Postscript (on North Road)

The clarity of silent cold

all alone shapes hung distinct

without breath the sea even is

I imagine flat and voiceless

charm trembles its terror

that you do not and choose

to couple. One night there I

went to the stuck open

window with you in my hand light

flickered grotesque and you said why

have you brought me here?

So I took your head

outside into the air the city 

glimmered as still water to the flat

of a hand and though an autumn

settled and we had missed the call

woken up so sad, surprised by

sadness too we were able to see

calm distinct the city light 

colours breathing

that what it meant was I am unsure

this particular stillness

and inside its little cabin secret

histories,

just one moment just

a little hinge in the night to come that night

did fall, and our eyes

are rearranged…

…so the pattern, what we found here ghostlike

total calm may hold

sheer lovely, threat too. They are

non-distinct, here again

the night takes me to stare out

poised raise a little signal 

mute unthreaded cold across

the city speaks and glimmer to the touch. 

Two poems - May 2022

11th May 2022

after John James

to love the same records drinking 

the shade of dress

life is wearing

it’s almost like this deliberate

vagueness, dreamlike in the detail

the fantasy when form breaks down

Rain across the valley blurs the air from my Hollingdean window

down the sparrows, cruel rain

settled: the language of contract.

Provided the rain stops 

may I meet you in the hotel with 

yellow borders, green shutters, lay

down at leisure, piss each other off.

25th May 2022

Death Note

after César Vallejo, William Rowe, Sean Bonney 

& NH Prichard

i. 

‘the corpse, ay! went on’ working

reanimation

refusal

out of the body

the soul got up

The Combatant. The Man. The Corpse. 

‘what they have in common 

 is zero’. No names. The multiplication

 describes the dead: ‘All the inhabitants 

 of the earth’,

what they have in common

ii.

Circular cutting device

chainlink. Mutual blur

there’s something there

walking by the certain graves stone

angel two children running ahead

vanish into silence

across the valley 

the signs the mind a high pitched noise. 

iii. 

At the window the valley is cut

so much more so much

they cannot sleep

and who would

‘there is no outside’, ‘the voice

 in the poem is not your friend’

the sound of children playing people

forcibly removed from the earth out

of this world we cannot fall

‘I want to be / pickled like

 they picked enemies / alive / in the Wars  of the Roses’.

Sparrow hope and bound to despair 

love by the angel grieving.

iv.

‘The wrestlyng of this world axith a fall Heer is noon hoom 

 heer is but wildirnesse.’

and

and

and

‘though bowed the to hoom passed’

passage

     passage

You Rose Flowers (after St. Hildegard von Bingen)

in your enchanted

bloodened sweat

lifted from the head

& heart plotted

from terminus

is not appointed 

from the head

beatified friend, 

harp-blood

of our found 

& fondest

consonance 

wound’s winnow...

is not  appointed

from the head

Filling up / Particular Rooms

 Not posted here in a while. Hello. Hi to all you folks who comment on my blog posts. I hope your love spells and potions are bringing you wealth and gigantic genitals. You filthy lot. 

I've been writing something which is currently not shareable - mainly because it is huge and unwieldy in quite a new way. I've been going to one particular room with a large black book and writing with a very tiny nib. Here are some unreadable notebook pages. 

I'm also making prints of some of the ink / typewriter / watercolour pieces I've posted on this blog before. Drop me an email (verityspott(at)gmail.com) if you are interested in getting one. They are fifteen quid a pop which is the low end of what art friends suggested and at the higher end of what I think is just a bit more than okay. Happy to do reductions if that's too pricey, or deals for sets. 

Celebrity Solstice

When Sun had closed his eye,

heave, my precious, heave away!

to the drift. O, Who are you? 

A Ghost? O, hooks away so

Who is that in the water? O, heave a-No. No. No. 

O, bow to the horizon 

steal away, steal away,

then you are O, 

my yacht (IMO: 8913320) 

haul away!

(Position Received: 2021-10-05 21:46 UTC)

and I am general cargo drift away, ah, (IMO: 

9229178) heave my darlings, heave away!

(Position Received: 2021-10-05 21:19 UTC)

o, will they name us new o, away! 

aye we row! in six old rights we go

from every trace

of the old 

o, strip away, anew, strip away strip away!

a purging of the decks

and a glass upon my bow

to the four wind gods an O! Away we go!

Late Night Poem - (near the end of Summer, 15.09.2021)

that your children meet the day

in the new world banned music

even the timber, still, and as ready

I was for you to die, my darling dog, 

that they go to the schools who are

they now, chutes of love & violent,

totally, (we know. but are made to watch

again & again what dying away

is) it okay to pull the screen?
I can’t bear to see;  even friendship

that I’ve failed so much too, remembers

the day snaps it is failed to weep stuck it

goes on: Into the night, Toll,  but it is still

past paralysis, of cell. Quiet, care

shifts knowing there is some

real work left.     It is so vital,

after the self that works in the night

still flat, as all;    were scrambled to the helm.

20th & 21st July 2021 - Five Untitled Poems

 Okay, they're nearly all untitled at the moment.