Candlelight boogie

Robert Jones tipped the cup to his lips, imbibed gracefully the dark green liquid. Held in the mouth and wavering softly inside, this medicine of the gods tasted almost horrid. Outside swine fever gripped the nation. Although no-one semmed to get it - only on the TV. Perhaps the government created an imaginary virus to see how far it would spread. Anyway back to the story. You see Robert Jones was a sensible man, unafraid of the wrath of The Man. Silently he watched the world, seeking higher energies, he would submerge himself in childhood dreams, climbing the mountain forest of Comares to the communal football grounds. There the boys would play all day imitating their idols. Pele, Maradonna et al. Now Stefan was a surfer. On a day like this he would cycle down to the sandy beaches picking up an ice cream on the way. Raspberry ripple flavour with drops of raisins in. He'd hand in his pennies and cross the lady's palms with silver. As he reached the beach he realised it was high tide so he cycled further on along the coast until he found a keep. A wooden building with a solid door. He knocked thrice and out of the woodwork came a pink jewelled cricket bug. It chirped sweetly.
"What's your name?" said Stefan.
"I'm asterisk" said the bug. "Do come inside, your welcome to sit by the masters stove." The cricket bug pressed a button inside and the door opened. The corridor was dark but there was a light from a candle flickering inside. Just visible was a man at a worktop very carefully carving a figurine. Stefan approached nervously watching the innocent flame burning. Shadows leapt and licked the ceiling.

First poem in new sketchbook

Purple rose
lights glowing in the distants
waves rising synchronous
In nights fine tide
Burning listless, great wisps of delight
thru veiled channels of tempered awe
We climb together
Raising our symbols of thought
toward eternity
turning our proud envelope
in the face of it
How can I tell with mortal tongue
the immense beauty of her eyes
As the gentle summer rain
falls in the garden
we snuggle, tender, spiritual.
Above, the great cat
in the sky
bleeds mystic
with melting lies
No voice can speak
as moon fades to sun
I hear the ripples
of ancient ages past
Glory of the tribe with no name
All that and so
it never ends.

To her

I claim your hair
soft agony on a sunday morning.
I sing a choir to your belated walrus.
Tempestuous sunlight woven
thru the fragile features
of your angels fire
singing from myself
towards you
untying the knots of tragedy.
As I nestle in your baudy temple
I have fallen again.
I claim your camembert
and your gruyere.
The vast enormity of
your passion draws me in.
Your armpits intoxicate me also
I am one with your pubic hair
A smiling wetness as I
navigate your emulations
I've seen you unleash your
Roman fury.
Burning gold like a mare in heat.
Laugh that laugh when you
breathe in your clothes
but slip off those panties
and we'll see a different expression!

Elm Tree

Before leaving mention the
catapulting shennanigans
that grow within the quiet shade.
beard mulligans
Pray to the sweet.
Unlight the blurred lights on the
shakey ship to nirvana.
Caravaggio fornicating wild with the
wild maenads of the Aegean hills
Chalk solitudes
Trappist beer mown silken again...
The golden giants press
fierce against the glass of their
meaningless chimneys.

Social Centre Invocation

Weave that fragment
Feel the wheel
Revolve from the uber-left.
Chanting the names of
poets long forgotten
Bringing them back into existence
Allow the eloquent fry up
to perceive their own flow
And the river keeps on flowing.
A University punt aflame on the Cam!
Sisters of infinity...
Gypsy rainbows from heaven!
Should ye find gold in the tunnels
or mountains of ice on the balcony
Just aim for Arjuna,
shoot your arrows wide,
and choose your fork wisely

East Sabbath

Where did your meaning go?
resting as it does in
the neverending sanctuary
of the sweet insatiatable
clicking fire of the moment.
Rotate your bliss thru
the chimney of your soul.
Set apart the devastating thunder.
Let it aim meticulous
washing every folicle,
a walking, ever changing call.
Swaying golden wind
The turning of chi...

Candlelight Boogie

Robert Jones tipped the cup to his lips, imbibed gracefully the dark green liquid. Held in the mouth and wavering softly inside, this medicine of the gods tasted almost horrid. Outside swine fever gripped the nation. Although no-one semmed to get it - only on the TV. Perhaps the government created an imaginary virus to see how far it would spread. Anyway back to the story. You see Robert Jones was a sensible man, unafraid of the wrath of The Man. Silently he watched the world, seeking higher energies, he would submerge himself in childhood dreams, climbing the mountain forest of Comares to the communal football grounds. There the boys would play all day imitating their idols. Pele, Maradonna et al. Now Stefan was a surfer. On a day like this he would cycle down to the sandy beaches picking up an ice cream on the way. Raspberry ripple flavour with drops of raisins in. He'd hand in his pennies and cross the lady's palms with silver. As he reached the beach he realised it was high tide so he cycled further on along the coast until he found a keep. A wooden building with a solid door. He knocked thrice and out of the woodwork came a pink jewelled cricket bug. It chirped sweetly.
"What's your name?" said Stefan.
"I'm asterisk" said the bug. "Do come inside, your welcome to sit by the masters stove." The cricket bug pressed a button inside and the door opened. The corridor was dark but there was a light from a candle flickering inside. Just visible was a man at a worktop very carefully carving a figurine. Stefan approached nervously watching the innocent flame burning. Shadows leapt and licked the ceiling.