Perforated Love at the BFI after work

I have hate.

Staring at the Thames, I lack detail
- See a mere ritual of business in purposeful waves
Scapegoat for poets.
Theme identified!

“San Miguel on Visa?”
So I never looked good at the right time
And never fucked a dirty whore
Or screwed a normal one senseless.
“Sorry mate – no change”
Idiot tramps.

South Bank clatters and scratches concrete.
River Bass no longer just fish – but too in music manifest!
Gatherers out in force to find fuck-buddies it seems.

Yet I’m suited.

Pebbles of Late summer-clouds chaperone
Water’s path inevitable – hither east.

My inevitability though?
Have I too a sail to be wind-led, do I
Spite surrounding bodies seemingly?
Oar itself would suffice
- Single even;
One side clawed; alternate; made
To bring from the stricken path away,
Would suit.
I’d love to lose; having tried.

“Flyer in your face sir?”
On San Miguel’s name, I swear revenge to deface the transgressor.
Haven’t read the advert, though will scribble thoughts on back.
- Think someone wants to be cultural.
So then do I assume too attire, beard and specs?
“Interesting point” on subject laureate – for speaking’s sake?

Though, I like it now to be ignored;
Receding hair seems just the trick.
But remember youth? Arrogance cocooned in ambition,
Foreskin of life - gone;
Now sensitivity glows it’s fresh-faced piglet.

Sans Miguel the composer, words are at loss.
End.
“Another one please!”

Milton won!

Better to reign in Hell, than to serve in heaven.
Better to reign.
In Hell.
Than to Serve.
In heaven.

Milton; the all-seeing Milton, I see thee too.

Paradise’s may be lost in sight, yet won in blindness.
With life’s aim fulfilled
Only at point where fruits unseen are treasured.

The unseen, on worldly plane to see,
Must lose wordly sight it seems.

Whilst in honey, dribbled tongue spells,
Articulation has no need door;
To eloquence I lend my coat,
Cold snap’s boat of silence to thaw.

Counting love.

(A poem dedicated to my Good friend William. A forebearer of God’s lantern, to those of us in sickly state)

A lover needs a beloved.
Will seek out – relentless,
Until its head laid on soil,
Its body sowed,
A lifetime foregone

To touch without touching
Is his fate.
In love’s reasoning of unbreakable distance
Amongst nature’s atom.

Neither an electron known
(- a flyer about yearning poles;)
Nor of its stationed core
(- demented to combine;)
Would breach worldly bonds.
Yet laws govern his being,
His breath,
His hardened bones.

To have thought it but mere waste
Is his cocooned fate;
Inside orbs,
Within sugared fence
That sparkle in distance
- yet never to taste

She is my Saturn at worst
I – her scattered dust,
and a dervish of fate.
Entangled in queues,
Encircling in never-ending wait of balance.
A mass to a weight,
To love’s gravity,
To numbers attributed
And scales defined
within metrics and traits.

Ask the moons tonight,
to number their love?
And say, “why come you not a step,
to beloved’s arm?”

A mule to his word,
Lunacy grows
- each month redeemed,
As ovulating seas caressed, embrace affection.

So love is a system of pushes and pulls.
A lap-dance of matter,
Untouched in brewing,
Cause to humour
to Jupiter’s tumour.

As desire grows
To the winking stars
Flirting in SOS codes
And laws are forced to hold
Where universal love grows,
The rush will unfold
to reunite at source
where lovers once broke up
in fire and smoke.

With gravity exposed,
The lover’s force
- a mass of hope
is gathered and thrown to beloved.
Like Newton told, the mirror’s drawn,
Shown clear reflection
To stellar affection


I love you – so let’s meet too,
Where love dropped into world, and then grew!
Spread out to seek its beloved,
Before, search-ended – it dropped back towards soul,
At the fingerprint of God,
Where it’s beloved was at birth.

Yet I see, when we get too close, we’ll never know
Or a scratch to show.
But a burning will suffice,
Repellent of matter,
our bodies will once more grow,
And outwards we will go,
When we find no God at home.

We’ll return for sure,
yet in what worldly form?
A cell we are at most –
The fate of life was always told
in an atom.

As the lover I seek,
to love and to hold.

Yet in worldly seeking is told (utmost),
My beloved, I will never touch
- this much I know.

Just add music...

When you read this, be sure to play some music.
A random tribute to my passing memory: A light-bulb’s
flicker in your life.
Yet you’re still there in mine - a minefield of emotion.
My only epic tale - the stir in the mix of loves
I never had.
The green in the fallen brown leaves I shed every season,
Bar one summer seen together in your presence!

Two roses sit there on my dining table
– one red, one faded white: An almost broken neck.
Red, I only water; white, I speak to; and speak in your memory.
Only one watches
And must suffer as I do, watching with thirst,
Suckling only on moistened morning dew, when windows open.

Red wills not water, but to hear also thereof.