The bridge, go forth.

I wished to be decadent in a decade a plethora of miles away
where a silver glow slid on slides of mountains
and her eye lashes brushed against my heart
the end of a Hollywood film drowned with me in a siren of fountains.
The car stripped on a boulevard, whisky flows and never tires
sparkling wine of a valley in a feather boa wrapped around the neck
a waxed moustache tweaked and manicured in a flame of coal fires Christmas morn
we climbed and bid the captain hello, on the nineteen thirties deck.
spitfires and hurricanes fighting abroad,
a sword driven into a dress that flowed in a dance
I closed my eyes and dreamed of a place that is so far beyond
in a world that caressed the only things I became and dalliance.
golden haired and beyond a punishment
ivory and white tapping on polished floors
no more regrets, no more resentments.
Lets end the rules that made us stand and lay be out
bravado obrevado, I thank you and try to relax
be an observer, so enticed, I can only flout.
the cable cars conductor announced the tax
To the both of us I pay the ticket
Just to move on and give in I sway
San Fransisco bays and announces love
the golden gate bridge, go forth, and play.

Lost Muse

A poet needs a muse, and without one, in the short term, one can draw upon the loss and anguish as an inspiration, but after a while, it is more difficult. I lost my muse, my inspiration, I wish it could change but apparently it can not be so. Sunsets and full moons, rolling landscapes, family and friends, can only deal so many hands as a contribution for a poet. A muse is an irreplaceable gap. I have taught myself to be strong in the past, and I will do the same in the future, but it does not stop me missing the challenge to impress the one person you wish to impress most of all. I miss you, I will not be the same, but perhaps I will be different in another way.

Ta Da

A rancid ranch in which a cowboy falls
stalls and extinguishes his cigarillo
the ghost of the sand in which he trod
on his way to the prostitutes and the purple silk of a bordello.
Whisky on rye in a sodden glass
holster lowered a little lower than yesterday
threatened by the maddest part of an insane man
a coyote cries yet does not bay.
I watched her from a distance and grew to fall
fell in love with a silk worm dressed in a enigma
threw down at the first challenge and re addressed myself
ta da.
A bullet in the side of me
she scattered as I bled
don't mess with a cowboy inner self
do not touch the grey cells of a Yankees head.
There is a monument dedicated to my grandfather
it lies on a hill a thousand miles away
a bearded portrait is all I hold of him
yet amongst his grave I feel I lay.

Burning embers

The spiders web sites a discovery on a dew dusk morning
Magellan straits and narrow his aim for the heart beats of scorning
discovery of a new passion and lesions, on a bare naked back
the touch of your lips sharpen then relax.
We tumble and fumble in a tog of goose feathers quilt
dug and hug in a passion of silt
I enter you and share the heart of my life in a cello of candid expression
a life time of anguish exposed in a neanderthal repression.
Yet it is all I know how to do for you,
without money of offers and gold digging true
the raw animal instinct that I hid for so long
the words I wrote to entice, the melody of a nineteenth century song.
Share the rest of your life with me
hold my hand and let us see what we were meant to see
I will chop the wood for the fire we craved
the burning embers of the passion
saved.

The town of Independence bleeds

The sun set and I, smiled
through the relief and the reprimand that no longer
enticed me to dance
I wear a tuxedo with bow tie let loose around my bearded neck
drinking a complicated mixture of Tabasco and tomato
in a tall glass of exposure.
The lunar girl grabbed me by the hand and smiled
she invited me to the bedroom and we made love
the sun heated in appreciation
the night sky transformed, into orange and purple blues.
The cafe table of our life was set with coffee and sugar
sweet and black with a thousand adventures to discover
our very own waiter craved a tip in his hand
a silver service charge for leading this depression, through the a la carte land.
Then the jazz man hobo, sitting alone in the street, smiled a toothless smile
I held your hand closer, realising how lucky we are
I throw him a nickle, and his grin grows wider
my heart shrinks into the red, my thoughts grow milder.
So we sit by the river, watching the ships with lights sail by
I grasp you closer to me, afraid of letting the love drown
the body heat is all the insulation we need
on the banks of anonymous, the town of independence
bleeds.

One hundred years old

So I reach a century and am decrepit
yet in my mind I dance on tap shoes and scream
amongst the cells locked in my mind I see
The trenches and incomprehension's
of a place I craved of peace serene.
I have reached the branch of life that has wilted
falling leaves of everyday I no longer want to gather
My fight was fought a half century ago
the children passed me by
I have no enemies left, I have no longer a foe.
Wheel me out to the piano bar and leave me
a statue of history who can not clean his own arse
grey follicles on a head of non descriptive imagination
I can no longer abide
this is my station.
Would you like me to guide you through the map that is life
circumnavigate through oceans of feelings
circumvent your emotion and ignore lust and love
evacuate the city of humanity
exist in the depth and not in the town of above.
For apparently I am one hundred years old
they asked me to tell the story of a triumphant life
I can not, I do not care
Look at me all you wish and crave and like
my soul is yours, to dissect and bare.

Aldus Phillies and his Amazing Victorian tunneling worm!

The worm was forced to tunnel
through the blackness
heading toward the west coast
driven on
the only direction,
darkness down
ridden hard
to its destination.
The Congo no longer
a real invitation
after captures screams, the raptures
Serene, forced upon
to hold the beast, celebrates it capture.
Victorian circus whipped and slithered
amongst its cream of blood
humongous muscles that dived
through the clay and mud.
The worm dug the tracks, and im afraid it bled
the tunnel, Aldus Phillies cried
must be built in simply decades
the workers feared and died.
Towards the states united
the beast,
he was driven delved so frightened
yet his fortitude beyond redemption
Aldus remained enlightened.
He rode upon His back and swore
Give me the African river beast
I travelled south to tame Him
I order his sweat for now at least.
So the worm swam through the clay fields
heading towards the American shore
with a bleeding head of virtue
with Phillies wanting more.
The Victorian tracks did follow
as the engineer, he had planned
that nineteenth century connection
across the Atlantic dream expand.
The Congo worm, tamed, reigned and exhausted
never saw light at tunnels end
yet the train ran through to daylight
the English man would remain your friend.
Yet not to the captured Congo eel
although a promise had been made
with a grasping of a human hand
The worms fingers had been splayed
and doubted Oroonoko style
a promise to a prince extinguished
the railway and the bile
a life had been relinquished.
For the Congo one died in its passage
yet the tunnel from east to west
was made on the back of emptiness
and the African did its best.
So Aldus was rewarded
for the tunnel from Victorias land
and yet the five hundred thousand year old worm
died as it was born
in ancient sand.

Quantum Gravity, My little theory.

I know very little about quantum mechanics, and even less about quantum gravity, having just watched a BBC documentary does not leave me anymore enlightened, apparently however, black holes are hard to explain, also, why or how the universe is expanding is also hard to figure out, and it is not from lack of trying. I have a theory, i have no idea if it could be in any way correct, but its fun to try. so here goes, What if we are in a black hole? What if the universe is not expanding but our own galaxy is shrinking, making the universe appears to be moving away from us, when in fact we are moving away from it, into a black hole that has been consuming us for, well, a long time. Maybe we cant see black holes, because we are in one, and the light from the outer universe we observe is dissapearing as we get pulled in to the mouth of our black hole, there is apparantly a black hole at the center of every galaxy, but we cant find ours, what if its because we are in it?
This can probably be dismissed mathematically, and scientifically in seconds, but sometimes I just like to apply my non academic imagination to a very academic situation and come up with a theory, you know, just for a bit of a giggle.
Please, if you know any quantum physicist's , or good will hunting type mathematicians who care to ponder this, ridicule it, and then dump a bucket of cold scorn on to it, please show them and let me know, I'm a great believer in constructive criticism, especially in subjects I know nothing about. Ta.