#A-E see!

!: the dangers of perceiving too hard-ly
!: “I was like … joh-kinng … eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee …”
0.42: are you sitting comfortably …?
2nd April 2010: everything converging wildly and apocalyptically on one point
2nd November 2011: actually a turn and a hope quite despite what it altogether sounds like
2 pm: passing
3:30 am: sometimes you have to go round the back of beyond in order to take the next fresh breath
‘8:30 kitchen …’: looking progressively up
08:55: not quite yet open
9:05: bing bong bng BONG …
11:50 pm: passing and staying
16: you know you’re gonna have to face it, you’re addicted to love
19 words / 7 paragraphs / 9 lines: inimitability
the 19th century: was that Whistler’s or Turner’s grandmother?
20th century: a cityal
20th century: echoes
20th century: I write therefore I’m bought
20th century: possibly sister to bbbrsshhh … sss … … you could never quite tell
the 20th century: askance from chapter eleven of From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell
20th century / schzoid man: I know, I know … but now that we’re in the 21st century it seems to me we can always look back and see ourselves dividing within ourselves … maybe this was what was intented by the original song: that ’20th century …’ is always to be the sequel to what went before …?
25% scaffolding & rope: on a good day I’ll meditate first thing in the morning and even if it is the most squandered thirty minutes I spend in my life, it is the most useful thirty minutes I’ll have spent that day
32 years: something magnificent quietly and gently celebrated with a kiss
46 Eglinton Hill: both lost and found
– 48: snapshot
50 mph: it is STILL the case that the further you travel the more you stay where you are … once you get back
50 years old: a lifetime in every single breath
60 m.p.h.: the convergence of diversity
I went 3500 miles from ‘tax cuts for the rich/pension cuts for the rest’ to … 99 // 1
140 m.p.h.: most were between 80 to 90 …
291: it’s been a hard life’s day …
1954: there is actually a hiding pun in here if you know your monkeys and your beat literature history
1955: ‘swell’
1958: I remember this as if I was there but then I was reborn in London the following year. ‘Confuses things …
1959: the beginning of a decline which is still in convulsion today
1959: oh, the beguile of plastic beauty
1959 –– MANHATTAN –– 2012: all my lives I wanted to travel to New York and once I got there I found I hadn’t, and needn’t have, gone anywhere at all
1961: new seaside possibility in the old old town
1961 – Marilyn: and everything was going so well …
1962: Don’t Make Me Over; singer: Dionne Warwick; writers: Burt Bacharach, Hal David
1963: three year old discernment
1963: I thought the song said “moon river, wider than the sky …” and when I learnt “wider than a mile” I lost interest
1963: black and white, and maybe a little grey; and just occasional dashes of taupe
1963: Make the Music Play; singer: Dionne Warwick; writers: Burt Bacharach, Hal David
1963: This Empty Space; singer: Dionne Warwick; writers: Burt Bacharach, Hal David
1963: wishin’ & hopin’; singer: Dionne Warwick; writers: Burt Bacharach, Hal David
1963: this empty place; singer: Dionne Warwick; writers: Burt Bacharach, Hal David
1963: so many windows opening in 1963; Dionne Warwick; Burt Bacharach, Hal David
1963: tentativing with wishin’ & hopin’: Dionne Warwick, Burt Bacharach, Hal David
1963: the shift and turn of cognisance
1964: this almost made me cry when I was 4 – yes, yes, I would, and I thought they were implying I shouldn’t
1964: was just getting its rhythm by now
1964: eventually comes a realisation of borders
1964 – open window: safe within my backseat room experiencing life in the night for a first time
1964: Anyone Who Had a Heart; singer: Dionne Warwick; writers: Burt Bacharach, Hal David
1964: you’ll never get to heaven (if you break my heart): Dionne Warwick, Burt Bacharach, Hal David; was she leaving, would she be back, could I expect her to be back – these things could never be certain in 1964
1964: reach out for me, 1964, my darlings; singer: Dionne Warwick; writers: Burt Bacharach & Hal David
1964: from the chips between walk on by by Dionne Warwick and Burt Bacharach
1964: simply and retrieved from reach out for me by Dionne Warwick & Burt Bacharach
1965: five year old emerging world
1965: brightly coloured sweets
1965: in darkest day, in blackest night, no evil can escape my sight, let those who worship evil’s might, beware my power … Green Lantern’s Light
1965: Are You There (With Another Girl): Dionne Warwick, Burt Bacharach, Hal David; there are wonderful thigs all around but in the morning things have already moved and working has already begun within strange buildings in unknown lands by unknown people
1966: Trains and Boats and Planes; singer: Dionne Warwick; writers: Burt Bacharach, Hal David
1966: several stepped in-takes through I just don’t know what to do with myself by Dionne Warwick & Burt Bacharach and one languid outbreath, each time …
1966 … actually sic // of it allllll-bsssssssh – poewieview #8:
1967: the sounds of a city childhood
1967: the city – any city – was becoming-possibility, at no time more evident than at the magicking of Christmas
1967: even when I was seven I wore sharp-cut suits, gently shining shoes and a slight purse round the side of my mouth
1967: was it synchronicity, juxtaposition or just plain proximity?
1967: the first notice of furniture as accompaniment to feeling
1967: raise your broken eye to the sky
1967: when activity was quiet-enough to hear the sound it made
1967: Christmas – any Christmas – was a city a long time ago when possibility was always possible somewhere else
1967: the beauty to be found in tragedy when all the walls have dissolved
1967: sung: Dionne Warwick, written: Burt Bacharach & Hal David; in 1967 my father left; in 1969 the decree nisi finally came through; somehow my Mum survived and brought us up during the 1970s
1967: reaching both from within, and through: I say a little prayer by Dionne Warwick and Burt Bacharach
1968: was most of the year after my father left; when a parent goes out of your life one of the walls of what you thought was your life just isn’t there anymore; you continue living as if it was but suspect that you might be on a television reality show, surely someone will notice?
1968: everything started to be new
1968: songscape
1968: Infantinoland
1968: the always-present totem for the new year
1968: still stretching, still yawning wondering what post-retirement might bring …
1968: promises promises – more Dionne Warwick and Burt Bacharach sustaining another burst of breath-takingly open and naïve possibility from the later 60s
1968 – orange sand and mauve mist: put down a hundred down and buy a car: do you know the way to San Jose: Dionne Warwick & Burt Bacharach
1969: the beginnings of the suspicion that things were inter-related much more than they were letting on
1969: only forty one years later can I speak without shame. But still with embarrassment
1969: unsure footing trips fresh perspective
1970s: face to face with a new life …
1970 // just now: a 42 year old lesson that didn’t even feel like a lesson when it happened, but it ever was and ever is
1971: bdh dha’ dhaa bdh dhu’ dha-dhaaa bdh dhu’ dhaaar dhu’ dh-dhnn
1971: “Don’t move.   Just die over and over.   Don’t anticipate.   Nothing can save you now, because this is your last moment.   Not even enlightenment will help you now, because you have no other moments.   With no future, be true to yourself – and don’t move.”   Shunryu Suzuki Roshi, ‘Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind’
1971: “Treat every moment as your last. It is not preparation for something else.”; “Time goes from present to past.” ― Shunryu Suzuki, Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind: Informal Talks on Zen Meditation and Practice
1972: la-la-la la
1972: and the rooms inside were dark and empty
1972: the smell of washed tarmac, the promise of purchase, the trickle down the sturdy drain left in the infinite infrastructure
1972: the emergence of choice
1972: “pushing through the market place / so many mothers crying …”
1973: the landscape of excursion to a newland
1973: a life outside
1974: the over-extension of choice
1974 – Greens / End Woolwich: creepy-raininthewind-getting-in-between-where-clothes-tuck beauty
1974: self-consciousness emerges in tight-fitting colours
1975: it was the arrival the arrival
1976: a little piece of ground between terraced houses between parallel roads uphill
1976: I’m not sure that a poster of Twiggy in a waistcoat and the voices of the BeeGees had a lot to do with this too
1976: the start of a beautiful relationship
1976: the beginning of my writing career; I wish I still had that poem …
1977: deep back in 1977 I practised the art of writing in the dark by the window – I wish I’d kept these pieces …
1977: ah, the evening, when everything that needs to has done its bit, and the rest of us can sit aside and wonder at peace
1977: plup
1996 dream : ‘I told you ’bout the fool on the hill / I tell you, man, he living there still’
20000 / steps: just saying, is all
200310: a smile as wide as the common with bay-windowed houses round the edge
220712: I wasn’t really aware of Syria until 18 months ago when it appeared on tv for a few minutes before it disappeared again from view

A206 / Plumstead Road: / perched on a wall: the more you walk the more you stay where you are, rooted to the ground
Acacia Terrace 1890: the desparation of each shout, the drama of each try, endlessly
accumulation of wisdom: what’s really important here …?
achieving good-enough living: an over-sprung trap set when I was 15 years old; can’t free my legs from it, but I will, I will
‘across the flat meadow …’: an alchemical
across the room / through the patio doors / through the conservatory windows / at the bottom of the garden / the still bifurcated trunk of / the oak / before the let-grown hair and fringes / of the fir tree / blown every lifetime in a while by the winter sun // actually: becoming as opposed to sitting up straight
‘across the street …’: colours in the night like liquorice allsorts
actually: an acceptance-al
addicted / compulsive / identity: (I breathe while) I write, therefore I am
adjustment: … where’s m’ coffee?
adversely / mistaking the finger for the moon / again: Suzuki Roshi once looked at his zazen group after a session and said that they are all perfect as they are, but that they could all do with a little improvement
‘after …’: if you have studied well everything is just in its right place
after all: it took a long time to realise: there are only so many times that you can re-pot and water an orchid before the petals fall
after all?: when the pen does the writing, the fool holds the pen too tightly
after a lot / of rain: … normally you’d have birds starting up
after a medium / Americano: I wasn’t expecting that
‘after an hour …’: the whole other texture of writing
afternoon 290613: an exercise in being once I allowed it too …
after the rain / flowers like / cupcakes: this girl was so cool
after the storm: engine-wind, -wind … deisel
after the storm: … back to studying
‘after the war …’: the fracture and the market place
again: some classes you just can’t teach well, the very dynamic of the individuals work against themselves so that none of them can try and none of them can thrive without any of them turning around in their seat and sitting in a different place altogether …
aghh – we’ve been infected / it’s spreading through the system / we’re losing our files … / it’s taken out the processor … / I, I can’t open with this program anymore … / it’s scanning me – / I’ve got to buy a Virus Protection Program from it …: year on year on year our results just get better and better and better
title-ah-oh-meanwhile-tha-ya-ta: when in Granada … visit the Alhambra, and visit the Generalife gardens … [if you have booked up to three months ahead]; on the walk up to the palaces are trees and shrubs which are plenty-watered by sprinklers, in the morning sun the sprays will often catch a rainbow at their edge; the bordered captions in the poem are comic-conjunctives, there is a beginning, middle and end being told here, folks; the mantra: thaya tha om gate gate paragate parasamgate bodhi soha, is the mantra of Prajnaparamita, the Perfection of Wisdom; it can be somewhat semantically translated as “it’s like this: [everything is] gone, gone, completely gone, completely and perfectly gone with no loss, enlightened [dispersed, dispelled] all-right!”; but what’s ‘gone’: “the slings and arrows of outrageous romance” … of one’s self and the whole world positioned awkward to placate its mewling little story, as stolen by Joni Mitchell, who was talking too much at the time, from ‘Willy the Shake’;
aha!: I work hard to make the realisations come that actually come all by themselves and then disappear when I write them down – you’d have though I’d learnt by now …
aghh – we’ve been infected / it’s spreading through the system / we’re losing our files … / it’s taken out the processor … / I, I can’t open with this program anymore … / it’s scanning me – / I’ve got to buy a Virus Protection Program / from it …: I published this a while ago and no one noticed it – it probably went in to most peoples’ spam box; as I go through my haemorrhage from school some of these pieces will re-surface, I’m afraid … wait ’til you see ghosts with opened wounds again – it’s coming, can’t you hear it rattle; ‘well no, that’s the whole point!’ …
the air of architecture: synaesthesia hardens over time
aladdin sane: Mike Garson piano
alien / and awkward: looking for Nemo
alighted: … still don’t know what it is that I have to do in life … ‘cuckoo
alighting: happy New Year
all: let it go, let it all go …
all along the blue sky: paying attention early in the morning makes everything just stop …
all at / once: morning evening it doesn’t matter
Allen Ginsberg’s // child: a bookend
‘Allen Ginsberg smiled …’: Allen Ginsberg’s embrace was so wide, so honest, so stark; the whole ferment of the latter 20th century in a single person … in a single poem
all the time: not used to the sudden life of sun-baked countries
all the while / on a wall opposite / Mum’s flat almost / 12 years after / her death: Jean Redford, born 14th September 1933, lost 20th March 1999; but seemingly endlessly found again
all the while / the flagpole rope / occasionally flaps / the breeze: a passing found / a find passing / a fine found / a passing
almost-Escher: pockets within pockets
along: even if everything went in the same direction there would still an ‘along’-side; that fact that everything doesn’t go in the same direction means that there are no lines …
a store altogether
ambling around / the garden centre: it’s never quite right, and it’s usually all wrong, but it’s all alright anyway, in the end
always: to not reach because of vision of how things should be; to not relinquish because there is no reflection of how I think I ought to be; both rarely appear so clearly and alternately at the same time
amid: how to slip into the very life I am trying to live all along anyhow
anathema: to be and not to be, that is the breath
anatta: doing negotiation with the very world I create, finding my way in the very world I create, it’s no wonder I get lost and ignored
the ancient tree: looking back over my career …
and: worlds within worlds never forming and ever forming
and: what do you get when you get enough germs to catch pneumonia; you get enough love     to get real
… and: another thing, ngak, ngak, ngak, ngk, ngkk, ngkkk …
and …: the Janus psyche of a scribbler trying to be a writer
and here I am: in all the flush of 56 years, swirling round the pan
and of course: one day a manager said to me that I was a ‘pain’ – I wasn’t progressing in the system the way I was supposed to be; he quickly corrected himself, but it was too late: yes yes YES!!!
and no one would know: … must keep my identity secret!
and smile / like a bud: Thich Nhat Hahn talks about smiling like a bud, so I went out into the garden …
and that’s where I are: there are expanses awkward to the landscape in writing sometimes: the technique is there, the shift can be made, but the will and excitement just isn’t; I have been reading Diane di Prima’s “Recollections of My Life as a Woman”, I greatly fed off her childhood but have languoured once she got into the Work; I have been reading about Aleister Crowley’s ‘Do What Thou Wilt’ awkward plane; I have a huge project ongoing writing poewieviews to David Bowie’s oeuvre – I am going to new lands but the luggage is heavy and awkward and requiring decisions which I don’t easily make; oh, and I am off work again, feeling un-plugged in to my own practice of vocation like a forlorn state-of-the-art food mixer; I spent a morning down in Eastbourne chauffeuring my wife around like the successful carer that she is; walking; sitting in a coffee shop; snagged at St. Saviour & St. Peter Church on the corner of Spencer Road and South Street, still pondering the relationship between multifarious form and the emptiness makes it dynamic; but it wasn’t until I sat back in the waiting car and watched the chess moves of two cats in the street that I stumbled across the full quote from the Heart Sutra: “form is emptiness; emptiness is form; emptiness is no other than form, form also is no other than emptiness”; but it wasn’t until I got home and shaped it all up from scribbles to column – with my ageing black AND white cat leaning against my foot – that I wondered if I still hadn’t quite got it yet (as William Carlos Williams, the great great practicer of ‘no poetry but in things’ said); and yet it has been satisfying finding not so …
and then just stop: … with no design
and there is my practice: it’s what I do
an event: the great jumble of balls – facing each other, not facing each other, on top, below, apart, together again, stuck in the corner with all the other balls sliding over them – before they are taken out and their number crooned out … in the Bingo Hall
Anglesea Road: is a steep piece of hill out from the centre of Woolwich; it once hosted a magnificent multi-faceted multi-levelled Victorian corner house between two rises of hill for about 120 years – it doesn’t now
angular hardened and defined: for two – three, four – generations now, the New Right is the ever-newly-resurrected wrong. Call me naive. Anytime.
(another / gulp of air): my Mum died sixteen years ago the day I posted this; it stands as tribute and testimony through serendipity
anti-depressants: during yoga nidra tonight I experienced a sudden escalation and awareness of a cat (one of MY cats?) in sudden danger, about to be attacked by a large predator; for a split-second that cat knew that it was about to die; for that same split-second I knew that an emotion in me was about to die; and when the bite came, we both turned to face it
anxiety: maybe the reason we have lost all our philosophers is because we let the nausea become anxiety and learnt to live with it
anxiety of option: why I seem to develop a headache whenever I have been through a supermarket, but only colour wonder and a true sense of value and purchase when I remember the high streets of my childhood
any answers: … because there are none to be had, which means anything can be owned; or Had
… anymore: pass the monkey-wrench; you ‘ave it son, I’ll sing it …
any open window: … sorry, Mark, what did you say?
‘anyway / is it all just / a dream?’: so, here I am, fighting the good fight … actually, defeated, now, and looking forward to putting down the cape and cowl
‘approaching the corner …’: always searching for love when you are 18 …
archaeology / of the sky: an eliptical
Are You Being Served?: let’s celebrate the first day of my fourth breakdown from being able to practise what I am quite good at shall we? All of the gruelling comedy to be found between smartly-dressed and pompous floor Managers and their smartly-dressed but innuendo’d Workers. Rule Britannia.
the art of living: not liv ing
the art of sit and follow: there’s many a twixt ‘tween space ‘n’ line …
as: a defraction of a number of colours
Ashdown Forest / 080213 14:47: finding stillness through the motion of walking on a grand scale, especially useful when working through a breakdown
ashramas: through the many stages of my supposed growth I have never lost my naïveté
ashramas: through the many stages of my naïveté I have grown without my knowing and despite my many … [groan]s
as I breathe: and … relax
as I pass: a pure and naïve piece of unadulterated fifty year old adolescence
as soon as: hop skippity spit spot
as they wish: … thy wills be done on earth as they are in heaven
at hand: nothing is serious-enough to be
‘at midday the Batman walked across the square …’: … he really did!
at night: a temporal
‘at night …’: the outer activity of just sitting as an exercise sufficient unto itself; the inner experience of a lamp in the darkness with the window open listening through the net curtains
at Rue de Provence & / Chausée d’Antin Trinité: a still moment in the Hotel d’Antin Trinité
AT-tennnnnnnn – waitfrrit waitfrrit – SHUN!: in the immortal words of Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche: “the path is the goal”
attention: buh-da-da Da Da bah-dmm bah-dmm …
at the apex: a still- …
‘at the end of the day …’: wysiwyg
‘at the top of the road …’: contemplation after the washing up
‘at the traffic lights …’: understanding the drive of grown-up, understanding the colours of grown-up
August Adventure: cover Adventure Comics #428, August 1973; artist: Tony DeZuniga
Automat, 1927 – held: the first of a triptych held in a quadriptych laced together with Hopper; the lifelong pause of pre-occupation
autumn: a satisfied turn of the season
the Avengers: dgnnn dh-dh-dhh-dgnn dgnnn dh-dh-DHH-DGNNNNN
‘avenue of wraggled gorse tops …’: early evening
avenues of uprise: one of the higher peaks of realisation during the trip but not the highest. Inevitably …
awareness: … but bright yellow and gingham
‘awareness is like a huge arc light CRACK! …’: mind you, the bulbs keep flickering, they go out from time to time and it can take ages before a replacement is found. And put in.
awayday / update: … like “be-buh”
axis: bold as love: the timeless afternoon of the sixties

babble: a froth of events at 5:00 pm 220310
backseat: I’ve known always when I have arrived in my life – it’s unmistakable – but I have been terrible at knowing when to get off; I never know when to get off
back to the / outbreath: after so many ladders it is actually a relief to find the Big Snake
… back to the outbreath: enough with the snakes; back to the ladders!!!
bad sneakers: Steely Dan, from the album Katy Lied (1975)
balance: just staying where I am
balancing // with a whole lot of deft: when everything crumbles and falls about you, you still have to stand on one leg
bamboo-green boiled sweet / with soft purple filling: imagine if all your education were taste …
‘bamboo-smacking …’: you discover the dearest friends quite by chance when you manage to write openly openly
bargain: history in a purse
‘the barking dog …’: did it hit?
bass and piano: the world of bass and piano first found on Hunky Dory
bass and piano: spread out haiku
bass slap: the emergence from the fifties to the sixties, a companion to ‘one day / in 1956’ which isn’t published yet
bath: sound in the silence of snow
The Batline / Life-line: all the petty drama of anyway
‘Batman …’: was both my father and also the child that I became; this poem has a companion – yes
Batman 168: cover of Batman #168 (Dec 1964); artist: Carmine Infantino
Batman#175: The Decline and Fall of Batman, November 1965, writer: Gardner Fox, artists: Sheldon Moldoff and Joe Giella
Batman: Year One (1987): writer: Frank Miller, artist: David Mazzucchelli
the Bat-parent: learning through doing; learning through dialectic
Bat-Shadow: when the night is on and the mind is off, the endless potentiality of our true nature is everywhere possible and immanently apparent
Batworld: for those who might know, a chronologically pocketed and overcoated lineage of Norman Saunders, Carmine Infantino, Bob Kane, Neal Adams, and post-Frank Miller … world
bavardage: why did no one engage me in the conversation I was capable of and wanting to have? Why was that?
bbbrsshhh … sss …: altered states
be: -xisting
because: a happy find while rifling through my collection of poems to see which ones I hadn’t published
becoming: actually voices are landscapes when heard with your eyes closed
becoming old: I stopped thinking I was ten years younger than I was when I started working in my career full time; now I count how many years I have left before I can be young again
beep: what else are you gonna get if you spend all evening listening to Brian Eno?
beepbeep: on 30th October 2016, I visited the Victoria & Albert Museum exhibition @You Say You Want a Revolution’ – Records and Rebels 1966-1970 (a birth day present, thank you, Carol); my Dad left our family on 2nd November 1967, my eighth birthday, and the divorce became final by 1969; I think it was Brigitte Bardot who said something about the ‘tremors’ which were felt in the late 60s, but few who had the ‘courage’ to face them, but I can’t seem to find the quote verbatim; we got a bit lost, at first, driving back from west London
‘before the wide …’: bear left and follow the sun
before // writing?: do you write what you think or think what you write, eh; eh?
being in love – poewieview #26: just close your eyes: Lightning Frightening, 1971; Moonage Daydream, 1971
Being There (1979): directed: Hal Ashby; actors: Peter Sellers, Shirley MacLaine
bell: I fell in love with Carol from the feet up; we had a thing where I would say ‘feet’ and she would wriggle them about to keep her circulation up – she was training to be a nurse, after all
the bench: everything hinges like a plate on a stick if the concentration is held while everything else passes by; and just in case it doesn’t, we’ll hold an Indian head-loll to such an absolute …
bench / corner of Cantwell Road / and Eglinton Hill: lesson #19224; you would have thought I’d figured it out by now …
the bench / on the fourth sister from / Birling Gap before the / wind-brushed scrub and gorse / and the grey-blue sky / smoothed through the / fishtank-blue horizon to / grey-green sea: a piquant little number, not to be rushed I would hazard
Beresford Square: // it’s alright it’s alright: anxiety and unease in Woolwich (… not quite Las Vegas)
between: shave and a hair-cut … … …
‘between the moon …’: walking with buildings
between thoughts: when all that sparkled was not all there was
‘big cheeky smile …’: did it really happen?
Big Mind: is the art of making no big deal of life so that life is then free to splash itself colourful across the cosmos
the Big Stage: some things you just have to learn the hard way – usually those things which you most need to learn becuase you are so blind-sided from them through your own stubborness – I’m still not sure I’ve learnt my lesson yet …
biography: I so enjoyed writing this; it is everything I am not. I will probably come back to this and add to the biography …
Birmingham / 030413: hinges upon hinges upon hinges
birthday poem: 56 today
a bit painful this: this does not mean that I roll over and take the blind, one inch deep NONSENSE any easier, but play with it, play with it
black plimsolls / tights and cords: sitting under the arches, on benches, noise, activity and then this oasis of posture
Black Rook / in Rainy Weather: ‘funny, that …
‘blades / articulate all the lonely height / of the sky’: A Windmill on a Polder Waterway; Paul Joseph Constantin Gabriël, c. 1889
‘“blck” “blck” …’: so, it’s final then …
bleach down the toilet: an olfactory
B  le  tch l  ey      P   ark: visit, 260416, pages of scribbled notes; the poem sifted and shifted until a pattern formed and simultaneously dispersed, across time; in the hotel room in Luton right next to the rail-line which slingshot-ricochet’d passing trainsnotstopping in the window one side, out the window the other, all night and all of the day, in timetable but not necessarily rhythm
block: I thought I had something profound to say here, but I was just too ambitious and ended up writing hardly anything at all
block ‘n’ role: oojammaflip
bloogying: never seen a grown man of 56 whinging … you have now?
blue and green / a l l s  o  r  t  s: in which my eyes prove to be far bigger than my stomach …
blue and red: there’s something very obviously blue sky and redbrick about some seaside towns which is apparent only in winter
‘the blue misty hills …’: a companion piece to ‘hovering …’, separated by … a valley
‘the blues …’: with a few bass drum kicks and riding the cymbals hard – ‘just get on with it’
b / l / u / e / s / at a right-angle: an occasional
‘the blues shifted …’: and then it all happens again in another shift of key …
‘the blue wall …’: houses set back off the main road are the best houses
blue walnut: Manhattan like the box of chocolates you never had
Bob // 1995/2012: Gurdjieff said that the point of living beings was to transform energy
Bodiam Castle: Edward Dalyngrigge made money as a mercenary soldier, fighting endlessly against France, then married Elizabeth, the heiress of the Wardedieu, to build a castle to defend against invasion looking fabulous (oh, and build a wharf on the river Rother to benefit from the trade).   It looks fabulous to this day but has defended only right and privilege.   We live in a much more settled world now, comfortable by our ruined castles and retired landscapes.   The nearest incursions are on the beaches of Tunisia, although there is worry at the port of Calais.
de Boeddha // of light: a little stone statue found in the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam one day in 2014 when we happened to be visiting with no particular purpose in mind but seeing what opened through our eyes and hearts …
bombs on / Catford: by Michael J Redford
Bonus Books: mind dips down into itself and engulfs a whole city
bookmark: ongoing inauguralism
boots on / for a walk: walking with trees
born again: the elongated option, wide-open, always and again
both: everything that defines the space between le mot bon and a blank page
the both passive and transitive / non-presumptive pre-conceptualist attenuation of being: casting around for something to write I realised that there was nothing but the act itself
the bottom line: what should be the bracket of life
bottom of Herbert Road to the / foot of Eglinton Hill dream: and I still do, with all of my heart; but I am getting wise to her ways; I think
bougainvillea: a holiday novel in a sunny port
boxer: lie-la-lie pOW! …
Boy: ‘oi, righ’, did ya see vis; look, look; ‘youlooking?        NOW!’
brave new world?: … to let go of all the worlds that have gone before but linger about like a stack of magazines
breakfast in bed: the needless daily take-up of struggle
breath: all just a lot of hot air
breathe, be / and sit still: ‘… the problem and the antidote / all in one package …’
breathe it all / in: breathing it all back home
breathing: if only I could remember to breathe
breathing: yes this is a circular poem because you need to breath in again after the last breath
b / r / e / a / t / h / i / n / g: ‘It’s so high you can’t get over it, / So low you can’t get under it, / So wide you can’t get round it …’ know ye your True Nature
the breath of London: Plumstead is high in London looking north onto the river Thames
breathing out: now, if only I could remember how to write
the breath of London: on a day whiich was not late spring, and not in London, it seemed right to post this again, buffed up red with not a slight mauve tint under the red and sky
‘the breezy …’: a contingency of happenstance
Brighton 30th June 2011: … and, yes, it’s come to this. And wasn’t it a long way down. Wasn’t it a needless way down.
the / bright yellow / world: and … what are YOU going to do for a career …?
brilliance: perforce I wear a shade, but I wish I could be naked
“bring in as many / different kinds of leaf / as you can find”: a moment almost as epiphanous as the discovery of the monolith by the humano-monkeys in 2001: a Space Odyssey
the brown carpet: after a long day’s work
brown suit: the point of the realisation of pointlessness
brown corduroy shirt / and dark redwine tie: I bought myself some new shirts with the no-blame severance pay I accepted to make it all stop – one of the shirts is a mid-brown corduroy that naps a darker brown when stroked because it hasn’t washed worn yet; the tie I bought from a charity shop before I even started teaching – deep burgundy red, slim and tonic in the light; I have been meaning to get in to Virginia Woolf for quite some time, but the light of the afternoon in the parlour has never has never been quite right before; am I pathetic: oh yes, but at least I can write about it; Carol likes to travel as an instinctive way to comb-through the threads of career and life; we planned a trip to the stones in Wiltshire started with the Avebury stones …
Brugges April 2015 – looking lost: I am very pleased to present the above, cultured from a short stay in Brugges at the beginning of this month; we travelled by Eurostar leaving from St. Pancras station and passed through Brussels, then out to Brugges; there is no newer building in the centre of the town, the spires and towers still rise down side streets no matter where you walk (Spire of the Church of Our Lady); there is a large photograph of nuns dedicated to life healing at the exhibition in Sint-Janshospitaal and an exhibition ‘Right, Before I Die’ by Andrew George of photographs of people towards the ends of their life and the words they have to say; we visited the old apothecary back at Sint-Janshospitaal; there was a music festival happening but we only saw the Open Light Brass Band play …
bud: everything and nothing
Buddha / Shakyamuni: the more you lose the more you find
Buddha Amitabha: what a difference a portending shower can make amidst cacophonous seeming-necessity
the Buddha head in an antique shop: … still a lot of work to do, always work to do, even when you have got there, even on the way back again … “oh, well this won’t do” as my Nan used to say “I’ve got parsnips to peel”
‘the Buddha statues …’: there is a precept to regard all images of the Buddha as the actual Buddha; when there is true settlement in the mind there is no inside or outside – and this is Buddha nature; when there is no settlement of the mind, this precept seems idolatrous; this happens all the time whether I am aware of it or not – lamp light
buoying: not ‘seawrecked’ not ‘marooned’ not ‘despair’ and certainly not ‘drowning’; but never entirely convinced that it’s not any of these either
burgundy: always a surprise to discover the whole landscape which is always there when there is silence
‘the burgundy velvet evening …’: a cushional
‘but, Mark, what do you want …?’: as if it were a complete and unfathomable mystery – quantumly beyond any conceptual framework that had ever synapsed across a concept known to humanity in all the history of thought – possibly I wasn’t clear when I said that I had something to offer, maybe I should have spoken in Algebra or something
but there …: it used to be that on Sundays the shops all closed and everything was on wait until the following day; now that the shops open on Sundays there is no time for waiting anymore
by: standing still while the rest of the world slowly moves
by default: look! Up there! It’s a bird, it’s a plane … No, it’s a bird; and we’re late! C’mon, look where you’re going.

C: a cubist portrait
calm down: how to be a ripple and not a stone
capes flying: what happens when you try to fight with an idea
career came to naught …: … you had to be there …
car park: the loneliness of the off-roader
carpet worn / to the backing – poewieview #30: the continuance of birth: Kooks, 1971
castrated: The Imitation Game (2014); director: Morten Tyldum; actors: Benedict Cumberbatch, Keira Knightley
celebrate: betcha can’t get that stupid Madonna song out of your mind now …
Charlotte: a six- and an eight-year old playing serious games
Charlotte: a slight upturn at the beginning of each phrase and a resigned sag towards the end
Charlotte’s / warm / hand: she was five years old and really starting to get to grips with noticing the world – such a gift
chartless …: Margaret Salinger delineated her father as ‘chartless’, before and certainly after the war, looking for ‘landsmen’ as did his characters – which sort-of fitted Salinger, but is it so unusual …?
chartless …: ‘beginning to think that land is just an illusory enticement not worthy of the disembarcation
the cheaper seats: … because, honestly, there is so much crap on tv, on the internet, in film, on the stage; where can you look to get to see something honest …?
Chenrezig: learning to find the smile, a lesson for life
chew that gum: with the mouth open
child: a heard object, complete in itself
child: carried. High off the ground.
Child of Illusion: the inquestionability of what you are when once you allow yourself to honestly quest
child: Bodhisattvacharyavatara, III 13-14
the chiropodist: if only everything were left to be as colourful as it naturally is …
chirp / through the window: a look-back-over-the-shoulder-al
Chop Suey, 1929: by Edward Hopper; second of a triptych that doesn’t yet realise it is four-fold … like acting on a stage
Christmas: a completely familiar high street made prospective by evening
Christmas: the eyes have it
Christmas lights / around the lamp post: when the look is empty, incongruity becomes congruent
Christmas lights / around the lamp post: … persistent even when no one sees, looks (or ‘likes’)
chrysalissing: opening out and opening in
chump: oh, this boy of needless effervescence
city-centre-coffee-shop / talk: the ubiquity of eye in time
city twilight: ah, the music of cities when nature shifts
city twilight: but then sometimes he forgets that this is his destiny and what he has to do to fulfil it; with the breeze
the class: somewhere …
classic: in fact it dropped just before I noticed it
Clea: or is that ‘clear’; through the portals hung in space from Strange Tales #s 126 & 127, by Lee & Ditko
cloud: people came to Crowborough for the air; people went to Tunbridge Wells for the water
clouds: a Sunday afternoon
meditation in lurking anticipation of my gathering fifty fourth birthday – ‘becoming blustrous, now
clouds: OK; it was written in the summer and published during a winter, but apart from that … I commend this bill to the House
cloudy: a found object
clown: is there any continuation to be had?
clues: the most staggeringly beautiful (and useful) lessons in life are those which I seem to teach to myself mostly because they were right under my nose all the time and not because I am a great teacher
coagulating: immerging (sic) from ‘The House of Shadows’ in Strange Tales #120, May 1964, by Lee & Ditko
c’mon: quick and finished
coffee shop: trans-ition … eh- eh
coffee shop: ‘shall we go in or sit outside; what do you think …?’ ‘well I don’t know’
coffee shop / inculcation: the anthropology of arriving at last
coffee shop / no –: an after-wave of the mind
the coffee shop opportunity: the empty table of desire
coldstreet: in stability
cold wind: enveryment
Comfort / Hotel: hotels are such interesting spectacles to put on and see the world through
comfy: retirement #4: from a dream had 16th-17th December, written down 171216; the present Karmapa is the 17th recognised incarnation; the sorry tale of Mark Redford and his Teachers; the forwarding ways
comicbook morning: a big, freshly-cooked slice of happiness served up on a clean white plate; there you go …
comicolor: a completely familiar high street made pocketed by gesture
‘coming / to understand: how slow and gradual it is to grow, at the pace of bark
communication / ing: so easy to mistake the essence with the form
com- / mute: all the distance of proximity
Compartment C, Car 193, 1938: heightened perspective of traverse, by Edward Hopper
compromised: as soon as you try and move you’re already covered like a rash
condensation: noise as colour
Confession: in my teaching I often make reference to Pastor Neimoller’s heart-breaking “First they came for the Communists / And I did not speak out …”
con / firm: the passing seal of identity
connections: come on, you’re 15, we’re having a party, it will be such FUN, you’ve GOT to come … AGHHHHHHHH!
the Conqueror: “The die is cast!   I shall be merciful no longer!   Let the fate that befalls be upon all your heads!”
consturnation …? // consternation: the link between food and perception; a sequel to the poppies / of van Gogh
constant hummm: groan up stuff
con / sum / mate: how to ‘hold your seat’ (Pema Chodron) when driving a pen
‘consumption is compromise …’: THIS is the global warming we should really be taking about …
contemplating my painted copy / of Vallejo’s Conan: when you sift through the past you can always find the route back again if you are inquisitive and broken enough
Continuing / Professional / Development: Compromised Professional Devolution
the continental stride of trains: Riding along in my automobile / My baby beside me at the wheel / I stole a kiss at the turn of a mile / My curiosity running wild / Cruisin’ and playin’ the radio / With no particular place to go (Chuck Berry)
corner of Plum Lane / Eglinton Hill and / Shrewsbury Lane: I sometimes drive up to SE London where I lived as a child to write myself some roots that I can no longer feel and remind myself that even time is eventual
corroboration: from ‘there’s a hole in our garden …’ to letters to Mum V – carrying on in duty and love is a whole journey that began some 38 years ago and has gone nowhere at all but been thoroughly worthwhile
could you throw me some paper / and a pen please: the quantum field is silence
covert being: the bane of a lifetime and a world: thinking that our reaching is our being
Carol / playing on the floor / with bits of / material: my handsome wife!
a crack of lightning / in the dark of night: Bodhisattvacharyavatara; chapter one, verse five
the crane: no matter how magnificent you look and how important your work is it all comes down to the space you helped build belonging to someone else
cranes: almost numinous to Hunger City
crease and score of silver-morning sky: pictures of home-town in time; time of picture-town in home; home of time-town in picture – a unitary triptych
crescendoeing cascade of chordage – poewieview #10: sometimes you gotta do a little crazy with instinct when the scent’s off: Please Mr. Gravedigger, 1966; The Laughing Gnome, 1967; The Gospel According to Tony Day, 1967; When I Live My Dream, 1967; Love You Till Tuesday, 1967
“crop / rotation”: just; when you ask Joni Mitchell about the relationship of writing and painting, there will always be a gaze-upwards to the right to see which mode she is in before she answers; these days she is mostly a painter; she was mostly a painter when she was writing which is why she had so many tunings to her guitar – a very busy palette
crows on the / chimneys / of 40/38: I love this poem: I sometimes go up to London to find bits of my childhood that I may have left behind – constantly cheecking the buildings and streets like a child who has lost his teddy bear – and occasionally I have the wisdom to stop looking …
crumpled / notebooks / at the end of a gentle retreat: if the writing has been good, the breathing should be better
Cumbria: always washed and fresh
cupboards: ‘there-now, that’s that’ as my Nan used to say
a cup of tea: I believe it was Suzanne Vega’s Tom’s Diner to unnecessarily locate it
a cup of tea, gov: on the happy 33rd anniversary of that growing contract between us, exempting itself from all clauses that have never have been needed had they been made anyway, through sheer maturation; we are almost organic, now …
the cure / for block: … free speech, man; a true howl never ends with the ‘l’
currency: / assent for statement – / ‘smakin’alivvin’: both precursor and epilogue to iffyakan / getawaywi`it / you can `ave it
currency of generations: early intimation that my lifetime was far more elastic than my experience would tell
currency of generations: the swirl of time
curtains open / in the evening: there is always always possibility hanging like an iceburg if you care to brave the water
cut while you’re ahead/cut while you’re a thread – poewieview #35: outertextual in The Bewlay Brothers from 1971; there are more from here, but not now …
CV: “and what exactly do you feel you could offer to this poisition …?

dance: one two two threefour one two five… threefour one two two two …
Daredevil: Born Again (1987): writer: Frank Miller; artist: David Mazzucchelli
darkness: askance from chapter ten of From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell
darkness: a little snippet from askance From Hell, askance from chapter ten of From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell, gwn’n’avvalook
‘dark ochre tarmac …’: a Hopper in Plumstead
“Darling” – poewieview #28: oh, God, I could do better than thaat, Queen Bitch, 1971
dash: can’t stop; must go
dash: no, really; I can’t hang around – thing’s go wrong when I stand still; since the first ‘dash’, I didn’t, and now look at my career!
the dash is magnificent / the shadow grotesque: askance from chapter eight of From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell
David Bowie – Iris: I wrote this of an iris I found in Darmstadt, Germany; what drew me to it was the notion of the Aryan peoples of central Asia who penetrated into the Indian sub-continent and flowered the Upanishads; but the poem still didn’t feel quite complete until I heard of the death of David Bowie this morning
dawn: a new colour, a new beginning …
dawn a new beginning, a new colour …
daybreak // midday: some poems have just got to be written themselves; you have to trust that they will find your way in their life eventually
day off: a very slippery switch which I have never yet mastered so blindsided so compulsed am I to find meaning and purpose in all that I do: day to evening, weekday to weekend, working to holiday, youth to old age, consciousness to sleep … life to death
Day Out: up in London town
dear clown’s face: I fell short
Dear Sir/Madam,: ghost with open wound
the declensions of constant posibility throughout times: the more you look for something the more you miss what is happening all around
Dedication: an inaugural epilogue
dedication: through the virtuous merit that I collect by practising giving and other perfections may I become a fully enlightened Buddha in order to benefit all mother migrating beings
dedication / prayer: … through the virtuous merit that I collect by practising giving and other perfections, may I become a fully enlightened Buddha in order to benefit all migrating beings”
deepening with each step: you cannot walk away from the times that engulf you
deeper: throughout all times there has always awaited our true nature hidden within darkly if we but realised the error of our ways that make us what we are not …
‘deep green paint of the …’: entrance
demolition: building sight prequel to portrait
Desolation Angels: lost and found; found and lost
Detective Comics #345: ‘found’ epilogue to ‘The Blockbuster Invasion of Gotham City’ story in Detective Comics #345, p.14, panel 3, November 1965; spoken by ‘Bruce Wayne’ disguised as ‘Roland Desmond’; writer: Gardner Fox, artist: Carmine Infantino
‘determined to drop the / dramas and tragedies / of this life …’: or as Cluster & Eno might say, bass and apex
development: the tide comes in again, as it always would
did I get old?: olding all the time, realisation usually too late …
different circumlocutions: travel is good for the practice of not staying where you are but being where you are; travel should be practised with each breath when writing … and breathing
dilemminal: a Brand New Fresh Dilemma FREE with every breath you take; you wouldn’t want to be without it (no breathing required, terms and identity apply)
[once a ]dilemminal [always a dilemminal]: I retired at the end of this academic year; I am free – but I will never recover from the damage to my self that being the self that I was obliged to be in order to be recognised that I was doing the job at all, did …
‘the dining room …’: etiquette
diligence: full of wisdom, empty of practice; full of doing, full of crap
‘the dining room …’: the nobility of inconsequence in the far too ephemeral world
Dionne Warwick: the lilt of street and quiet of life prospect
‘dirty beige …’: comicbookmetropolis
disappear: … sorry, Mark, what were you saying …?
… the discipline of shamatha / and the waft of vipashyana: a view from the window of bedroom 42 at the Quaker Woodbrooke Study Centre in Bournville, Birmingham, on 30th December 2013, commencing a brief sitting-writing retreat over the new year which made my heart relax somewhat
… the discipline of shamatha / the waft of vipashyana: staying at Woodbrooke again for a short break, I need to celebrate by posting one of my favourite poems, written here, again …
the discovery of / leaving no trace: like the bird that flies through the sky without design or cognisance and yet covers so much distance effortlessly
‘discution poli …’: this is most of what I learnt from having opted to study French at A-level – I could only get it to a ‘D’ grade
‘discution poli / d’orage …’: the nowness of ‘alors’
distraction: again and again and again … going deeper? … again and again and again
Dr Strange #6 (Feb 1975): writer: Steve Englehart; artist: Gene Colan
Dr Strange #6-13: (Feb 1975-April 1976); Marvel; writer: Steve Englehart; artist: Gene Colan
Dr Strange I – the trashcan tilted the better to see now the street: Dr Strange #6 (Feb 1975); Marvel; writer: Steve Englehart; artist: Gene Colan; inker: Klaus Janson
Doctor Strange I – the trashcan tilted the better to see now the street: I am psyched that the first trailer for the Doctor Strange film has just been released; I think this is going to see me lose my 56 year old jaded-cool; I am more excited about this than I was for the Batman movies, even though Batman is my character (oh, sorry, didn’t you know?), (in fact, I envisage Batman, ideally, as more akin to Doctor Strange, the character should be more mystical than he is generally presented); I am glad to see the trailer dealing with kaleidoscope-reality, this has a lot to go for it from the start; Tilda Swinton as the Ancient One is a genuinely creative piece of casting but I hope she is not as ‘explainey’ and active as this trailer suggests (or even as dynamic as she was Gabriel in ‘Constantine’, a female sage should have more devastating effect but with less of the door-slamming); ( and talking of door-slamming: I was disappointed that the trailer starts of with the ubiquitous iron door slam portending dire catastrophe for gawp-eyed Humanity, I was hoping Doctor Strange, at least, would approach tale-telling differently, but I suppose superhero movies have hit their formula now, no one’s going to play with it with that much money going in … mind you, Stark’s humour, and the first Avenger’s humour were interesting innovations, I might hope for something innovative in Strange, not humour, so much, as power through deft and understatement rather than grunt); the round loft-window gave me The Smile at the end; Cumberbatch has a Good Walk as he broaches realities, he has the right eyes to see-through fingers for the part as well; I once hoped that David Lynch might write and direct Doctor Strange … that would have been interestingly different and so right … it was not well-received (have a look in the comments section of https://longboxgraveyard.com/2012/11/28/76-superhero-greenlight-doctor-strange/) … actually, dab’n’abbit, here is my tender, but I’ll settle with what this film seems to promise: Dr Strange operates in worlds which are ‘mystical’ in the sense that they function within natural laws and forces which are alternate to our own – they are worlds which we just don’t get and it would be better for us that we didn’t know about them so we can continue functioning ourselves.   And yet Stephen Strange is of and from this world – he is all too human but has mastered the Mystic Arts.   He therefore lives between the two worlds – the physical/political and the occult worlds – or rather he lives amid, at the same time.   He is ‘strange’ because he bridges these two worlds, and this is the central pull of the character for me.   In comics the ‘occult’ world was depicted fantastically (the floating-island footsteps of Ditko, the swirls of Colan) because it was a visual medium meant for younger audiences (growing up); but the occult world doesn’t so much ‘look’ strange (like a childishly re-arranged physical world), in fact it isn’t even a different world it is the same world ‘seen’ (and ‘heard’ and ‘felt’ and acted in) differently.   What was equally attractive about Dr Strange (and under-used in the comics) was the depiction of the character in ordinary, recognisable surroundings but knowing he was actually operating in a world out of the space-time continuum.   I would conceive that Strange’s ‘battles’ took place while he was strolling through a park, while walking on the street, in the blink of an Eye (herm).   I once heard David Lynch talk about how he achieves perspectives in his work by ‘filming through the eye of a duck’ meaning that he doesn’t just film ‘lineally’ he films simultaneously/alternately – he shoots a scene/whole films which physically depict one narrative but which affectively show an alternate landscape in which they play out.   What better ‘mise-en-scene’ist than David Lynch to depict the life of a character who has ‘mastered’ the arts of living bridged across two worlds-in-one?   No need of CGI, no need of costumes, not even much need of action!   I know, I know, not the ingredients for your standard superhero blockbuster money-maker.   But they have been done and will continue to be done under their own momentum.   Dr Strange has always been a peripheral character because he is so … strange.   Perhaps this would be time to make a different take on the comics-to-film translation formula … Anyhoo, I wrote a series of poems tracking Doctor Strange through a key set of issues written by Steve Englehart and drawn by Gene Colan; (Dr Strange #6-13 (Feb 1975-April 1976)); these issues are some of the best comics I have ever read; they were also seminal in shaping me to become the significantly un-noticeable writer I have become to this day; I posted them in 2012 and then re-posted them again in 2014 because I thought the film was immanent – it wasn’t; but, dammitall, I like these babies so I’m going to post them again, spread out until November 4th when I’ll be two days into 57 …
Dr Strange II – … things are the same again: sequel to ‘things will never be the same again …’
Doctor Strange II – … things are the same again: … in fact there never was any change in the first place
Dr Strange III – the needs of billions: the ineluctable sequel to inHaveitability … oh, yes
Doctor Strange III – the needs of billions: is there a similarity between the flame-headed Dormammu and the current Republic candidate for presidency … oh, my arteries!?
Dr Strange IV – ellipses: … time comes when the whole universe needs to be in on the discussion, as if it were never integral to each happenstance in the first place; coincides with Dr Strange actually arriving on the scene – funny that
Dr Strange V – all the words of all the times of all the worlds speak: the discussion, in which Dr Strange is there … but doesn’t say much
Dr Strange VI – to hold my face to the world: Dr Strange #6-13 (Feb 1975-April 1976); Marvel; writer: Steve Englehart; artist: Gene Colan
Dr Strange VII – the madness of Mordo: askance from Dr Strange #6-13 (Feb 1975-April 1976); Marvel; writer: Steve Englehart; artist: Gene Colan
dog bark: in the snap of a notice
doing: if you write with the breath, they come from the same source; if you don’t they are worlds apart
Do Nothing Usually / Take Everything Regularly / Consider It All Clearly / And Step Aside It Waltzingly: I take it upon myself to know nothing at all and in the long run hope to have nothing to offer that would get in any way
‘don’t …’: inhabitation
don’t look / at her eyes – poewieview #18: found under the clunk of Buzz the Buzz, 1970, and the clatt-errrrrrrrrrr of Amsterdam, 1970
don’t meditate / like a scientist: even if you are a superhero scientist
don’t move: something I keep recurring back to
“don’t move / just die / over and over … / be true to / youself / and don’t move” / – Suzuki Roshi: now all I’ve got to do is stop enough to actually do it; it helps a bit when everything comes crashing down by itself; actually it doesn’t; actually it makes no difference either way; unless I sit still
door ajar: and let it be added – respectively – dark green, deep blue, mauve & lilac pattern … on a canary yellow wall like columns
Dottie: complete absorption
double glazing: opening
downhill: prowling, even, looking for a way to be
‘down in the yards …’: sex in the city prequel
down the lane: on a bicycle, off the main road, early in the morning
down through the night: concentration and notice
dream: a simple dream, nothing profound or shocking but strangely satisfying
dream / 010397: the event horizon always seems to be later, later … or strangely missed
dream 290697: I found this tucked away in my notes after 15 years still shifting around unable to get to sleep
dream / 240897: the muse of indifferent but loving acceptance
dream / 121097: there, right behind my shoulder …
dream / 301197 // home: growing up is a humbling process if done well
dream / 221297: it was, possibly, around the age of 37 that I finally relinquished feeling that I was either young or an ingenue
dream 040198 / Eglinton Hill: and yet, and yet, nothing came of it …
dream / 150599: seeing that death isn’t as final as life persists to be
dream / 190599: every time I walk I miss her
dream / 140603: the name of David Bowie’s next album after a nine year hiatus was the Next Day …
dream 290706: immature lifetimes four decades old
dream / 130207: family and spirit -ualism or -ality?
dream / 150910: everything that appears in a dream is an aspect of oneself; ‘oneself’ in the dream is what you do with yor aspects. Charlotte is my gentle, naturally-beautiful daughter. In the dream she was still smiling and gentle even with her injury
dream 100213: where do we go from here?
dream 260713: where everything just doesn’t seem quite joined up
dream 230315: it took a lifetime putting this dream together
dream 260815: I suspect I’m doing alright, although I can’t for the life of me explain how …
dream / career: I was feeling the pinch well before 2008
dream career // groggy: as the great majority of my readers are from America, I’d better point out that ‘pants’ means ‘underwear’ – the last vestige before total nudity (believe me, it ain’t pretty!); I am in the last throws of my career (I know, it’s been lingering on since obituary, and maybe shouldn’t’ve) and soon to enter the Last Rites; I was having a natter with Waywardspirit and we both agreed that it was about time; but I was nevertheless indulging in a little guilt ‘n’ defeat when I came across a dream I had before, even, my ‘obituary’ and it makes me feel better; and wiser …
dream / career / 040712: my turn
dream return to / Eglinton Hill: eventually you grow up with your child still inside looking out
‘dressed in black smiling …’: passed whoosh thirty two years ago and still standing
driving: maybe I should have slowed down
dropped ’till you’ve shopped: the ubiquity and spore of Have
Drug Store, 1927: when the 20th century was still being made in black and white, by Edward Hopper
dry rot: is this an angry poem that doesn’t shout so much now but has carried the anger for over a decade? YES!!
dry rot: I know: we’ve heard it all before; just indulge this little toddler for a little while longer, will you; it has only slightly altered since I wrote it a good four years ago, like being in a boat on the sea, buffeted and brûlée’d, looking for where the sky becomes screen and the prow rips through it
duck calls: the first time I heard with my eyes
‘”… during all of my lives …”‘: the hinayana has no self – and this is emptying and lordly – the mahayana has all selves and walks through – robes flapping
dyuhwanner textum: from the mouths of babes

early bed tonight: “and so to bed”
early evening: it always starts one evening, but it has always been beginning from lifetimes back … `go detect that koan, November 1939
the early morning of the sixties: if you can remember the sixties you weren’t there
early Spring weather and / government standards questions: however much it all continues on in its ugliness it is still beautiful
earthed: the further you walk the deeper you get if you co–ordinate ears, eyes, nose and skin and keep the balance through canter
Earwig Corner / out of Lewes: thanks to Charlotte who solved the problem of the hanging conjunction for the second stanza. Effortlessly.
easily: river courses, beds and banks are cut by the water that flows through them
the echo of a / small box: how nothing in everything makes it all happen perfectly
the echo of / a small box: il y a toujours besoin … of a window that doesn’t close when there is double glazing
echoes: never, never, during all of the climax and plenty of the last century, did the deep sadness stop
the edge has come …: this poem gradually wrote itself after I had seen an exhibition of the work of Jess Levine at the Crowborough Community Centre last November 2014; talking very unspecifically with Jess I arrived at a particular perspective which enabled me to ‘read’ abstract art for one of the first times; almost
the edges of my reach: Freudian encyclopaedianism
Eglinton Hill: three two one … we … have …
Eglinton Hill: a gutteral
Eglinton Hill: walking down from the top of London through time
Eglinton Hill: children’s laughter echoing up and down the wet street
the Eiffel Tower: a brotheral
the Eiffel Tower: waiting for the perfect picture for so long that it becomes time itself
the Eiffel Tower: up close and getting personal
the Eiffel Tower: living and writing several floors above street level
the Eiffel Tower: is photography art, is a poem photography, is tourism travel or being …?
eighth birthday // now: temporal quitessence
eldorado: magnificent golden lonely building – Central Park, Manhattan
electric guitar: but what a noise when the red light is on, the overdrive is in and the pick up switch is down with the humbucker
Elektra: from the 1st issue of Elektra: Assassin, 1986, by Frank Miller & Bill Sienkiewicz
embodying: the visceral displacement of sound
emerged: from cocoon to cocoon
emerging: actually written before my recent crash but fore-wafting the way through it: did the solution precipitate the problem, or did the problem require the solution, or did the solution require the problem in order to come into being …?
the empty page: always a new frontier before you even start the journey
the empty page:: write should come before a pride
the end: leading up to a moment when everything just freezes in a whole street-wide frame
End Israeli / Apartheid: plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose
the endless acts of life: “Last thing I remember, I was / Running for the door / I had to find the passage back / To the place I was before “Relax,” said the night man, “We are programmed to receive. / You can check-out any time you like, / But you can never leave!”” (Henley, Frey, Felder)
the en-gentled / end of a wane / writing retreat: a recent discussion with April Resnick prompted me to polish up and publish a poem I had written only this morning but which needed to get out now – warts and any glory that it may have
enjoy the activity: fed up waiting for the right moment to publish a post, I flicked through my stash and landed on this one which I’d forgotten all about – ironic serendipity
enough: already
Eridge – Cowden: always surprising what you keep with you when you move
Eridge Station: the undersides of new leaves can be metallic on a grey day
escape from Flat Planet: sometimes you gotta think outside the box, I know, I know; but also sometimes you gotta sink below the border to no plane at all
evasion: reading to find the way to be rather than reading to be
even a second: now, wh’-, Now, y’mean-, NOW, NOW b r e a t h e
even / a second: dabnabbit, missed it again
evening: just before everything starts
evening: and so life comes to an end
evening: all possibility in one sky, in one street, through one window
Evening Wind, 1921: a sketch by Edward Hopper
an evening / getting drunk / and relaxing / after breakfast: only when you let go does time stop … trouble is how long can you let go?
even though: being and nothing; everything and a small window
events happen / through all measure of name: askance from chapter one of From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell
everwhile: all the time
‘every once in a while …’: writing is accepting, accepting is being, being is … me
everything: “When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?” “America this is quite serious” … 56 years on
every time ambition / breathes: a sure-fire way to succeed
exactly equal: where do I get these insights from; why don’t I live them, instead of thinking about them …?
Exceat to Cuckmere Haven: a walk is much bigger than my head
exercise: it is impossible to write fiction if you are being at all honest
exercise: how to be a writing; one, two, threee …
existence: insipience
experience of the huge: loving the alien comes at large personal cost; in European history the cost was deferred and the value went bankrupt
extrapolates: the sort of boney, scaley, mucoid accretion you might find all over yourself when you wake up one morning and realise that you are a giant insect

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