Saturday the 13th

Tremors of confusion wrack your mind
And you’re too bonkers lost to think in time
So taking your own misery
Too seriously to grin
The laps of speedy craziness
Spiral around then in

Other peoples’ screams of joy seep
Through a split ‘tween glass and wood
Where in your house
The echoes of this delight
Bounce round your ears
And shake them good

But it’s not happiness you gleen from this
As sour grit grinds your grinding teeth
Even as the rest of town
Erupts, lost in excitement,
The tears that smear your moribund cheeks
Are not loose with relief

Oh poisoned mind
Dumb angry blind
For another swift day
Why waste these thoughts
Why curse your time
Take stock
Feel alive
Live your way.

Lost Song to Minerisa

Bring me your body
lend me your love
I shall in return
present you this groove

My mind is alive
with the sounds of your breath
Alight to your touching
Awake to your sex

Alone and in darkness
I’m finding my way
with none of your help
soon I’m lost to your maze

This party is tricky
a voice lost in smoke
so quickly you hush me
So slowly I choke

Is this where you’re pretty?
Is here where you lie?
To love you was easy
now better to die…

My song can’t expose
all the reasons and lies
Your mind is set straight
for this moment you cry

One night in your loving
my heart was torn free
And now in the blackness
it waits you, lonely

And tearing for beauty
And calling for fame
this lonesome lust lover
can’t keep up the game

So pages lap wildly
at words in the night
A thousand are practiced
but none of them right

You hold for your lover –
the holder of love –
One day shall be found you
alas not my love

Slip silent from living
I’m gone by this time
Whilst freedom is on you
Redemption is mine.Boxing Day Sunset Shottisham

Starter two, April 2015

Alex glanced up furtively at the last chunk of light as it finally fled from the day. Blinds fully open, there was nothing now between the night inside and that out, save for a pane or two of glass.White double light switch, one on, one off

He sank in defeat to the couch and reached for the remote. He felt the cold blue light of failure bathe the room and muted those flickering morons. Once again his mobile browser found open medical sites which held no hope. He would have to sit it out and wait until Ali got home.

For whatever reason, the insulated switch-stick, which had been designed so recently for Alex, no longer worked. It was no different than if he tried to flick the switch himself. Unknown forces taunted Alex again. Although he was able to turn on and off any of the plethora appliances in one’s life, Alex was incapable of electrifying illumination in any setting! If you were hosted by Alex for an evening, you’d better make a note of where the light switches are cause you’re going to use them.

Around 2 months after his 19th birthday Alex started losing his light. At family homes, he was in constant need of light bulbs and fuses, his own home started the rotary of switch styles, as he tried to find a way through the night. Eventually, of course, doctors had been involved – but what can they do? If you switch on a light and then your patient is unable to make it black, is there a prescription for that? If you ask your capable and well-rounded appearing young patient to pop along and add their sample to a pot; when you have to turn on the light for them, which counseling service do you approach first?

Some bright spark botched up a switch-glove for Alex to have on his person for all eventualities. It worked for 4 days (about 1200 switches – Alex couldn’t help himself!) until the phantoms found their way through the materials.

Weeks of glove enhancement led to the switch-stick: insulated, angled, machined, crafted… researched (based on what?), the best, most recent, one – here we are back at the start – no longer worked.

And thus, inevitably, reluctantly, Alex once again found himself in his lightless nightmare…

Starter one, April 2015

IMG_6246Harry was oblivious to the commotion. The washing up is done, cake sandwich cooling. The kids have 15 minutes left of nap time.

This second coffee is halfway down, as is the crafted cone of bliss slowly smoldering in his left hand.

Deep breath in, little cloud out, and imbibe each puff of the very last crumbs of green in the house. The impending banality, marveling at that thick cloud of pot smoke, collapsing on itself so quickly, as exhaled. Coating our blooming kitchen in that giveaway stink.

Panic is ebbing again, he enjoys several deep tokes.

It stank so good until, as happens now, it gets extinguished. The final flutter of ash on the little sink. Then the roach, rancid with regret, is quenched and then commonly tossed out of the window.

This then is when Harry found life returning to his earth.

Three ominous orbs lined up outside the kitchen got noticed at the same time as the crash and smash of reverie getting and in to a temporarily crinkled mass of shock and awe!

The kids screamed.

The kitchen door disintergrated.

And Harry ran cold tap to flush his ash…


Finally managed to have a chat with my future self last week

Adam 2020 told me to follow my heart, live for the day, and other platitudes

Whereupon I pressed him for details

He says I should wank and smoke less, take women seriously – especially my wife – and spend more time with the little B’s

He also encouraged me to make more money as he was tired of being almost poor

After some other literary gems (I promised not to share) he told me I’d always been conceited

I poked him in the eye, kicked him in the nuts and shot his left big toe off

So now I’ve got that to look forward to, too

Damn technology


Sung long and round o hills
How high and vast your tracks
Hang low break slow o hills
Dip your grand hat high sun

White man blues

adam bujons:

From October 2011 (written much earlier), it seems the blog’sphere is populated by godheads, and whilst I admire your tenacity, I can’t shake that belief that god was a creation of a scared and ignorant humanity, looking for answers without the mechanisms (or wit) to fathom any; A humanity with whom we share very little in common today.
I re-blog this blues-inspired poem in the hope that there are other atheists out there, sharing this technology with all the devout..?

Originally posted on bujonswords:

Poor white man got no God
Everyone loses when you ain’t got love

Got no money just got pain
and next time just gonna lose again

Poor white man down on luck
Waking each day though you don’t wake much

Lost that woman took your heart
Gave up feeling when it fell apart

How’s the light in your eyes
Got so lost and burnt to die inside?

Poor white man poor or free
Dragging blues like it’s captivity

Open eyes now open heart
This one life’s waiting for you to start

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