The Night Sky in the Day Time

Relief after the storm

when rain washes the sky clear

grit and grain

drained away.

Awake to a sense of purity:

tensions resolved, static removed,

humidity vanished.

Walk outside

Bewildered at the streaks,

paint trailing at the bottom of a dome

See as you have never seen,

Darkly, though no longer through a glass.

Who knew the stars

were eyes?

Clustered, staring, unblinking

greedy.

Who knew the sky is a face?

The earth is a mouth,

full of teeth.

(with a nod to Laird Barron)

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Ugly fat old man

Hey ugly fat old man

what do you think you are doing

just standing there staring at me like that

with your face covered in shaving cream?

What happened to that young guy

you people used to have

on the other side of the mirror?

Did he get bored hanging around?

Went looking for somewhere more interesting

to hang out?

You may as well stick around,

I suppose.

I hate to think who they might send

to replace you,

if you were to go.

You’ve got his nose, you know.

You two related?

How come you got so many ugly people

over there?

***

Pathetique.  Its less pathetic, when its in French.

Stuff

If I was ten years younger

I might make a fool of myself

so I am glad that I am not.

I smile

and suck it in.

Why would I think

things would be any different

to how they were

ten years ago?

If I was ten years younger.

Except, like, for facebook and stuff.

***

I found a shoe

by the side of the road

There was no foot in it.

Not this time.

***

Tell me.

What I want to know,

is where

do the dead women go?

Dexter

Dexter

You married your sister

No wonder it ended in divorce

Dexter

You murdered your brother

and never showed any remorse.

You used to be a gay undertaker,

now you are a dead body maker.

Michael C

what next will you do?

Named for a passage way

because you’re just passing through

the characters you inhabit.

Stay away from Richard Kelly,

he’ll make you play a psycho rabbit.

Dexter,

You talk to your dead father.

I hadn’t thought about how weird your show is until just now.

***

“This drivel shows nothing but contempt for the reader.  Why are you taking this class if you are going to submit such rubbish?  This is not even a first draft.  You think the conceit of confusing the actor and the character is amusing, but its tired, and your attempt is half arsed.  The ending would be a let down, if there was anything to come down from.  And what’s with the Donnie Darko crap suddenly popping up?  Worthless, both you and the so-called poem.”

Sorry Mum.  I know, she wasn’t his real sister any way.  But Harry is supposed to be his real father.

Internet, you are full of shit

Are you having fun

on the internet?

Interacting with dozens

you’ve never met.

Without it,

how many obscure

bookshops would you

have had to endure

to discover the secret link

between the Rothschilds

and your local skating rink?

The masonic conspiracy

to exploit someone else’s

gullibility?

The zionist bolshevik combine

that is behind the plan to mine

your backyard?

No Jews went to work that day,

its hardly surprising,

as well as eating babies,

they excel at organising.

Bin laden made his fortune

forging certificates of birth,

Obama is controlled by communists

from the centre of the earth.

Eternal salvation

requires correct pronunciation

of each of the names of God.

Old mother Hubbard

found body thetans in the cupboard.

The Reverend Moon,

he’s still calling the tune,

the hip beat

of zombies selling flowers in the street.

Internet,

you are Brown, Dan; you are Erich von Daniken.

you are the Magicians of Dawn, you are Linda Goodman’s sun signs,

you are Shirley Maclaine, you are Carlos Castaneda,

you are T Lobsang Rampa,

the Joy of Sex,

Sven Hassell, Findhorn, The passport to Mangonia.

You win us friends and influence people.

you are both Tom Grattan’s and Tom Brown’s school days.

The Spear of Destiny and Edgar Cayce,

The Long Banana Peel and the spaceships of Ezekiel.

Internet

you are Corgi Books, spread infinitely thin

bringing us all together,

helping crypto fascists and high school drop out gnostics

find each other,

when they never would have before.

I didn’t say its a good thing.

Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea

Coelacanth

do not interfere

with my bathysphere.

Your ancient style

does not cut it,

not with me,

you liar of the sea.

Oh Trickster fish

you make a dish

of trickery and deceit.

Pulp forteans cite

you as proof we might

find a living dinosaur

if we look deep enough

on the ancient sea floor.

How could we?

A dinosaur under the sea?

It would drown.

I should have rhymed sea floor

with icthyosaur,

that would have been ok.

Or plesiosaur.

I better check my oxygen level.

Somethings not rite.

Stupid second hand

bathysphere.

Stupid E bay.

Who dressed the coelacanth in a zoot suit?

There is a mystery for you, Leonard Nimoy.

Nimoy – what are ewe doing hear?

Pressure …

Dream about fish

I can dream about FISH

all I like,

I can dream about FISH

all I like,

The bastard’s can’t stop me now

I’m dreamin’ ’bout fish right now,

I can dream about FISH

all I like.

Here is a poem about fish for Good Friday.  Its not a very good poem, because really it is a song.  If I did podcasting, you would be able to hear the true beauty of it.  Lines 5 & 6 really have to be belted out.  I can imagine Shirley Bassey doing a great job of it.  She should have recorded it straight after ‘Gold Finger’.  Except of course it wasn’t written then.  Technicalities keep getting in the way of the development of my artistic career.  Babs would probably do a good job, but she’s a bit nasally for it.  “Dream” is stretched out, to represent the endless nightmare that being a fish is, having to continually move, never able to rest or sleep, until the relief of being eaten.

All the spider webs are glistening in the light of the full moon.  If I go outside, they’ll run all over me.  And they’re huge.