Saturday, 27 November 2010

Friday, 22 October 2010

best way doubt

A Poem as Quick as the Government Cutz

What a slough! - Kill Pol Pot,
Or Hitler, or George Osborne (keep reading),
that frigid Anti-Christ and slavering
Beast -
100% kidz, 100%! -
Ice & lapdog drool
All over
My epiphany!
My eternity!
Slogged off guts of dead dog
cutscutscut & kiss a cunt
& say g%dnight "children"
The cat is in the bag
Is in da mouse is in Da House
& I'll sleep, petal,
I'll sleep
With the efficiency of the
German moto trade
Turning tricks
On Chinese nuts
(My freakin epiphany!!!
All over Chinese nuts

(Ran into a French rioter the
Other day,
Said better off dead
Than fed a bunch of
Pour le petit dejeuner.

(Just kidding, George - you're GORGEOUS!)




Saturday, 25 September 2010

Fertility Verse

Scoop organism
from cheek smudge

mother spit
against depression

in purple veined
boiler suit (sundae

sackcloth virgin).
She proffers twice

the meat
she blanches

head boiled
to a velvet

top hat cocked
between her

peach pink thighs.
The crush of

clouds her squint
fells trees &

scrapes the prickly
plant spine thrust

in maturation.
Lick her

belly flat
& soundless

coil a sweet
voluptuous palm

where divination
smirks like

childless pottery.

Friday, 13 August 2010


Ma heid's fu ae letters

waukin through this park

the skirl ae the pipes

washin it clean so's

the letters fly up tae the sky

blue sky poems curlin

at the edges fur the

glories ae the nation.

Monday, 2 August 2010

Swan Vedanta

~~~~~~] [~~~~~~

Saturday, 31 July 2010


A little hither & thither between myself & Mike Cannell at the wonderful Otoliths.

Monday, 19 July 2010

Saturday, 17 July 2010

Notes on a Joseph Beuys Exhibition


earth berth fat felt,
& blood & shit & semen;
electrical code crack crust company
for the belly of a pregnant doe.

stag lilt,
recovery breath,
to name my saviour hourly.

the pulse
of air
as snake



sound pump peace

art salmon


Wednesday, 14 July 2010


Here's one of only a handful of poems I wrote between the ages of 20 and 30 (when I was otherwise engaged in the poetic art of survival). It's a prose poem, written before I knew what a prose poem really was, and I present it now, some 15 years later, because of an renewed interest in the archetypal images of Kundalini awakening it draws upon, at a time when the effects of that awakening are still being worked through with a heightened sense of wonder, awe and hope in the mysterious processes involved. Hope you enjoy it:

A thousand magpies were sent up from the earth and broke her crust and dispersed. And one broken winged magpie flew on a crow's back to a house where a girl received it and cooked it and ate it. She ate it and fell ill and saw, that night, in her delirium, the vision of a thousand magpies launched into the world.

And one magpie flew to a river rock where it absorbed the sound of the water’s roar and carried it, in its throat, to the sea. Returning to the rock, returning the water’s roar, the magpie was drowned by a sudden surge of the indignant swell.

The dead bird floated downstream until it was washed up on a bank where a boy fished. Instantly, four crows came from the four corners and lifted the magpie in their wings and flew off, returning the bird to the fountain of the girl's dream, where she received it and held it and transformed it into a thousand living bluebirds.

Ectojism 1

Monday, 21 June 2010