Thursday 1 December 2022

Old Nick New Snapshot


 

metaphysical universe

 

twixt the Devil & the deep blue shift of space

time restricted only by the choice of lens

all my negative constructions make their case

talking ten to the enth

 

through that opening of arc the blackness shines

clipping overlaps of galaxies & back

via countless double takes in half a blink

toss my hat in the ring

 

zooming concentration camps where chickens lay

half a billion eggs a day then catch the melting ice

frozen sixteen hundred years ago when Mont

Blanc was swaddled by trees

 

smoking towers crowd the peal of churchbells out

soundless aeons unrecorded aliens

crying wolf or whopping over looted stars

it’s the triumph of hate

 

or benign the universe a scientist’s

ozone friendly petridish of animal

vegetable & mineral with abstract soup

all nutritious & good

 

 

baggage control

 

poor invisibility

dying voices from the further room

smell of engines breaking wind

 

could we see like everything

from the subatomic to the stars

if it wouldn’t trouble you

 

like the microcosmic here

to the macroeconomic spheres

stick em on the scales to go

 

problem is no vessel this

side of Kingdom Come can take the lot

home without a second trip

 

which it said’s unlikely still

doing business human style was swell

catch you on the other side

 

 

another great twit

 

Adolf’s Waterloo was at Dunkirk

Dad said England finished he would know

their mob left behind at Havre walked

half across France

 

reaching St Nazaire they heard the troop

ship Lancastria was taking on

stragglers by the ton but the lads told

you’re for La Baule

 

hungry soldiers downed their rifles groaned

but that sergeant major saved them dive

bombed the old Cunarder sank with five

thousand aboard

 

somehow Dad got home demobbed they let

go the volunteers & he was lame

handing in his lanyard worked then signed

up with the Raf

 

so our line came almost to its end

had he passed the airforce medical

testing colour blind his choice of bomb

aimer was off

 

thankfully they gave him safer tasks

keeping Merlin engines up to scratch

aircrew casualties went through the roof

fell on his feet

 

lived to tell that other tale Dunkirk

infamous St Nazaire covered up

nothing won the war but British luck

German mistake

 

had the Expeditionary Force

not escaped there’d been no army left

picture Singapore in ’42

Hitler the twit

 

 

the Pomeranian identity

 

folks in rubber boats

sporting fake Armani life

belts on hopes & prayers

surf the channel white

cliffs their target fingers crossed

lest the motors cut

out no ID cards

getting native tongues around

double Dutch on wry

 

national costume daze

folk dunce bag popes arts & rafts

aggrocultural

when the music stops

reach for your revolving chairs

bowler hats or bust

 

 

astro noughts

 

artificial intel indicates

Neptune has it in for Uranus

also Mercury by turns reports

peace is declared

 

superficially Jupiter goes

pestering celestial repose

can’t they choose whose influence to surf

once & for all

 

next up sunrise gets delayed on Earth

cos of Martian budget overruns

huh as if the stiffs out there could care

less about us

 

meanwhile Venus hides in clouds of coy

but we know for sure their acid ways

never recommend themselves to us

treat them with gloves

 

apropos your moon is out again

proud & shameless watch their banners go

like the bally army used to sing

onwards as if

 

 

extra bonus 5+1 pome

 

 

magnum cum lardy cake

 

Jesuit Von Nuremberg

runs a master race on two

steps no soft shoe shuffles goose

bumps in your face

 

leather kecked or kilted they

matchmake Muslim Orthodox

Catholic stroke Protestant

daughters & sons

 

like the owl Horatiian oath

Jessie operates outside

time & space while inside both

catch them on line

 

serving tea & buttered scones

jam with clotted cream to please

crusties fleeced in white marquees

kiddies with wands

 

crescent swastika or cross

matters not beware of fakes

onward God’s own Atheists

fortunes on plates


yes no


Tuesday 1 November 2022

collected ramblings of Mark Cyst



Canterbury tale

 

convert no stars basketball

wellies the originals

wear them out in no time or

slung round your neck

by the lace of God on Tom

Dick & Harry’s pilgrimage

barefoot cross the Pyrénées

hard on the heels

but the breeze between your toes

can’t be beaten stories tall

short or shaggy dog & fish

sermons exchanged

nothing irreligious mind

just the harmless rambling kind

folk’ll tell to pass the time

here on the road

 

’twasn’t always thus believed

God was in their heaven once

counting out the feet They’d saved

sticking on souls

now in Jesus wellingtons

sandals by another name

be They Queen or Jack of Spades

stick to Their guns



nosepicks at dawn


duets between

carrot farmers deuced

by the war

 

weaponised

radar boring peep

holes in planes

 

surely it’s

Ancien Régime

versus us

 

calling out

on guard D’Artagnan

kinda thing

 

no it goes

franchise Vonnegut

take your cut

 

 

binary codes

 

111

swan

too

many

 

112

for the maths

simply do

the arithmetic

 

121

ass to kiss or arse to kick

choice is yours

Dick

 

122

& you Brutus

caught the bus

without any fuss

 

211

entropy

half-life fools

take a dying fall

 

212

or not to

want to that

is the question

 

221

oxymorons wage

dirty war like piggy

banks shitting money bombs


222

three way score

sock vest &

underpants draw

 

 

the laced wand

 

inexplicit

 

Thomas has a limp

dipstick shot his under-kecks

over Ezra’s text

 

squandered all those lines

could have fed the cannibals

spit them out in here

 

but the goldfish bowl’s

out of range & Tommy’s words

land on Export Desk

 

wo Seher schreien

ne’er again shall Spotty’s dog

bother Vivienne

 

calling time it’s last

orders Zarathustra now

Go’n’Wash yer marf

 

 

wokey-wokey

 

get it through your block

poetry this ain’t it’s worse

verse now back to sleep

 


no video game

 

end-to-end encrypted bank

queues you wait that long get picked

off by snipers long before

reaching the front

 

find a way to keep your head

down but ditch that mobile phone

read these stupid lines & get

suicide droned

 

tell the kids their playground’s mined

on your life they’ll only start

digging like there’s pirate gold

under the swings

 

better off pretending moles

ain’t invaded Poland yet

buy them pogo sticks & poke

holes in their jokes

 

yep there’s endless ways & means

phooey what gets chucked at us

folks’ll always turn the world

back on its nose

 

 

a list of the Brithonians

 

Hovis Bunsen no

not the king I give

zéro puan to all

chits on the line

 

few Americans

fewer still from darn

under half a doz

eastern dragoons

 

Hollywood a sole

representative

all the rest can play

dough with themselves

 

women welcome though

only those who kiss

toads not frogs a lone

Madame Oiselle

 

last me blooming self

honorary chair

person hanger-on

butler & clown



further alt txts

 

trans

pony tale

rides

 

fake

sausage roll

calls

 

snide

victim blames

corpse

 

crime

doesn’t pay

bores

 

house

wine with cheese

claws



 aboriginal isles

 

ancient Britons worked together clans

laying wooden roads across the fens

long before the Romans or the Celts

landed their claims

 

little of their native tongue survives

though the landscape bears the stones they hauled

out of Wales & cross the Berkshire Downs

just a few names

 

long before the Norman’s French replaced

Anglo-Saxon’s hold on government

Latinised reported speech & re

booted the church

 

language archaeologists have dug

deep enough to know that victors’ crimes

underlie the way we think cos words

marshall our thoughts

 

though unorthodox restate my case

thirty centuries of peace prevailed

while the ancients gathered round their stones

islanders bound

 

 

welch apps

 

slap-a-baldy

fine the lady

cubic’s rube

3D cheese

hungry bards

fainting by numbers

spot the bomb

toilet seat football

hopscotch on the rocks

postman’s block

monotony

scribble

call my boff

game for a loaf

what’s my crime

squidditch

drag goons in dungarees

nitball

croakit

tiddlywigs

spittles

shakes’n’bladders

& Haydn’s eek

 

 

rush on roulette

 

when you’re got a public killing spree

don’t get sickened by the bloody screams

target places far away & use

missiles that cruise

 

 

OHMS

 

waffles sand & dogshit where

else but England’s pleasant Dad

take my hand I hope there ain’t

clowns with white gloves


gives us nightmares every time

HG Wells for breakfast toast

marmalade side down & eggs

hatching on plates

 

scared & yet a trifle bored

falling back to sleep the heart

beating umpteen revs a doz

dry by the mouth

 

look we know it’s yellow out

lead umbrella weather Jaws

coming back to haunt the huts

camp’s full of nuts

 

still you gotta set your face

straighten up & prove em wrong

chew their turkey flavoured mints

God save the King

 

 

13


my name’s Virgil but

only here to say one thing

never steal their tears


not for sale


Saturday 1 October 2022

the Berk report

a pretty nice hat


anthem for one

 

through a mercenary time of year

predatory winds from far & near

murmur reasons in-between my ears

walking alone

 

dying leaves are sprouting everywhere

demons stalking trees in mock despair

streamlined by my fallen hair & worse

walking alone

 

no one will support this civil war

slingman archer priest or treasurer

shall donate their blood on such a clause

walking alone

 

equally absurd a frequent flyer

running scared or bored the rules require

company there are no solo choirs

walking alone

 

hot & cold the air is full of tar

feathers vodka myrrh & cinnabar

treason mirrored in a row of jars

walking alone

 

 

 

love rules

 

what you got is two

poles a coupla holes or one

each it’s war stroke peace

matching members or

opposites it matters not

combination counts

oh & then there’s time

people change their preferences

better rule that in

splitting up is fine

even having sex outside

marriage hence divorce

triolism group

whatchacallit intercourse

everything in fact

 

 

 

the sea at night

 

brave the sea their bright

pools of milky blackness white

shadows starry lights

dive below the tide

riding swells of darkness hide

out in coldness glide

letting go of sad

sediments ain’t been a bad

life no worries lad

taste the salt dissolved

blood of cuttlefish it’s good

take a breather flood

notwithstanding shoot

through your monsters steal their loot

deep in liquid root

 

 

 

HMS Indigestible

 

getting swallowed by an angry whale

sucks it’s not the sort of death you’d tick

drowning for example or a quick

coronary

 

no to be the scapegoat Moby Dick

claims in blind revenge at all the crimes

perpetrated on their species you’d

suffer my word

 

gulps of fishy breath the ambergris

worthless shucks & hordes of krill would draw

dying out beyond a flashing life

meanwhile the old

 

Jonah story flicking through your mind

fifteen times before you understand

prophesised regurgitation ain’t

gonna occur

 

but to live on human flesh get stuffed

whales should stick to baby seals & quit

hankering after retribution we’re

rotten as food

 

 

 

idiocracy rules

 

anorexic dudes

making Eric eat again

sons of Erica

 

Anoraks on stilts

shooting union Parkas out

waving rebel flags

 

independence see

William Penn his silvern groves

pulled from under him

 

but it’s oke them Brits

ain’t a-coming back & you’re

better off alone

 

let the poor man in

cobbled streets could use a rest

warm his two left feet

 

 

 

document #46

 

Putin or

Rasputin I don’t

give a shit

 

 

 

in the right

 

now that folks have read their bibles hung

cattle rustlers gone to bed at dusk

fed on cottage cheese & drunk their own

ale shall we talk

 

Martian forces having occupied

all the fertile pastures north of Ur

let the Russians take their seats once more

backs to the wall

 

Roger Waters’ band The Oilygarchs

play Tchaikovsky’s nutcase overture

live on old tin cans with catgut strings

Spotify lurks

 

plus the moon is new again & lit

up with solar powered LEDs

geo-stationary orbit gets

everyone’s vote

 

but the other hemisphere’s so what

all we hear from them’s complaint complaint

may conspiracies consume their night

we’re in the right

 

 

 

 

ain't disputin

 

oh he’s a

rootin

tootin

shootin

lootin

hoopin

whoopin

puttin

bootin

Putin

 

cos he’s a

stoopin

bloopin

droopin

lupin

lubin

tubin

fumin

poopin

Putin

 

he ain’t a

movin

groovin

croonin

spoonin

droolin

swoonin

hootin

moonin

Putin

 

for he’s a

troopin

groomin

gloomin

roomin

zoomin

boobin

foolin

provin

Putin

 

 

 

don’t save the turds eh

 

fragments from ekphrastic verses felt

tipped across a boghouse wall describe

famous catamites of old Pompeii

cheeky as day

 

archaeology ain’t dead you see

pics from Tutankhamen to the Ark

Royal’s underwater fish tank just

fathom them out

 

scratch appearances from DNA

vehicles or recompose a whole

hymn of Sappho’s from a single burp

nothing’s absurd

 

TS Eliot is pound for pound

cloned the profs of lit have over turned

every blasted line the begger wrote

lasered on scones

 

but mistake these toilet verses not

flush them down the pan so virtual

fish can choke upon their syntax no

joking they’re crap

 

 

 

geddit lord reprised

 

what do people want

better politics or sports

coverage d’you think

 

given half a chance

would they have a Westminster

win or Wimbledon

 

let the games commence

choose your brickbats rackets balls

alligator rules

 

crocodile reports

fifteenth century debauched

monks on tennis courts

 

umpires nailed to doors

score draws daubed on frescoed walls

losers crucified

 

 

 

another lunatic attempt

 

take the moon the moon

waxing waning bathed in light

front or back they zoom

cold but blazing white

craters blasts of debris plains

haloed leading edge

trail of mountain range

bright vibrating heaven made

now we know their age

matches ours we dance

round each other’s orbit tamed

yet so vibrant once

folk believed they reigned

god of hunting maid of shame

chorus skating dunce

 

 

a pretty nice girl

 

eyes off

 

whither drivest thou

Queen Elizabeth the crown

now in storage waits

till our king has grown

older still for time exacts

patience from us all

villeins gentlefolk

those that wave the wand in jest

or who wouldn’t let

butter melt the worst

lie in state for decades while

eating crème brûlée

off the rations your

highness once a pretty nice

girl in overalls


not a pretty sight