cutting the strings

When push comes to shove
which I’m afraid
these days
it invariably does

you wonder whether GOD
who certain texts suggest
created this mess
hadn’t fallen asleep on the job

I don’t understand
if there’s EVIL, GOD made it
and lately I’m afraid it
has gotten the upper hand

for the price of admission
to heaven, we’re told
we’re free in the world
to make our own decisions

except – we’re not
because GOD made everything
out of nothing
which is a lot

GOOD as well as EVIL
a twisted puppet show
to play for eternity, you know?
a touch medieval

maybe that’s too literal
it’s a creation myth I suppose
but as far as those things go
this one’s pretty scriptural

religion’s simplistic
the whole thing’s a bust
GOD is just US
loving and sadistic

or maybe just LOVE
yeah – I hope that’s it
our heavenly ticket
kind of

status update XIX

I’m Keir Carter / sponsored by royal museum charter / cramming down breakfast keen to get started / the workers superstitious & half-hearted / as he shakily breaks the seal on the tomb / and casts his torch about the gloom / wow! a Lyttle decorated room / chintzy as a dusty Blackpool ballroom / and lying in the centre / the focus of Keir’s desert adventure / the mummy of the Pharaoh Johnson / bougie as a straw topped Tutankhamen / and then some / lovingly bandaged in golden / wallpaper / stuffed with shredded red-top newspaper / snug in a matryoshka-style sarcophagus / ceremonial tweets backed-up in his oesophagus / which read like some kind of demented curse / but Keir’s read worse / he’s media savvy and well-rehearsed / he knows the hashtag to get the magic reversed

I’m a horror flick: The Spuds Have Eyes! / special effects derisory / parental advisory / explicit scenes with a vegetable peeler / realistic gardening procedures / DVD with special features / a blooper reel / with a surreal / clash / where Jason Statham goes to mash / the evil spud king / and the mash gets splashed across everything / the camera lens, the ceiling / Jason’s shoulders heaving / still not believing / he told his agent he’d do this shit / but still it’s a hit / sells quite a bit / so all things being equal / he thinks he’ll probably sign for the sequel

I’m a lonely little petunia in an onion patch / considering my options, looking for scratch / swiping right on a primrose, natch / it’s a match / ten years later the bulbs are in bloom / and we’re finalising visiting rights on zoom

I’m a swingers’ party for internet trolls / fol-de-rol / memory sticks and keys in the bowl / man! / it’s my jam! / a junk free jamboree / I’m positively skipping through security / totally in my element! / everything VR and decadent / the cheetos and doritos universally excellent / mouthwash and baby wipes prevalent / once in a while it’s nice to be human / but when the reviews come out I’m fumin’ / they don’t like pleather onesies, I’m assumin’

I’m Captain Kirk / busting out my pants and shirt / ancient but just about credibly alert / phasers on stun, phones on divert / ready to boldly go and be cool / on a flaming dump of aviation fuel / singing the song he learned back at Star School / hey diddle diddle / Jeff B’s on the fiddle / his cock whazzed over the moon / the little dog laughed to see such fun / and the dish needed a year or two out to work on themselves

I’m a caesar salad, stabbed in the croutons by a breadstick / how prophetic / it’s so pathetic / you don’t know what to say / you awkwardly ad lib et tu souffle

(studio laughter)

okay that’s it – I’m written out, shot / poetry’s just typing and finding what you’ve got / sometimes it works and sometimes not / but hey – at least I upload a lot / the twisted poet that Twitter forgot / so, please do not adjust your glasses / everything changes, everything passes / city empires to weeds and grasses / the arctic melts and the ocean advances / meanwhile I’m done with all of that / not a literary lion but a wordle gnat / trapped in a glob of tree resin / fossilising over the next millennium / into a piece of lambent amber / gazing out of my yellow glazed chamber / trying to remember / whether my birthday was June or December / as a security guard yawns in the Geology centre

coleoptera putinidae

The drone flies in / we’re pickin’ up Putin / shakily salutin’ / one silver bullet left for shootin’ / through his hat because his brains need rebootin’ / now he finally sees how he’s throned / king of the hill on a pyramid of bones / with a twisted medal and a mobile phone / implausibly, imperially alone / experiencing his very own / trombone moment / when he finally sees he’s his own opponent / the fatally flawed central component / of a terrifying machine / bombs, bullets and submarines / rattling obscenely / chucking out the dead, chewing up the scenery / blackening the greenery / clearing the city / completely / the Book of Revelation with a section on politics / the fifth horseman of the apocalypse / shameless & shirtless / soulless & hairless / squint like a flint and a smile like a burning necklace / but enough – it’s done / the war is over, nobody won / the last bomb dropped and the paperwork done / everyone gone / all except poor Vladimir / the cock-headed cavalier / no – Vlad’s still here / Vlad the Impaler / Vlad the Jailer / Vlad the Last Action Movie Trailer / Vlad the Nuclear Anti-Social Neighbour / who only wanted the best for his people / in attitudes positively medieval / splash of uranium, topnotes of diesel / his legacy a brutal, resilient kinda beetle / bouncing along, busily fecal / running through the ruins of an orthodox cathedral / feelers twitching amongst the rubble / on the lookout for bug-sized trouble

STANZILLA!

A trawler first saw it
snagging its net
and when they went to draw it
two giant paws
roaring
out of the sea
tipping their ship catastrophically
klaxons wailing
the crew frantically bailing
trying to start sailing
the other way and failing
till the engine smoked
the dragline broke
and they made their departure
heading for harbour
arguing
about what the hell it was
that burned out all their gears & cogs
a submarine or an octopus
but rising up behind them against the moon
they learned the answer all too soon
STANZILLA!

we come to know
in a cliche flashback episode
ten years ago
a maverick scientist
Miko Tempest
ignoring the risks
slipped T-Rex DNA from fossilised ticks
snuck it away
to make
an unholy merger
with a long-haired lurcher
called Stanley
recently adopted by her family
she filled him fulla dope
steroids, tripe sticks, radioactive isotopes
in their boujee, hi-security villa
on a private island east of Manila
and her efforts bore fruit
with the cute
but mega-monstrous brute
of subsequent international repute:
STANZILLA!

one day Miko
leaves to go
to Tokyo
to sell shares in her biotech portfolio
so
she leaves the dog with her mum, Takako
with strict orders not to let him out
of their high security island redoubt

but a tornado
unexpectedly blows
lays the place’s defences low
and before Takako
knows it
the gate’s in a state and she can barely close it

social media
are immediately
fulla clips
blurry radar blips
shaky footage shot from ships
some kinda
paddling monster
says the news announcer
heading north
estimated course?
Tokyo
why? the guy doesn’t know
nor do the experts in the studio
but Miko
watching from a noodle bar in Ikebukuro
shakes her head and says uh-oh

offshore
a mile or more
and closing
rhapsodically nosing
the fresh Pacific spray
rapidly paddling his colossal way
through the waves
STANZILLA!
barking at following naval flotillas
as governments gamble
and fighter jets scramble
from air force bases
fear in their hearts
& masks on their faces

despite their dire firepower
Stanzilla’s driven by a higher power
he quickly makes land
takes a subway train in hand
derails it
rice flails it
up against the skyscrapers
which fold like rice papers
captured on the phones of city traders
cowering in pipes & smoking craters

Miko
asks to speak to
the Head of the Armed Forces
who of course is
only too pleased
to see her
and an hour or so later
Miko takes a helicopter
fuels it up and flies
up through the sombre, smoky skies
giving the controls an occasional flick
to manage the tanker-sized chicken & tripe stick
swinging seductively under it

STANZILLA’s nose
twitches, goes
into overdrive
he dives
to get it
but forget it!
Miko swoops
in tantalising backward loops
heading back out to sea
STANZILLA! following helplessly
splashily
all the way home
where Takako’s made lunch and a landing zone

eventually, in conclusion,
the government passes a resolution
lifting all threat of prosecution
for the terrifying, city-wide destruction
if Miko gives them the rights to production
of her super-sizing formulation

and so
as things currently stand, you know
Miko & her mum Takako
live a sheltered kinda life, although
their island’s now a tourist hotspot
where people pay to take selfies a lot
leaning out of the cherry-picker
to get the most spectacular picture
Me & Mr:
STANZILLA!

the mysterious case of the disappearing gardener

I think I was maybe nine or ten
watching Scooby Doo
I’d spent some time in the garden
tidying the lawn or trying to

I’d found Dad’s edging tool tricky to use
so the line ended up pretty scraggy
it looked like something Scooby would do
on a pogo stick chased by Shaggy

when Dad got home he was PROPERLY mad
marched in, turned the TV down low
‘Which one of you kids is responsible for THAT?’
he said, pointing out of the window

he asked us individually, one by one
there were quite a few, you know
and when in the end it came to my turn
I shook my head and said ‘No’

that was it, as far as I remember
the villain was never revealed
Dad had a flaming kind of temper
but like the lawn it healed

fifty years later mum lives alone
I’ve come to tidy the garden
everything’s wild and overgrown
the edges much less certain

The Old Writer & His Muse : A Grimm Tale

There once lived a hoary old writer
who typed away at his bench
from late in the morning till early lunch
and the rest of his time on Twitter

He wrote a terrible kinda novel
self-published as an ebook on Amazon
muttering away with his glasses on
in the bedroom of his hovel

The years slowly and sadly passed
Scarcely a reader read him
And the lack of an audience upset him
till one day he finally lost heart

‘Oh how I wish I was a literary seer!
and people devoured what I wrote
I’d go to Hay in a cashmere coat
And a golden Karmann Ghia’

A passing fairy heard his cry
and tarried awhile at the casement
She looked inside with amazement
at the woeful plight of the guy

‘I will send him a muse!’ she said out loud
to no-one in particular
raising her wand perpendicular
and vanishing in a glittering cloud

In her place leapt forth a giant dog
as wanton and hairy as a wolf
and it landed with a galumphing woof
on the writer’s disreputable rug

‘I shall name thee Stanley!’
said the man, somewhat dazed
(although why he wasn’t a lot more fazed
is scarcely credible, frankly)

Stanley was charming, funny, good-hearted
and inspired the man to write verse
which as you can see was even worse
so he was pretty well back where he started

The fairy came back when her schedule permit
straightened her tiara and said ‘Meh
Obviously there aren’t any guarantees, yeah?
Especially with writing and shit’

The fairy flew on before he knew it
I mean – usually her magic totally rocked
but sometimes you just have to accept you’re blocked
shrug and leave them to it

full lurcher jacket

Stanley Kubrick
was another famous Stanley
and although he was a dogged worker
he wasn’t a lurcher
which would’ve been difficult, understandably
as Stanley Kubrick’s hands were more handily
adapted for working cameras
or figuring out the lighting parameters
than Stanley the lurcher’s galumphing great paws
which are cute and all that but have certain flaws
especially when it comes to focusing a shot
so were there ANY famous directors called Stanley who were also a lurcher?
probably not

tory wars

a war on woke
a war on jokes
that cause us embarrassment
a war on online harassment
except if it’s us doing the harassing
a war against trespassing
especially if you’re press passing
a war against discussing
if we should go to war
a war against the poor
libraries, day care centres
BBC presenters
a war against plaques
objectivity and facts
a war against parties
except our working versions of these
that never happened anyway, jeez
be realistic, please
a war against visiting dying parents
a war against adolescents
with mental health crises
a war against libraries
a war against trans and nonbinaries
a war against drugs
excepting the stuff we vigorously rub
on our beautiful gums in our old school clubs
a war on anything in scrubs
a war on protest
unless
it’s completely noiseless and passes unnoticed
a war on taxation
or anything that hampers billionaire creation
a war on a law for landlords to ensure habitable accommodation
a war on the freedom of information
a war on the next generation
excepting the fruit of our own jolly rogering
who’ll one day be honouring
their glorious pater and mater
by taking their seat a few years later
a war on curators
a war on investigators
looking into individuals that donate
in fact, a war on anything affecting our mates
a war on talk of the revolving door
a war on declaring assets offshore
a war on history
especially when it interrogates the mystery
of the British Empire
a war on banning MPs for hire
a war on fire
where it requires
funding for cladding & sprinklers
a war on rivers
caregivers
retailers
road haulage trailers
that need a safe level of licencing
a war on cycling
a war on experts
a war on exports
a war on courts
where plaintiffs qualify for state support
a war on Europe
a war on hoodies with the hood up
a war on food banks now that food’s up
a war on slavery
and any criticism thereof
and to finish off
a war on anything not mentioned above