Man

Virtual command incorporates artificial intelligence, play a game, score a win,

artistic imaginations locked in, 

then begin.

Organic computers reading books, correct Childrens future spelling, mathematical logarithms, "you should know this your five years old!" 

round fat futuristic race, humanity lazy, keep up with the pace, "please lift your feet" the robot will ask with a smile on its face, networked killing machines linked to control the human waste. 

Control biorythms, great machines, mental reasoning to program likewise hand it over to trilobites of microbiological technicality, write the program for eventuality, leave it to them, then 

forget the ability. 

technologicaly advances beyond the plan

Authorise computers to reason with man

Hand them birthright, Citizenship main

give permission to control the game

humanity over joyous, pursue to be gods

hypocritically arrogant, 

self righteous sods

"bright endeavour from where did you come?", "I came from the place, a birthright of son, they seek perfection

but none they will find, the human race 

is far too unkind". "oh bright endeavour what shall we do?", "let the light have its pleasure to see the work through","microwave the planet be rid of its host, peace reign on Earth",

"when man is a ghost".

Wear a poppy?

Though I forget not, the least I can give

succumbed to the moment of loved ones distress, I weep with heart fullness address.

Every son blindly into war, courageous at a score, death doth not become a pure boys heart, he never so young was meant to depart.

Adorn a poppy not for the pleasure of conflict, nor for the conflict of pleasure, nor for the worth of having a measure. Adorn a poppy if one must for the innocence of a youthful gust.

If one must die, a necessary cause or just, not a decision of a greedy must

fight against repression of soulful will

Not the chance of a financial kill

we have enough ornaments,

on a window sill.

This day gives for a child who blindly gave his life, for the husband of a grieving wife, for the soldier who lived and died by the knife, one cannot repair a heart with mournful blight.

Same year, worlds apart!

1935 when you were born,

like a fall from grace, you captured us all.

you loved everyone, everyone loved you,

precious as a child, sensitive and brave, Doodle bugs dropping wave after wave, you got me through when I heard King Creole, I had a clean home not a shit hole.

The Angels were singing 'Love me tender' when you went with God to his big wide home, you could be peaceful in the valley and quite unknown.

judgement day would not come for you that day, for you were welcome in heaven anytime, come what may.

you were generous, caring, without fault, you sang as though you were an angel 

I heard as your biggest fan, I have always felt 'Lost', even more now your not here, now I am a man, I find it hard to stand

yet I will!, If it is gods plan, I will stay here till' my end to meet with you again

an Elvis fan and a loving son, most wonderful woman that lived in my eyes, 'My Mum'.

The November Line

Witness the intensity of planets this week

perception of a highway into heaven

Path to the earth, distant from the moon

destination to the stars, elapse too soon

"step up, step up" each person see

a serendipitous shift in ones destiny

Blackness' o'er the land and wide 

ubiquitous, far-reaching, sound

content to shred the fear to hide

bloodened be the stain abound

inception be an eerie place

birthright of the Satan race

grace' take us fast in our sleep

deliver us swiftly from the world

Oh'liberate us from the Devils keep

as lambs we follow into hell

the teacher knows his pupils well.

I write coz

I write to the moonlight, I write to the stars,                   
I write about sorrow, I write about scars,                
I write when I'm happy, I write when I'm sad,

I write about feelings that drive me half mad,

most of all I write to be me, 

to travel to places, set my life free

I write to Christians, aethiests and Jews,

Consistently write the wrong words to you

the featureless face hides a mannequins grin, 

the soulless echo of words deep within,

I write of the teenagers in romantic sin

party animal people pissed up with gin

mostly I write for the gluttonous bin

now look at the fucking state I am in

Troubled Sleep

I live, work, breathe, go through the motions, unnequivocally unchanging 

on the narrow path tiresomely steep

yet I'm  always asleep when I weep

rattled by the things I see and hear

almost an inclusion, a sight 

a narrow corridor, a peep

most people are confoundly irritated when I am around, perhaps that's why I'm always asleep when I weep

I've heard it before absorbed from generations of ancient stories given to us by centuries past through the ground

I'm far too stupid to be profound

Grandad died with a knowledge 

he has taken it with him to keep

Yet to me it's a repetitive sound

maybe that's why I'm always asleep when I weep, too tired to carry on

I always sleep then I weep

Pine table

Nostrils saviour the smell of pine

turn, cut, smoothen out

craft of a hand steady

skill is detail

a bowl

fruit

table

Inanimate 

collecting dust

thirty years a tree

thirty years for me

rotten sweet fruit

mouldy apple

soft plum

sandpaper 

return to wood

senses are mine

the faint smell of pine

polish with antique wax

put it on the big brown table

fruit in a bowl sit down and relax