flag
And only because I wrote a poem against nuclear war
She cooed aaaaw
Thinking I was the sensitive type
A clueless Indianish philosopher-king
Supporting the tortured souls of defunct Joy Division
And being against nuclear war..

Nuclear war
What is it good for
Writing poems against nuclear war
That's what it's good for
Say it again..

And around the same time
A dad of a neighbour boasted
That his new car had a real vinyl roof
The real vinyl roof was colour co-ordinated
With the roof being brown
And the real metallic paint 
being a fake metallic lime brown green
It flowed like a genuine blocked artery
A one point three Gee Ell Ee
It did cruise control at almost thirty
It had screaming patterned pastel cloth seats
It had gluey go-faster shiny strips
It sported two reverse lights
It was impressed with itself at the time..

He played James Last on his cassette player
Or Queen
Or other bands that played Sun City
But he didn't buy South African oranges
Because he was really against eating oranges..

Incidentally he never listened to Cliff Richard
Even though Cliff Richard also played Sun City
And yet he enjoyed immensely James Last
Even though James Last possibly never played Sun City
My neighbour's dad was a contrary man really..

His cassette player also boasted medium wave
But not FM
Because it wasn't a Ghia
And the sound on FM just not as clear
He claimed FM and power steering 
were only passing fads
For girly New Romantic powder-puff eye-shadow-clad lads
Shock troops of the power windows brigade
Custard-haired dandies 
Legless only on shandy
Blow-drying low-tar Embassy
Under the plastic palm tree haze..

A hostess trolley
A fondue set
A tea cosy
A ciggy for 5p
Return the bottle of Tizer
And get a ciggy
The newsagent didn't mind
as long as we acted over-age in his shop
And as long as we also bought
Another Curly Wurly
Or a Sherbert Fountain
Or another bottle of pop
..and another ciggy for 5p
Which we could only smoke outside..


Out of the black and into the red
You don't get nothing for two in a bed
Oh look you nearly won a caravan
But you didn't

Smashin'..  (Jim Bowen)

321
Dusty Bin
Oh how I remember
Those baffling gnomic riddles and rhymes
And no I could never crack the koan wisdom 
For a his'n'hers matching set of Terylene bathrobe towelling
Ted Rogers 
the Basho of ITV Taoism

And I had an older Marxist friend who would vote Tory
He must have been nearly seventeen
He wished for a job-nuking economy
So he surmised elegantly
Thatcher the best thing..

Later on he threw off his head 
Mohican
And joined a polytechnic band
Moody mulleted now
Analog bollocks strangled in spandex 
Ensorcelling with low Flying-V imitation Strats
A cross-bred indie tree of Cocteau Twins-Curve-MBV
Swirly mavens of shoegazer glam
And he devoured music magazines like Sounds and Kerrang
And then he got married
Had kids
The end..


So we used to take our school ties off
Before we entered the shop
Acted as if we were young grown men
on our office lunch break I suppose
And the method acting newsagent
pretended he never once guessed
as long as we acted over-age in his shop

And as long as we also bought
Another Curly Wurly
Or a Sherbert Fountain
Or another bottle of pop
..and another ciggy for 5p
Which we could only smoke outside..


I nearly blew my cover one time
When I asked if they would deal me
"a whole Hamlet including a tube of Smarties
for no more than 8 to 10p"
His wife laughed like a drain
But demurred kindly
Consolating that she thought my badge cute
Supporting CND..


Friday, 14 October 2016

Bleeding-Edge Prophet


And Lo
So let it be said
And let it also be written thus
And let it be passed down through the generations
Like rare unicorn musk..

There was once a man so wise
And this wise man was a very wise man
And he did offer me deeply learned counsel
And he did point to a very far away place
Way over there betwixt the yonder high rises
Past the melded concrete ravines
The budgerigar dressage glass-encased whirlpool trip-wired meadows
Humanity redux recast remoulded deep-fried and stilettoed
A hive-mind meshed in a debt collector universe
Smashed over our heads with cellos..


And yet and yet
For all that
There beyond the marauding marque shellac 

And the disinterred fluorescing plastered grass
A mysterious plain of rapturous abandon and ascension was mapped
Glittering and shimmering so silken diffuse and vast..

Yes of course his eyes flashed as the eyes of a zoom lensed visionary
Fathomless and flaming
Yet calm and all-seeing
There I tell you
It lieth there 

He flourished a magical divining instrument
Pointing and tilting it so
His hallowed dowser elevating us symbiotically
A deft sceptic-frying debunkers Valhalla soul communion 
of elevated spirit and esoteric Vimana-style technology
The wise man had no doubt 
For his instrument had no doubt
For where there is synergy there is symmetry
The flowing a flowering liminal...


So what incredible wonders lieth there I enquired
He only nodded cryptically murmuring
Sagely confiding delicately whispering
Know this..it is The Gift 
Right there 
Just as fixed on the earth

as the canopy of stars is hanging up high I tell you..

So you must go now to that very place
Make haste
For what you must seek post-rock poetry man

 - this veiled Nirvana municipality
Shall surely be revealed with tidings gladly

To shine gloriously before you in all its munificent majesty
So roll now chosen one
I shall meet you there verily before sundown
Farewell

No time to fetch your man-mittens..

And so let it be written

For my man-mittens I did not tarry journeying 'neath this engineered sky
The strips of tripping Komodo breath of barium halo slime
Enveloped the cascading Wormwood lodestone 

on its eccentric Sumerian inscribed melt-and-go timeline..

And know this..
As Space Deception Technology cloaked
I walked amongst the hordes of sonic feedback clones
A strange delirium a gnostic probably foretold

For the undeliverable people seemed as fevered lost sheep 
Wandering
Eyes forever cast low on Pokémon GO!
Volunteer mole-spies banging into one another privacy laundering..


And when this sacred land I at last reached
All around me was but bleak barrenness babbling electronic speech..


And an upturned shopping trolley lay here
And some non-biodegradable carrier bags
shape-shifted a desultory tumble-weed banshee swirl over there

The heat waves steam-rolled the unforgiving arid asphalt air
And I feeling weary and confused at this desperate scene
Awaited for the return of the wise man
My elemental bleeding-edge guide
As drone vultures above hummed swooped tormented and dived
We the people team-tagged the deep state's outlandish ants or flies..

After not one sundown but two
The wise man stumbled at last into view
Bedraggled and windswept and blistered
This locust land of philistine bling 

Gang-banging the medicated ever more bewildered..

So I held out my arms askance..
And what dwells here wise man
For I observe here but ten kinds of miserable wrong 
No heavenly gyrating maidens
No starlight
No feast

No nymphs banging golden leaf gongs
Where are my welcoming dancing throngs
Come on..


And gentle reader know this
The fierce gusts did whip harshly around us
And the magnified darkening sun stung us 
Burning as lasers through the mysterious lenses square
Earth projecting an imposter moon layer as deep as a disc
Our ragged souls shredding us through the hedgerows of despair..

The wise man shook his head with deep sorrow
I confess I am so lost
Moreover
 More lost than ever

And he gazed up to the bubbling scarlet cotton
Then wiping away tears of frustration
Glared down at his device
He concluded after a silence
Philosophically gonzo-Zen

My Celestial Promised Land Sat-Nav App fucked up again..


So I must say this unto you
Whatever you need to discover is not here
Or there...or there..
And even if it be here..or there..or there..
Surely I would not know..

He trailed off..
..for I have no gleaning of astronomy..or astrology..or astrometry
Nary a glimmer..no hope..


His tormented soul was as the debris field
Swirling the anciently-fangled constellation Ophiuchus..
If only I had paid more attention at Wise Man College
Alas I did not heed my teachers knowledge
Thus I confess I know not one lentil sausage
Self-deluded

I download this app
A short-cut to the etheric unworldly bridge

You see I was tempted
Alas I am not a very learned wise man
I hope you will find it within yourself to forgive..


And we wept

For we were as idiots self-annointed
And were as the Sam Allardyce recently proclaimed
Obviously massively disappointed..