WHAT HAPPENED TO YESTREDAY?:

Swept howling before a torrent of Skypes, emails, texts
& taxi rides. Jumping between over-lapping time-lines,
taking refuge in rehearsal for a simple thought.
Can I be everything that I am?

(K)

HIGHER POWER:

Three ageing bananas stare at me across the top
of a lap top screen, seven rude plumbs peer round
the side. The kettle hisses, calling to the breeze
in the last of Summer’s grasses & the kick-drum drops
transporting all of us to another dimension.

(K)

NICELY RAVER:

A man in his forties, a quiff of restrained flamboyance
that never moved streamlined his chiselled head.
A tight black T, toned limbs, slim jeans, he paid
great attention to his appearance. When the pills kicked
in the light in his eyes turned platinum as he rose
from his seat to grind the air like a rodeo rider.
Circling a dream lasso above him in a fist, he scanned
the auditorium with a stare that was simultaneously
jubilant & callous for an accomplice. The woman next to
him, smiling thinly, looking round nervous, trying to
pull him back to his seat, but the pills were talking
visions & tongues, breaking him free like a biscuit,
searching for orbit, dance himself back to ‘the day’.
Then he was gone, snapped off & running down the stairs,
like a toddler, squatting like a cowboy baboon, punching
the air, calling his ghost tribe to arms.

(K)

NICE HUNTER:

Watching formation dancers rehearse in a cut-through
under the belly of brutalist architecture, they jiggle,
jerk & hieroglyph. Down there through the thick plate
glass the street is hungry for action, but not the kind
I used to hunt. The action on the Southbank at night is
refined, tasteful, dirt extracted, without danger, the
thrill is gone. I walk to the rhythm of rich aromas,
the international food market, vibrant with bulb festoons,
echoes of the exotic, t-shirts proclaiming radical action,
emblems of change & counter culture purchased on highstreets,
pressed & sweetly fresh, no stain or crease, everything
safe, everything in it’s place.

(K)

CHASING A BUZZ:

My parcel didn’t show up today, the thing from the North
that makes guitars sound like they’ve been eaten by moths.
I’ve been looking for a thing that’s the opposite of ‘lovely’,
stumble you up, nibble your sound till it’s worm eaten wood.
I found it first in a vintage thing made by Maestro that’s so
expensive & rare & where’s the fun in that? Now I think I found
it in a thing that’s bright yellow with knobs to twiddle, fiddle
for that all importance rotten sound I’m craving.

(K)

ELECTRIC TOURIST:

If you leave or if you stay I will always love & visit
Scotland. Too many fabulous times on memory to stay
away from you for too long. From the highlands & the
rugged coastline of the Northern Shore, to the Glens
& hills & Lochs, all the way into the wild electric
energy of Glasgow Nights I have loved & will continue
to love you, wish you all great joy on your adventures
whatever you decide.

(K)

BIRDS & DIRT:

A voice on the radio in the kitchen said,
“The high-street is buoyant!”, it sounded
prepared & his cheery veneer jarred against
the ripples of the front line news making
me shiver, unable to figure which was worse.
It should be obvious, but when one could be
the seed of the other I can’t make out where
the roots of global crises lie. Some days feel
like I’m just perpetuating a loop by buying into
this rehearsed drivel.
Outside, birds graze freshly tilled fields
attending to the basics of life & a stillness in
the air attracts me to sit outside & breath in
it’s calm. The dirt vibrates, humming to it’s self
as I reach for a simple pebble of chalk created
over millions of years & pocket it to draw with later.

(K)

WHAT’S THE CATCH?:

The electric wizard visited his mysteries upon
my dead spangled bass, returning it to life
& rude health. We talked for hours as he poked
& tweaked, listening to music from his dungeon of
dreams. The Eye sang ‘You’re Too Much’ like a vision
of a future Stooges. Then, when he had revived &
revitalised my silver machine, he asked,
“Would you like to play Jimi Hendrix’s guitar?”

(K)

NOT SLEEPWALKING:

It’s not that I ignore the front pages or the
relentless bad news broadcasts, how can I not
be aware of horrors inflicted on my neighbours?
I seek balance daily just to be able to take part
in the world, to put one foot in front of the other,
to want to continue breathing. I’m looking for a light,
a little kindness & beauty to counteract some new
corrosive poison concocted in the night somewhere on this
fabulous planet whilst I was sleeping.

(K)

CATCHING THE TAIL:

The wind that waits between the fields greets us on our morning
ride with tiny teeth. The planet moans & rolls, the season turns.
Berries heavy on the bush, Green with flecks of brown, Walnut
sheds it’s leaves & squirrels drop from the safety of their trees
to shuttling nuts across open ground driven by instinct to prepare
for winter.

(K)