Take me up

Take me up
To the air I breathe

Ozone so precious
It’s hard to believe

Bathe me in the natural light
Of Sol Invictus
For my warriors
Layed in fight

Wash my ears in the warm
Sound of England’s birds
More knowing then man
Of our fear filling greed

Hold my hand in love
Like a living meme
Free to be 

Next year

Next year
We’ll tell them all
But for now
There’s a riddle
To despise and enthral

Nuisance thinking
So hard to control
Not least restless tinkering
More threat to our ball

Go home to your bedpost
Your lamp and your wall
Switch off to the discourse
Of man’s rigmarole 

There’s more to be learnt
From the flocks and the geese
The uniformed creatures
Whose history long ceased

Wake up to the bus stop
Your coat and your hat
And challenges we’ll throw you
Till you’re old and your fat

And when they rise
And are unhappy
We’ll lay a twist
In the fall

Cropstar

Cropstar
For the mind
And lonely
Paw
‘Two pounds
More liver
Until I’m 64’

And the hunger
And the want

London’s ploughed up
For next year’s harvest

Freshened,

The cropped livestock
Intake the floor

2012 was more competitive than before

Nature Tamed

Nature tamed
Then untamed

In the avenues of
Versailles

Me worker by
The fluorescent eye
Set down by man made brook
Lizard’d by the westward Moon

Bigger birds
Mate with
Arctic terns

And the paths keep churning

Bronze leaves wind me back
To the sad departure
As man and beast look on

My thinking space
My Sabbath

My mind is in cropstar

Beautiful springy deer
Off to the drying
Mossy leaves
In wood

As curious people's
Eyes the human
Path to none
Of hurting love
To find

In
Feeling hooves
The light is
Sweetly nut fell

The monster function ball

Welcome to the monster function ball,

Left past New Pimlico on the Lea,
In our 21st century rat-house
(For one year’s London budget paid fully).
A merry land of delight and doughy eyes
In Europe’s latest hemisphere,
Thrust up to public skies.

Tonight – the gilded flesh is reverse falling!
As gowned dolphins – and the Mastercard masque –
Redoubt in nature’s, nocturnal unfolding.
Pre-digital delicacies recast our superior prime
And swing replete, above
De-salvaged thresholds,
Where gonged worthies creak and shine.

Aye, it took some time to get here
Past the r’established outlands.
Because London’s legacy’s a gas!
The 100 metre finish line:
Forever in our hearts
For angels.
So hydrophobic now, this broken Britain.

Still there? I’ll take you by the hand between the stalls:
Here’s our London mayor,
So brave he defeated Jason for the fleece.
There’s Irvine Sellar
The man who built the Shard,
Singing: ‘shardfox homage’
He’s such a card.

To the right, Lady Brooks resurrected against Medusa,
Monsieur Breivik’s reprogrammed mime
And a fresh faced Blair40,000 (thought to be asinine).
London refound its feet, alright,
As the world’s wealthy forsook walking
And everyday since we’ve been getting stronger.

Homo sapiens, we’re nearly there yet!
Only 20 per cent in prison.
Yes, total law enforcement proved a tad destructive
So last summer we armisticed the dyslexics –
Hence the creative underclass…
Don’t you love the smell of plus fair justice?

It’s Forty years back to the race
When nails grew sparking

For the gun’s blast 

And shop worn trivialities turned holy
Between the Volkswagened Sabbath chat
Of London’s mortgaged class.

Visitors, are you happy?
We’ve learned so much from you
And each day refashioned ourselves less human,
Barring our sacred, infernal
Murderous flaw
To be one day reunited as cosmic flotsam.

Sport! Now I must rejoin the night
Leaving life in your hands more light.
Thanks, that’s very kind.
You’re welcome

But for me:
‘I don’t pay for water’ 

The Straw Bale Jubilee

Public neurotoxins

Oozed from every screen
‘Yes it was appropriate
To celebrate the Queen
But no-one was forced to’

Moms and pops
Cried for the girl
Who lived their dream

1.5 million thronged
The piss-streaked streets
Of London
In stone, silver, diamond,
Gold and straw

The broken Knights
Of thinking freedom
Sipped to salute

The Royal Family
Shape shifting across
The Universe
Since 1693

Reconstructing a dynasty
From mineral
And human
Fragmentary

Unfailing in its
Collective mind
Set on slaking thirst
For next world wines

As cold droplets of reality
Wiped away the fantasy
The United Kingdom
Shivered back to austerity
And secrecy

David Cameron (Living the dream)

At 7.15 pm
I unlock my bicycle 
On Horse Guards
And look up to see
A child-like purple octopus
With hands gut-wrenching
Anguish from its mind

Once held in every debating society’s dream

Too many cold eyes interrogate his wake
Captured
Behind a military-grade Jaguar screen
With Land Rover’d entourage
Signaling hopes mangled to the machine

The Birdcage Walk
Trailed into September trees
Remembering childhood autumns
Where neither of us
Will ever again be seen

The sun
Opens wide
For Earth’s first
Man of the moon
Today died

Neil Armstrong

First to open
The ring pull

And taste man’s
Most bleak frontier
Two steps apart from
Couch’d America
Yet to boast
O’ lunar fear

First freeman
Of Lagholm
Seat of Clan Armstrong

Spokesman for
US businesses only

Decliner of autographs
And one time Barber-litigator

A deist, believer
In the
Expanding void
Of reason

Born 5 August 1930

For heaven
Here we sleep
Bestride the junkyard stars
Made of Earth’s
Eternal creep

A warm up and for those who weren’t there

Closing ceremony’s got a Stakhanovite twist

‘n’ Pet Shop Boys’ pointy hats t’ can’t be missed
One direction past by anti-clockwise
While Waterloo sunset brought a tear to my eyes

Many nations, many flags
Earth’s athletes pass 80,000 fans
Ben Ainslie ’s our champion bearer
The highest decorated GB sailor

Shoulder to shoulder, no spite, no war
USA, China, North Korea, Singapore

Smiling, waving as audiences clap

Shepherded by volunteers in electric blue light bulb hats
Cyprus, Guatemala and Granada at last
Celebrate a break from metal-less past

Kate Bush’s running uphill cubic boxes

Slow time zigurrat tribal performances
Marathon medallists take the stage
Uganda and Kenya wait an age

Bohemian Rhapsody’s sine wave
Followed by Lennon’s Imagine costumed imaginatively
A deaf, sign-language choir

Sing to assemble the late bard’s face

Freedom sings George Michael
As audience pixels graphically equalize
Athlete’s pound the air in might
For Games Makers once again celebrated tonight

Mod-ley, The Who saves us from George Michael’s wailing
Pinball Wizard the Kaiser Chiefs resurrect
Mind bending for David Bowie

British Glamour ‘fashion’ escorted by fascist space cadets
Entombed in cages, the models dance
Campbell, Cole, Moss, no designers

Annie Lennox rides the black pearl
With bustled masquerade entourage
Wish You Were Here flame cover welcomes
Russell Brand to hippy mania

Norman Cook’s Right Here Right Now
As the giant vampire squid coagulates
Sexy policewomen and cosplay ballerinas gesticulate
‘Money money money’ squawks Jessie J

Tinie Tempah passes to Taio Cruz
In Rolls Royces circling the crop

Cast back to 1996 with Spice Girls Wannabe
Cam, Sam Cam and Boris jiving
Wonderwall’s Oasis recalls Thatcher’s Cracked street legacy of wont and grime

People say ‘The British are mad and this proves it’

Cannonball Lee Evans became Eric Idle
And we Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life
The Romans upstaged by Bollywood dancers
Plus operatic trident wielding Britannia

And a Romanic chorus line with bag pipes
Forget Muse for a moment
Larger than life Freddy Mercury sings from beyond the grave
And Brian May riffs to Fox-Badger arms

Preparing for an apex climax with Jessie J
Mounted for the electric blues now groped by athletes
‘We will, we will, rock you’
And we all stand for the Ptolemaic anthem of Greece,

Britain’s Olympic jackets are made by NEXT
And the Welsh glugby choir is drunk?
Military men march off with the Technicolor rings
Bojo gamely passes the tatty flag to a Rio bloke

Brazil colours wash over the tired eyed Rogge
Their gift to the re-ignites the working man

‘Samba samba samba’
The ocean passes majestically

This is my world of culture, beauty
It’s contextual, historic, haunting
In pursuit of GB’s game changer
Mega-sid techno priest and a pimp daddy

No slavish pop music
Tricolour beauties embrace fluorescent man
On the ramps, women undress
Then incognito Pelé reveals himself

A mega-ripple for Coe:

‘Thank you to the people who built the stadiums,

‘Who built a new community in the city’
America’s costumes going back in time

Rogge: Celebrations to continue as we admire
The prowess of the paralympic games.

‘These were happy and glorious games’

I call on the youth of the world
To assemble in Rio in four years time
For the 31st Olympiad of the modern era

And Heatherwick’s cauldron demounts
To Take That and a phoenix
‘The UK’s favourite boy-man band’
Darcy Bacon descends to the Royal Ballet’s 200 super spikes
Reverb cut-off punk remony

Ember-like phoenix presides over
The extinguishing Olympic flame
And Baba O'riley by The Real Who

Marks then end of 16 days of fantastic sport and emotional mayhem

Transcribed exactly as it came to me on the night of the London 2012 Olympic Games closing ceremony, 12 August 2012

Neil Armstrong

The sun

Opens wide

For Earth’s first

Man of the moon
Today died

Neil Armstrong

First to open
The ring pull
And taste man’s
Most bleak frontier

Two steps apart from

Couch’d America

Yet to boast

O’ lunar fear

First freeman

Of Lagholm

Seat of Clan Armstrong

Spokesman for

US businesses only

Decliner of autographs
And one time Barber-litigator

A deist, believer

In the

Expanding void
Of reason

Born 5 August 1930

For heaven

Here we sleep

Bestride the junkyard stars
Made of Earth’s

Eternal creep

Little king

The little king
Sweet with his retinue
So happy to reflect
His shy outward eyes
And warm inward tongue

Apart from worldly
Bitter fights
And safe in courtly
soft delight

Home

My threshold

Home

Look at me

Looking at you

We are in this one together

And O but for the love of madness
She was to be mine

Where were we in this town?

Battersea

The scenic route to Clapham Junction

She took

In black

The widow

Whittaker

And thighs

Out the window

Over cold glances

Against the passing

Passenger

Reluctant interface

Before I bite

And them and me

And the bizarre path

Left me floating

On the 19:23

Faster past the tabloid
Maker and man
Eavesdropping eyes

My pains to be

‘Blockbuster’

‘Tiramasu’

Love me and collect
A coat artfully tucked

As the train takes longer

But the carriage is warm
I am glowing on the reverb

Chasing skirt

Chasing skirt

Another open day
For the world
To pass me by

My shop
My work
My flower-like
Existence

Waiting to be caught in the swirling imagination of your mind
Purchase me
Purchase my gristléd eye

And the Pret A Manger pie
Or pint of porter

We are making Britain

Everday

For the high street
Rejuvenation

Happy upkeep
For the plucky
Or working agenda

Keep my cogs spinning
Better new than old

When the man with the bargain has passed you by …

Flex another.

Who likes London
Like a man from my empire?

We are the foot soldiers
Of our father’s fate

One from another

Taken to be
To shape the best

Making for another
The laid
And to rest