Penultimate

The waters of time came trickling by
A faded hue to the night Winter sky
Yellow stars, no white sparkle fly
Dark moonless night
The bedrocks now dry 
Crumbled dust
Blown away                                                                                                                         
False boredom demands
A new game to play.
                                                                                                                    
                                                                                                                           

What defines us changes constantly / 2014

The Beauty Circuit

Im tired of beauty
And after so long
The endless procession
The genes of the strong

Compulsory projections for all to enjoy
Pathetic distractions
An over used toy.
An ace in the pack ?
The ultimate ploy ?
More valued than wisdom
It comes yet by default
 A Womans best weapon
Is she now worth her salt ?

A new generation still plays this game
The image of beauty
A new on line game.
Truth be told this game is unfair
A road to misery
A grim road to " who dares "

This game never ends
Those pouts
Those poses
That must have shining hair...




A poem about the way lifes become / 2014

Im not happy with this ending however much I mess around with it. I shall sleep on it..

10 years later and its 2024 and im coming back to this forgotten poem and that final elusive line !!!

Moon Magic

Midday Summer sun
In midnight Winter sky
Moonlight hangs heavy over these hills tonight
Ethereal silver mist dissolving all that's mundane
A fairy tale landscapes defining this dale
Unseen things flitter seen barely from eye
Their unknown trajectory
From some other side

Rich velvet shadows float darkly, no sound
Childhood exuberance echoes around
An ordinary room conducts taps and those cracks
Sparkling with something that's trying to get back
To what and to where ?
Its deviations abound
Like rain on my window
A familiar sound.



 2014

Halloween

Bishop Beesley was carpet bombing a field of pumpkins. Jerry Cornelius could just make out his bulbous silhouette in the Lancaster Bombers cockpit. He watched from a rocky hillside bent double with laughter. The Bishop was over excited and over reacting again. As he regained his composure Jerry had to admire the Bishops style in combining a classic piece of war machinery with state of the art cluster bombs. Of course Beesley had no real ethical problems with All Hallows Eve, it had been the Popes recent visit that had triggered this display of dogma. An act based purely on instinct.
" God be praised " muttered the Bishop as his over weight mass attempted to exit the cockpit. Jerry offered him a hand. Tomorrow the bomber had to be returned to the Imperial War Museum. Pumpkins plastered the under carriage. This would be hard to explain. Beesley had hired the aircraft for less trivial missions in the past. Occasionally they had even strayed into Europe, or the remains of it at least. Working with the Church of Rome was often a surreal experience, " Bishop Cornelius " was a very real possibility mused Jerry...


I must have been in an exuberant mood that day... lol

A Shot In The Dark

"  So why have you suddenly started writing ?" sneered the Fat Buffoon. The Fat Buffoon could smell blood and Jerry knew it. He sensed his own soft underbelly exposed, and there was a lot more of it nowadays. Swiftly he reached for the bluntest tool in his box.
" For fame and fortune " he replied, with a weak smile.
The Fat Buffoon didn't do sarcasm. He probably didn't do irony or clichés either, so why use a sledgehammer to crack a nut ? thought Mr Cornelius ? Silence confirmed a dead hit. Writing was a lot less complicated than the assassination business for sure. Had he really being trying too hard to impress ? Normally he was a good judge given enough time, but a year had passed and he still couldn't decide. As Jerry walked away he caught a sneered comment about " butterflies floating down a garden path.." A pot shot at his poetry was all he needed justify the death blow...



Yes, I still remember who the " fat buffoon " was in real life  !  Ahem....

Will I write Again ?

So will I write again today ? All my writing I shall be posting on this blog was written about 3 years ago. Can I still write like that today ? Well, ive only posted my efforts after seeing another blogger doing the same and I guess it made me sit up and finally take action...
   Those were heady days back then, and the sudden bursts of inspiration often came in Autumn and often when the moon was showing, sometimes I even jumped out of bed in the early hours to capture an idea i'd had and get it down on paper. There is no doubting looking back I was in a Peak Experience state of mind and no mistake. In fact I was in that heightened state for several years and this fed my creative side. Of course this state couldn't last forever, thank goodness, in the end it would have ruined me. I shall never be in that state ever again as it was a right of passage to the esoteric path no less. I still bare the scars today and am having to learn how to live an everyday life whilst giving it the attention it now deserves.
    In many ways this blog is a better recording of a Peak Experience than my Golden Blog. This blog captures my mental change and the dizzy level of ideas I found popping into my head from where exactly I don't know. Some of then felt pre-written or as if I was re-writing them. Creativity is a funny thing. Ive no idea whether if it can be all re-booted again today ?

THE SUM OF ALL PATHS - PART 4 - A Natural Conclusion

Not knowing whether to consider himself a coward or a nihilist  Jerry surely returned a day later for an informal market place type community visit at the hospitality of the " victors ". He studied the anxious, weary, arrogant faces of the new Libyan transitional government while considering how much blood could be on so few hands, and the hands of democracy at that ! Rebels with a passion found it hard to stop once momentum had been attained. An alley way nearby concealed the evidence . Did they know he had unofficially rode with the old regime ? He guessed his Western appearance was once more an asset. And they really were easily distracted...
   Mitzi's inability to dress appropriately was causing a stir. Fish nets and a tight Khaki vest top, two sizes too small did it every time. Things were starting.... Jerry mentally sort his pistols position preparing himself for action if self regulating democracy got a little too frisky.
   Mitzi's blond curls bounced as she struck a soldiers bemused face. Jerry smiled as he cared not, or more accurately must be seen to appear to care not of the out come. To side with a female in this country against the latest hero's of the hour would probably see him in several pieces in several minutes. He joined the chorus of laughter, an unexpected sound, maybe the sound of gun fire had lost its novelty for these democratic militia ? Jerry grabbed Mitzi's arm and slung her over his shoulder further diffusing the confrontation, and despite his misgivings about the new rebels, it turned out they really were cast in the mould of the everyday man. Sexism really was the opium of the masses.
   As he strode across the open market place he tried desperately hard to maintain a steady composure despite a protesting Mitzi swaying his balance. As if sensing a fall would totally change the now buoyant mood she conveniently ceased to struggle. She was now thoroughly enjoying the situation none the less, as being the centre of attention brought out the Venus in her. Jerry deposited her with a thud into the Phantom passenger seat. Mitzi was his idea of heaven, but boy could she be hard work !
   Angry shouts. A dust cloud. Jerry was gone, his super car suddenly an advantage. Mitzi was in a sulk. Mitzi was also in her element. How could two conflicting statements obviously true both be simultaneously correct ? He was wondering how he had survived meeting her, he was wondering how he would have survived had he not met her. Time was accelerating. A corny pun came and went. No don't say it out loud. There again there was much he wanted to say out aloud, but couldn't or shouldn't. A mental quagmire was approaching...
  "  So Jerry... " Mitzi began to whine.
  " Yes, " Jerry snapped.
  " Im flattered " she hissed
  " If it had come to it, yes " he blurted out loud.
A sinking feeling. Compromise. He would have blown his cover to save her. Eventually this weakness would be his undoing and he was unlikely to receive any advance warning of when this fatal moment would manifest. An animal reflex. An illogical reflex and it would all be over. Despite Mitzi's hidden intellect Jerry was sure she had no idea of the bigger picture or the peril he knew one day would be his. If she guessed his true condition then he may well be doomed sooner rather than later. With his secret currently intact he allowed himself the luxury of the realisation that for today at least, he had it all.