Below are a series of original poems written by myself…between 1991 and now…again, all complaints to the usual address, where Mr. Gideon Sprocket is waiting for your communication.

The Raver in the Rain-

The raver in the rain
Moves her hands wildly
Like a mad dancer on fire
Aflame,
The world is speeding
Toward a conclusion and
All forms of magick
Are being considered.

The Kilmarnock College
Man, stares from the passing
Car, a passenger
On his way to the bowling
Alley…
Where last place defeat awaits.

Happy, mad faces
On Ayr Esplanade…
…turn to stare and hurt
My neck to look
Into the eyes of the raver
In the rain, her hair
Was soaked through
With wet acid.

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Two Shadows-

Everyone talks about the war
Or openly ignores it,
While the foundations of the Towers
In mournful silence remain…
As if they never even existed.

The rubble was speedily
Removed, to create a dead
Grey Sea, like the swept away
Remains of a demolished
Kilmarnock tractor factory.

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Glasgow’s Dreary Vaults-

Monster rises from the
Smoke of Glasgow’s dreary vaults,
Dour and complacent
In the guise of a bored
Despondent Scots ghost,
On the platform of Bridgeton Cross
Creeps ever so slow,
Barely crawling and
Heavier than a lead thief’s sack.

Lazy ghost
Dull and dense
Rising from those
Desperate, un-regarded tunnels
Where skeletons sleep and
Dream the nightmares of corpses.

Monster rises from the
Smoke of Glasgow’s dreary vaults,
Consumes alike tradesmen
Furtive dancers
Pound note chasers,
Sends them onward
Inward,
Downward
In silence
To the dream.

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Corkerhill Depot-

Sudden
Without warning or
Self inflicted arrangement,
Smelled blood
Through my nose,
As if it was invisible
On the table below me.
It smelled of a
Peculiar metal.

A hideous man
Looked at me through
The window and the darkness,
His grin was ridiculous and
Perverse.

I was frightened
On the train
As the four carriages shook,
A premonition
Of future disaster.

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St Vincent Street to Central Station-

Round white lights
Shoot over my head
At even intervals,
Platform 15
Becomes an amazing
Endless thing,
Illuminated by tiny
Wondrous moons.

The trudger trudges
Home from work
Through dark
Disappointing streets of dirty
Streaked glass.

Angry team of drunken men
Approach
Stare,
Pass.

Through nasty throngs of smoking gangs
The lonely walker
Walks,
Quick step march
To the safety of the platform.

The wedding party,
The swaying best man
Stands with the bride
At the hotel door,
She lights a cigarette
He watches her smoke.

The conference delegate
Fully accredited,
Stands with her cigarette
By the hotel entrance,
Shares a joke with
Street corner leaners
Lurches,
They cannot abide
The lonely, weary man.

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Glasgow Sulphur-

A science fiction novel
Shakes within his hands,
Distorted drunken faces
Approach the window of the carriage,
Leering and twisted
Monsters arise.
A whistle blows
The train departs,
Plunges into dark mist
Often mistaken for sulphur smoke
In Glasgow.

————————–

Wired to the Moon:

Behind secret sacred doorways / On a miserable road / Sadness sleeps and a silver / Wire from an open / Bedroom window / Stretches to the Moon…

Nearby / Madness alights / A taxi cab.

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