A night out

Encroachment if he speaks, encouragement uplifts the confidence he seeks, out of depth, never to embark, drink more whisky then a walk in the dark, thoughts of a desperate task, not moving in fear, frozen on the spot, dared not ask for a dance, or take a daring chance 

on the cold street while walking to his room, he heard a clink, a bottle dropped, he hurried on, reminding himself not to stop, footsteps from a door in front and behind, a thump to his head, the shock of it sent him blind, at least two were cursing and kicking him all over, he wondered why he was clubbing in Dover.

Eventually he felt no pain after losing consciousness his demise brought them gain, the police questioned who he’d upset and why?,  they never found out, he was one more victim that had died, the family placed flowers on the street of the crime, the only thing his mother could do was fall to her knees and cry

Yin and Yang, Karma at play, tread on a twig, unbalance the day, kill an insect, blow too much, if it is a must, be gentle with touch, bury a seed, plant a tree, work hard like Martha or believe and see. 

Hmm!

Everybody has one good book in them, I am intuitively different, my brain is an explosion of never ending particles of electrified sparks encountering damp illusions completed by worries and short circuited confusions. 

%}#€$&: - Crazy

A little bit crazy is fine, a little bit crazy is fun, a little bit crazy can be undone, a little bit crazy is comedy sublime, so long as a little bit crazy is not all the time.

A whole lot crazy is noticed quick, a whole lot crazy allows plenty of magic for a crazy trick, a whole lot crazy is dangerous if your the leader of the free world and people believe in your rhetoric 

Power crazy is the way to fast leading, power crazy leaves others suffering and bleeding, Power crazy should never be mixed with a little bit crazy or whole Crazy as it brings out the worst in people rich or lazy

I must confess of being a little bit of all three, so I have dinner for breakfast and breakfast for tea.

I will walk to paradise

I whisper in the whispering gallery, I talk on the phone, I shout in an empty room when I’m all alone

I Jive in the hall, I trot on the road, I sing in the shower so nobody knows 

I take photos with my mind, I smile with my eyes, I kill all my enemies in a moment of mime

I live in peace, I die with hunger, I was much too late to stop no mans land as a runner

I scream on a mountain, I close my eyes to auschwitz, I heard the Berlin wall crumble, roll over and tumble

I was born a Christian, I grew up a Christian, I entered the war a Christian, I shot a Christian, then one day, I’ll die a Christian. 

Through the tunnel

I ventured into darkness, sorrow taking my soul, nothing that is new to me, forever in a hole, for when a child, I sped through the river tunnel under Greenwich, before realisation pounced upon me that I had the sheer panic of returning back home,  once more alone

A long tunnel it is, my mind is in a tizz, wishing the lights were brighter, focusing on the end, petrified of what I may find, a bend is up ahead, leaving tragedy  behind, searching for a peaceful, colourful sign, twisting, turning, a long way up, sweating and burning forever yearning.

Irrespective of the timepiece I wear upon my wrist, I keep on going, just cannot resist, up every slope, down every cavern, around every twist, the devils brace is clasped on tight, I fear a sharp turn leading deep on to the right, Continually searching for the bright white light, floating way up on the sail in the wind of a kite

A journey Once travelled, a chancing delay, once again on the road that leads to dismay, forever a struggle though no fault of mine own, a stone ridden road that I have travelled til’ grown, snakes bite my ankle, shoes leak with rain, forgiveness unknown, then I will go there again, future in doubt, past left in tatters, I am alive today and the fact is what matters. 

un français qui passe

Grey skies above when I fell in love, Sodden were my shoes when I first saw you

Crazy with drink, laced with drugs, a glance of the moment we slowly hugged

A mystical swirling mist when we partook a kiss or was it just smoke from your cigarette of bliss

A memory etched into my fragile mind, an Andy Warhol piece of art, of a very different kind

When at last I saw you vomit on your dress, that was the last time ever but I could have guessed

Your friends called a taxi then you were gone, now I’ll never forget the moment, we danced to that bloody song

L’AVENTURIER INDOCHINE, I saw your perfect moves in the Music Machine, freedom to express but always too keen

Au revoir je t'aime, à la prochaine were the parting words that were spoken, I’ll never see you again.

Prodemic

I saw the bat that carried the virus, they were not to know. The human race needs to eat, Cockroaches, dogs, pigs feet, a large barbecue, a small amount of money with a little treat, the remains of filth of the human pilf, forestry felled for the use of tilth. 

Coronavirus began in Wuhan City, now isn’t that a pity, they would never think of eating bat in London Town, Lizard or snake, there’s the accusation of eating lamb at twenty five pounds a leg, I ask you who’s making a mistake?, with a Wellington bake, Surely food is there for the take, not a commodity of the free Democratic race.

Tragedy wherever it begins places the Earth at a costly sin, millions will die from human error, the eyes of the old  show the real threatening terror, the planet warms, the ice caps melt, the children in school cannot even spell, destructive, odoriferous, perfidious greed, over selling the cause is an odious feed.

Intellectual farce with the clowns at the helm, let us pray for a harvest and burn all the chaff, ridicule self loathing chastise them for laughing, pack them off to hell. prioritise our ties, no more lies, stop inoculation allow some of the flies,strengthen our immunity, retrace the demise, punish the fools, Kill all their spies. 

A fools paradise, ecclesiastical curse, look after the hungry or it may get worse, let a river flow to refresh the thirst, wash your hands forevermore, protect the bubble then close the door, our children will one day know what it was for, their granchildren will scream your such a bore, 

Thank God it’s not a war, or is it?