New Star Rising There's a new star rising in the west, and it's coming from the place, that we know must be the best. The nights are growing longer, feel the power getting stronger, put the people of the old ways to the test. Along the horizon, lines of dust. In the prisons, bars of … Continue reading New Star Rising
How short can a poem be before it's just a few words on a piece of paper, before it's not a poem? Then again, what is a poem? There is a one-letter poem apparently, by the American poet and novelist, Aram Saroyan. It's called, well, I can't really type what it's called. The poem consists … Continue reading How short can a poem be?
The second "blues" poem referred to in the previous post. Again, I don't have a firm date for it but it's going to be circa 1976/78. I'd been pouring through "Writings and Drawings", a book of poetry, song lyrics and drawings by the august mister Robert Zimmerman and being young and impressionable some of it … Continue reading I Wish It Was Yesterday.
Hangover Blues Well l woke up this morning, took off my clothes and went to bed. Oh, I woke up this morning, took off my clothes and went to bed. Said I woke up this morning, took off my clothes and went to bed. Well, this pain I got baby, like a freight train going … Continue reading Hangover Blues
Love Byte My love, the wires are warm tonight, and she sees me. My love flows and she knows, my love, and always programmed so. The wires are warm tonight, but emotions are within permissible limits, and we might yet touch. We might smile, we might yet touch. And I see her. She's calculated, she … Continue reading Love Byte.
I wrote this piece of witless whimsey sometime in 1978 apparently. Typed up in April 1978 at any rate when I was obviously going through some sort of "electrical" phase, 3 phase 415 volts probably. There is a second "electrical" poem from around the same sort of time, I'll post it separately. I've tidied up … Continue reading 3 phase 415 volts probably.
Written in November 1978, I intended this as a sort of tumbling stream of consciousness. When I wrote it I was torn between using and not using punctuation but in the end I conformed and included commas and full stops. This time however, here in the 21st century, I'm going out on a limb and … Continue reading Any excuse.
In Unread Words A sad and lonely poet, comes to the end of his rhyme. The suns and moons, of age, are passing, through the canyons of his mind. "We knew the way," he sadly cries, "we could have shown you life." "Your eyes I see are crying now, they dim your blood-stained knife." And … Continue reading In Unread Words.
Teenage poetry. This one has a date, 13th August 1977 which, the internet reliably informs me was a Saturday. The original title that I'd written down was 'The Ad,itive' but I thought that it looked a bit too, um… you know. I'd obviously been overdosing on telly adverts and thinking about Carol who I'd met … Continue reading The Additive.
Soldiers stare in poets' guise, shout bloody words at careless skies. Faces bowed are steeped in grief, and turn away from warrior and thief. Art ensnared in martial rule, followed by bloodlust thirsty fools. Teachers caught are sold and bought, preach manifestoes to the worth of naught. Mourning not another day, these people force my … Continue reading Out of the Ecliptic.