Saturday, 30 December 2017

giraffes barely dressed


the giraffes
barely dressed
- hoarfrost

*

study desk
a reflection of
a cloud

*

day moon
a heron standing on a
frozen pond

*

covered in snow the snowberry

*

Wednesday, 27 December 2017

[first line omitted]

[first line omitted]
stars are such
arseholes

*

underside of a gull day moon

*

autumn sky
a sheepdog’s
blue eyes

*

light reflecting
on a friend’s a gift -
long night

Tuesday, 19 December 2017

uncovering turnip bowls and southampton


The pressed wallflowers woo the stepdaughter w/ dried snapdragons. Her backbone is Southampton - a rare birth defect. The wallflowers look for a serum in the old town’s snapdragons. 

amongst the 
fallen leaves 
a robin’s ticking call

They walk from Bargate down the old medieval routes trying to avoid poisoners. The old town path is full of bulges, 90 by some accounts, and many anemone moons, 30 by some accounts. Aware of the Georgian finger breakers and the hothouses the wallflowers mask their wingspan.  

a drunk props up
the old town walls 
winter breeze

Of all the viewpoints of a watermelon the church warden still sharpens his arrow. The traffic goes the way of seafood. Edward the 3rd sowed these wallflowers in spite of the French. Southampton wants to become a country maiden. Some doctors believe that yeast accelerates the disease. 




Monday, 18 December 2017

accidently like a placenta


If you hate yourself it is a natural conclusion to hate everyone else. That was the title of the conference we attended. I lie and tell my friends I am going for the free wine. Hatred expands with my headache and cooly rests in a sleeve. Other times resting with its girlfriend.

winter cherry blossom
as winter cherry blossom
the hole my dentist leaves


I spend the morning listening to Kendrick & studying algebra. The mosaic all the while just winks at me. Mild day outside - the crabs are out looking for cheap food options. The squadrons declare war on Holmlea park all the while taking photographs for their sweethearts. 

Sunday, 17 December 2017

the north pole waddles down from the arctic


A matador shows his collie the airship. Unimpressed, as all dogs are by flying ships, it tries to bite its lead instead. ‘If only collies knew the joys of sitting above the earth....’ he ponders to himself out loud. He returns to tying up the frost. The currents from the airship and the disinterested dog, making his task near on impossible. 


a mole hill
crowned w/ snow
winter moon

Gnats sleep tightly, their pillows propped up w/ books on the tactics of the ’85 Chicago bears, dreaming of Albion. ‘It is looking for ceilidh and tennis.’ Warns a weather man.

Saturday, 16 December 2017

becoming a frontiersman

licking bureaucracy
the bible dyed red

*

divided by a line of bare trees
the muslim & jewish cemeteries

*

darkening duplex -
the holiday gift becomes
a frontiersman

*

winter sky a parsnip tastes of it

*

      Nicolaes Maes. A Woman Scraping Parsnips, with a Child Standing by Her. 1655

Thursday, 14 December 2017

soybean & the long haul

Nocturnal anniversary - we use scoopfuls of three-wheelers to communicate. Several years ago the signal men were all sent to the penitentiary. Through his binoculars, pausing to take a sip, he could see the mall order oxidising. WIth each call white flashed from the owl’s throat. A visual culprit the reservoir eventually finds itself. Flashguns brought the bell of modernity to the agricultural community but they already had a good mating streak. At night he cleans his mop.

waxing moon
the covers come free
from the bed


William Turnbull. Head Blue/Yellow. 1956

Monday, 11 December 2017

figuring out figuring out


cutting my son’s fingernails waning moon

*

figuring out figuring out my son’s half-full mouth

*

the sound of
bicycle brakes
her bright pink jacket

*

cuckolded rainforest - finding the bylaws of a bathroom

*

Eduardo Nery. Cor-Luz. 2008


Sunday, 10 December 2017

christmas lights

christmas lights
a row of
winter roses

*

chopping gold beets
a memory of
summer sun

*

cold night
a streetlight reflects
on a for sale sign

*

stephen’s day
the homeless man
waits for new year

*

        Angelo de Sousa . Um Ocre . 2006

Saturday, 9 December 2017

a laburnum after the blossom

spring rain
looking through
last month’s photos

*

overcast
black-headed gulls come into
summer plumage

*

my son’s tears
a laburnum after
the blossom

*

windfall apples
a mother walks
her child to school

Tuesday, 5 December 2017

syrup bees

winter shower a teapot clinks off of a vase

*

when the moon is just right a bee will, sometimes, climbs inside of a dead lion and make syrup

*

having never cleaned a veg peeler i clean the veg peeler

*

long night the sighing of a bus

*



Sunday, 3 December 2017

custard ratio

custard ratio...
a bank opens next to
grandma’s shit

*

donkey rhythm
the hooting of pacifiers

*

melancholy
each stone
a new shadow

*

schizophrenic windows shining through four agents -
 this world begins and ends in the womb

*

      Orientalisk danserska. Gosta Adrian-Nilsson 


Saturday, 2 December 2017

a hat becomes a hat

waning moon
my son's
nappy

*

morning light
a hat becomes
a hat

*

the world tumbles out of her mouth: i’m pregnant

*

drums the sound of a duck eating its own liver

*

   Woman with hat. Roy Lichtenstein.













Monday, 27 November 2017

milk morality

war museum
a mole hill looks on
indifferently

*

milk morality
a ballerina becomes
a landscape

*

long night
a carpet beetle finds
the linoleum

*

the only cure for black heads is death - winter shower eddies

*
       Theodoros Stamos. Infinity Field. 1981

Wednesday, 22 November 2017

22/11/2017

Cumulus clouds rustle cows and clowns down sunset’s cuffed agenda. Looking for a fair weekend; pardon’s curve increases the value of the fair weekend. Riders hip to the weather head south overtaking vehicles and ungulates. Stopping just for water and trading. Along the distant road triangles and exotic shrubs slowly reforest the priest’s favoured possessions. 

fair weather clouds 
the sound of a train
in the distance 

Tuesday, 21 November 2017

talking to myself

talking to myself
has never been so productive
'alexa, add bin bags'

*

aviation museum
my feet
tired

*

mole hill
you probably can't be happy
when you're dead

*

rain
the sound of a dog
snoring

*



Sunday, 19 November 2017

Ghanaian stamps

I meet J. We eat ramen at a new place in town. Clef statements emboss the lullaby chic that dominates the plaid shirts. I have sake w/ my food. We have enough of the airliner dining. After the food we go to a bar that has a lot of video game cabinets. We play streetfighter and other games. J makes a lilac out of a tea pot I have nothing to offer except my father’s rare collection of West African stamps. ‘Oh, the Ghanaian ones are nice.’ J  offers sympathetically. The Moonwalker game is funny. There are lots of weird things in the game like the phallic robotic bad guys. Bubbles is also a power up that affords MJ the ability to become a giant laser shooting robot. With the church only a skip away we buy replica crown thorns. It is a good time.

clay stars
a lawn 
full of dandelions



Friday, 17 November 2017

The laser show of 1804

They were enjoying the laser show when they composed the most famous poem of 1804. D made the situation awkward.

new moon
the patch where
the daffodils were

Two youngsters sat on W’s lap and counted the flies on Ullswater. He wrote most of his poetry in found cheque books. He wrote most of his poetry about the number of flies on Ullswater.




Thursday, 16 November 2017

goat star

frozen boutique

an onionskin
locks a bucket

the moon
nothing more
than a cliche

*

fixed deck

the fish’s lifestyle
down stream

there’s a word
for when a leaf
is withered but not fallen

*

trick cards

if buddy holly
didn’t die

in that plane crash
he’d probably
be dead by now

*

goat star

all my autumn
wishes came true

a sweet potato's hymen
moving along
to saskatoon



Wednesday, 15 November 2017

7000 dead sea witches

collecting pebbles
on the beach
uncle’s illness

*

7000 
dead sea witches
the buoyancy 
of my crutch

*

on my son's chest
a giant black mouse

*

rain
the dull drip
of my words


*




Tuesday, 14 November 2017

rice milk

rice milk
the low sun through
even lower clouds

*

full moon
my son's love
of squash

*

feeling like this could be a painting of hell - autumn sunset

Basho

*

zuh zoom the branch where a kingfisher....

*



Saturday, 11 November 2017

remembrance poppy

blue sky
what does it remember
this remembrance poppy?
(after Basho)

*

mistaking nudes
for clouds
a painter adjusts
his timepiece

*

half grey
half blue
the sky

*

rain 
a poet shaves
his poem

*

       Salvador Dalí - Spring Explosive

Tuesday, 7 November 2017

beech tree

three line
poem:
the pine

*

2 reds
a bullfinch
& the rowan

*











*

cold day
sending my father
an email




Monday, 6 November 2017

6000 birds

some of the sky

millet blurred by
a bilberry's elegy

rain has
a habit
of starting

*

traveling through Fife

my head
6000 birds

the freshly cut fields
a poem
of red and yellow

*

all my problems
a yew tree
full of berries

*

blue sky

my hair
thinning on top

in the park
only the sycamores
have leaves left

*

Christo Coetzee. Head in Pink. 1987
                                                  



Friday, 3 November 2017

aquine anonymity

yeah, yeah, yeah

‘what’s with these homies
dissing my girl’

aquine anonymity
a seahorse dries itself
on a cactus

*

around the castle's ruins green grass

*

blue sky

                                         every end of summer

staring at it

                                         the way water

a dead pigeon

                                         moves through trees

*

overcast
 
       a song thrush’s anvil

the sound of

                                 the bottle

demolition workers

                                  empty again

*



Salvador Dali - Seahorse




Thursday, 2 November 2017

ensō

something
following?
falling leaves

*

ensō
the bridge &
its reflection

*

waste line

in the clarity
of oars

a hydrangea
looses its
fear of death

*

cold snap

longing for its own
summer house

the mandible’s sheaf
carrying warm straw
to a  heart bypass

*

Saturday, 28 October 2017

catalonia

planet of the apes

the shop

the satnav sends me

where the owner was murdered

the wrong way

reopens 
*

the sound of
colliding cars
hot coffee

*

cue at the station my shadow cuts in front

*

the last leaf
replacing politicians
w/ politicians









Monday, 23 October 2017

searching for albion

autumn breeze

                               not knowing

i find

                               what this means

a hangover

                                a rubber duck
 
*

between

                                in time

two bare trees

                                out of tune

an empty bottle

                                the football chant

*

loneliness

                                  cold night

a twitterbot retweets

                                  a beggar

my haiku

                                    searches for albion

*

invariably odd socks


*

                                                                               William Blake. Albion Rose [from A Large Book of Designs]. 1793-6

Sunday, 22 October 2017

last years nasturtiums

a good day drinking whiskey

*

football the scar on his face

*

last years nasturtiums the narrator pauses for salmon

*

football
father & son
hand in hand

*

René Magritte. The Banquet



Wednesday, 18 October 2017

'ku 18.10.2017

a corn field’s wishbone

the vending machine
shrugs it off

in times of war
the deepening colors
of the wounds as me

*

second hand shirt the smell of someone else’s detergent

*

day after the storm
dog shit
still on the street

*

leaning

                             getting heavier 

over

                             me

sunflowers
                          
                              & the rain

*

loch ness. october 2017
 

Tuesday, 17 October 2017

'ku 17.10.2017

university town stumbling upon the unemployment office

*

eating charcoal ice cream new moon

*

no day
rain has a habit
of starting

*

there also there russet leaves

*


Friday, 13 October 2017

'ku 13.10.2017

new moon
a crow bathes
in the puddle

*

long night
a skype call
rings out

*

calligraphy
- stoic colons appear
as things-in-themselves

*

loneliness
the sun caught
in the river’s flow

*



Thursday, 12 October 2017

'ku 12.10.2017

foreign takeover
a fleck of paint
under my fingernail


*

freshly cut field
I give my father
the bigger slice

*

geese overhead
a classical radio station
moves into range

*

autumn clouds
geese move in and out
of formation

*
Remedios Varo. The Task

Wednesday, 11 October 2017

'ku 11.10.2017

autumn haze
the harbour
moves further away

*

heating vent
between the tenements
a bird disappears

*

through my breath a tulip learns to speak rainbow trout - cold day

*

the wood-pigeon finally sees me - autumn breeze

*

Victor Hugo. Mushroom. 1850


Tuesday, 10 October 2017

'ku 10.10.2017

a mountain on fire autumn mist

*

the dog’s mouth winter storm

*

wish bone nebula
an orphan chips
the honey-moon

*

autumn rain
the sound of my son
filling his nappy

*

John Cage. Dramatic fire. 1989


Monday, 9 October 2017

'ku 9.10.2017

cumulonimbus 

breadcrumb's 
of immigrants 

the amphibian’s eyes
moving above
a rhododendron 

*

twilight

on the hospital bus
not a single petal
realises the surface

on a misted window
a child’s dolphin

*

*

autumn sky
the fish tank
at the doctors

*

behind the monkey puzzle
the moon 
behind the clouds

*



Friday, 6 October 2017

'ku 6.10.2017

using my journal
as a plate -
this lemon cake
not unlike
mother’s

*

mushrooms
this way too
mushrooms

*

sunflower machinery the rice fields as snowfall w/ sticky fingers mortality darns an end of summer

*

seascape mother’s maiden name on the surf finding a hierarchy of doom a fetus creates a boat

*

Esteban Vicente. Untitled. 1959


Thursday, 5 October 2017

'ku 5/10/2017

news of a shooting
thoughts wander
to greying hair

*

autumn light hydrangea the colour of midnight

*

end of the day
tar spots
on the sycamore

*

cherry trousers

flees narrate
the sky

a crab fills
the banks
w/ a bum note

*

Vincent Van Gogh. Poplar Avenue in Autumn






















Tuesday, 3 October 2017

'ku 3/10/2017


beyond the cemetery walls - a dog’s squeaky toy

*

beneath giraffe wool surgery plays a ladybug the third act finds the ghosts of summer gone to seed

*
 Mark Rothko - Emerald Bay  


*
relative to seven triangles & a day moon I long to be somebody’s uncle from chicago

*
Yves Tanguy. La Grue des Sables. 1946

*
just above
the sound of a river
a robin’s call

Monday, 2 October 2017

from the fifth edition of 'the cherita : your storybook journal'

the ghost’s stutter

causes
leaves to fall

beyond the river’s bend
a magpie
flies straight

*

willow herbs in seed

I find a new faith
in ghosts

forgotten melodies
roll out
an endless sky

*

From the fifth edition of the cherita : your storybook journal

*

Unichi Hiratsuka. Megane Bridge. 1935

Friday, 29 September 2017

'ku

autumn breeze
the coffee
still too hot

*

battle weary

the millionaires
of convex combinations

loan out bedpans
which produce hallucinations
of lonely dachshunds

*

death has left me behind - autumn dusk
Issa (own translation)

*




Tuesday, 26 September 2017

beech nuts and blackberries



Today we visited Linn Park. The air was mild & full of autumnal mist. I picked some beech nuts and ate them w/ blackberries. Wild grazing is possibly the most dignified way to eat.

*

Some 'ku from yesterday:


below the corpse
a mackerel
prays for rain

*

offering an oak
a hillside
herb trousers

Monday, 25 September 2017

ku

tank gods woo
a hunchback -
tubular jesus

*
bruschetta idolatry
I wish upon
a turban squash

*
new socks
- we escape
wearing soil



Saturday, 23 September 2017

'ku

autumn equinox
the last light of summer
caught in the yew’s berries

*
slow dusk
the water’s surface
takes a vacation

*
autumn equinox
I ask a fisherman
about the salmon

*
the clouds 
become architecture
a dream
falls into
a big nothing

Thursday, 23 March 2017

Impulse to Knowledge




Watching the apple trees along the banks of the white cart I become a roast chicken and hang there with last years leaves and the odd rotten apple. In this I am tree, leaf, rotting sticky piss, puss bugged apple and a half a goddamn roast chicken upright ape hybrid. Chuck chuck. Oh me and those opposable thumbs.
The sperm leaves the blossom real fast. At the same time it becomes a foetus it makes a sandwich. No pickle, please. Chuck chuck. Eventually, with no condiments, I move beyond the becoming of this or that and even that. Now perched, whole heartedly, on the cog we named the ‘impulse to knowledge’.


facing the wrong way a daffodil

Sources:
Jordan B Peterson. 45 minutes on a single paragraph of Nietzsche's Beyond Good & Evil