The Greatest Hits Of 1986

My Deerboy

The world of pop never popped
it just deflated gradually
but once it was taut and squeaky –
as it was in 1986 –
our hearts were warmed then
by a defibrillated Chris De Burgh;
romance rekindled, swollen and red again
swaying man and smoke machine into
a reverberating sense of grace.
Chris De Burgh was emperor and he
ruled 1986 with the discotheque
his arena and the imperial might
of the Music Industry behind him
and other generals of Film and TV
made us want –
What a Wonderful World
The Power Of Love, Hi Ho Silver –
A year of hits comprised of male singers
pumping, inflating the main stream
with echoes of the 60’s and 70’s,
from Fine Young Cannibals
and The Art Of Noise
and some catchy novelty military nostagia
-Camouflage (Stan Ridgway)
(like 80’s styled Johnny Cash)
and Lionel Richie too was in his element

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iWand

The iWand 7S

System requirements Ego 9.0 or later:

-fiddlestick technology with in built controlfreakery

-‘rub and run’ release shaft with anti-snap durability

-Telesympathetic HD spell caster with megapixie oraclizer

-hagtooth and wife-eye connectivity

-iChants installed

-industry standard incantator installed

-intuitive iWant operating system

Ballad Of Jade Goody

Here’s one from a few years back

Barcelona poem

San Felip Neri
was a very holy man.
Now he’s a pigeon perch
for his self-same church
in Barcelona.

Scavengers fill squares
spread and circle round every monument –
crowds build and disperse
and I go with the flow to make the most
of every low and high moment.

Caneletes on Las Ramblas
can get very crammed as
fans reach to raise their latest trophy
Like castellers they hold up their team
but I am a Barça loner.

Sagrada Familia
gets sillier and sillier
as times tides go in and out.
Like the sea and land in an arm wrestle,
one man’s plans drawn in the sand
have led to a very confused sand castle.

Flight Mode

the rituals of fear:
if I don’t feel it then who knows?
who knows what might happen.
These casinos are booming
celebrating the high life and
funneling punters, shunting
tokens into dispensers. My beliefs
have no bearing on air or wing
but I have to haul the string
through me, circulate
and speculate and pass
beads of thoughts through and round
my precious bones –
embalming and sanctifying –
as I submit and remember
to forget, acquiesce –
just say yes –
to aeroplane roulette.

force

We’ve got the force alright
so let’s use it.
We want to turn them into dust
into dust we’re going to turn them
into dust
we are the death star –
for all the fantasies
and fallacies we create –
that’s what we are.

Discharging energy indiscriminantly
we transfer the force
the force we turned on you
to turn you into dust
and you dig in
become hard grained grit
and shrapnel

Huddersfield Sports Centre Sketch

I’ve reworked this initial sketch into something a bit more structured. Sure most people won’t really care about Hudds Sports Centre of old-even people who come from Hudds-but it is a place so many have a shared experience that the lack of ceremony in its demise I feel to be inappropriate. It was boarded up and big rocks put in the carpark to keep gypsies out within hours of it ceasing to operate. And no fond farewells at all. Well this is my two-penneth worth

My Deerboy

When towns were becoming multi-story,
they hired lego heroes for societies buildings
-bases and stations, high rise housing,
tarmacadam tracks – and
they made a sport fort for us, a block
of bricked up modernity set amongst
Huddersfield’s skyscrapers
with a bollarded concrete gangway into it
that fed off the fairly newly laid ring road.

Once it was the 1980’s and I was there
being admitted into the bunker
with bag swinging friends we explored,
after splashing in the pool
as if in an arcade game or a ferry
-trying to find an engine room-
dodging one dimensional attendants
like sporty spectres; with pop music
like bunting, like a thread
in the labyrinth made of neat grey narrow bricks.

From turnstiles to squeaking five-a-side halls-
a bowling green oasis, sweaty weights rooms
hazy staffroom, obscure martial arts;
we made cameo appearances everywhere..
one week we attacked
lobbed water bombs, stamped…

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Motif

My Deerboy

Hauling a morning into view
making a stave of valleys,
a view I know like the dune
like fingers of the back of my hand.

The light loudening, the tune
returning; the motif of monuments:
masts, churches, follies; pedal notes
on hillsides-a new trill of turbines-

intervallic leaps
a random pattern;
the riff of re-emerging reality –
all those totems
like snapped stems

-beyond the home/work diatonic;
bottlenecks of human traffic-

out there: gnomons-
markings marking time,
installed in their acres –
distant wind chimes
distant sundials.

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Vinylander

From the first bus to town we came; living through so many different genres, eras, styles etc striving to reach the time of the Gathering (Sid’s market stall) where the remaining rivals will compete to the last to claim the prize. No one has ever known we were amongst you..until now.

Soheer-anything in Sid?

Sid-few bits of Bollywood and classical Indian somewhere..

(roots around to find records to show Soheer)

Soheer-ah..

Sid-strange guy here this morning asking for a first press Kind Of Magic. Not got one but said he really needed it and I could name my price if I could get it..If you see him sell him one. You got it?.you’ll be quids in I reckon.

Soheer-what did he look like?

Sid-Goth fella..tall.

Soheer-So he’s here. The time of the collection is upon us when we must compete for the grail that is made of black gold and the final stage of the sealing of the supremacy of our eternal quest.

Sid-you getting in to prog or something? I’ve got a load of stuff in that box down there..

Soheer-ah Michael!

(Michael, a mod appears at the market stall)

Michael-anything in Sid?

(Soheer to Michael)-The spiral has come to the run-out groove of destiny and the needle of providence that can only choose one of us has been dropped: Keegan is here.

Michael-and does he have the disc?

Soheer-he is close. He wants a 1^st press of A Kind Of Magic; rocking horse shit I know..but he nailed the entire back catalogue of Cliff Richard inside a week.

Michael-it is time to consult the great revealer.

Soheer-eBay?

Michael-yep.

 

About them

It’s not about you it’s about them
-bite size baptisers-
shrieking herds in labyrinthine captivity
coming to find me in my bear pit
chained and chomping;
it turns out they are my holy water
not the other way round.