Are you looking for a personal gift you can’t get anywhere else ?
It’s simple − Outline your desires and Alan will write something to fit your needs. Choose your paper. Choose your font. Have it handwritten or typed. Framed or unframed. Or even made into a canvas.
Oh clumsy footed fool, Dumbo of the Kenyan Coast
I weep for you.
I’ll play my flute for you,
and you play your trunk
Yes, they may call you BIG.
but boy I know your small inside,
You're crying for your mama.
I cross my chest for you - cross bones to you.
(each crack a cousin - disregarded and unnamed)
If I could raise them up we’d have an army to fight back with
Protect me oh mighty one
And I’ll protect you
While they parade. Their tusks held high in pride, like winners of some relay race.
Burnished batons beating, teeth swollen and criminal, salivating at the thought….
An ivory trinket
Clasped. Wrist like. On some cleaned, preened arm.
And tree like, I’ll climb your barking trunk.
Slip tiny feet in sturdy stirrup ears and ride to the wind
I’m your Sundance kid
It’s time you tied up your boots
You hung up your shoes.
Spat on the floor, kicked foot into door and lay down
Open your arms
Stretch out those palms and say DONE
It was fun.
Life shall go on but the way you will play it has changed.
Not bed bound or bored,
not crippled or thawed beat down by the weather the fist and the sword.
For then we were imps,
mere tadpoles of life
and now we are grown we are husband and wife,
we are bound by our love and our euphoric ways,
as we sprinkle the dust and start dancing for days.
And the days that have gone become days of unknown,
as we travel through time placing foot onto stone,
a whole decade in dust a whole field full of trust
and what more?
this land speaks.
It swells with the beat of a hundred feet uniting again.
For I am no longer the doctor, the lawyer the nurse
I’m de robed, I’m job free and now I rehearse
The mechanical chains are ripped off
The cap you once wore has been doffed
You walk down the path into this
A fruit basket filled by a kiss
A cherry on top of a nose
A kiss on your 5 little toes
Dance on you mysterious child
Fell fire and let it run wild
10 year’s it is barely a dent
It’s 10 years and how it’s been spent
10 years and how you will spend it
For time it will not let you bend it
But time it is there to be broken
And these words they are here to be spoken
So shout then my Lords and my freaks
And speak them to others for weeks
Pass on this message that I’ve
decided to keep this alive.
Someone knocked and heard ‘enter, for this place will keep you warm and keep you calm and fill you up with life.’
The grass in here is scored with dew, to soak the lonely days for you.
This branch on tree for tiny feet to stand upon and reach
for greater things.
His arm, a net to catch you when your ripples cannot move, and sea has changed from blue
to painful green.
Bird song cries- lush colours deep and slightly satisfactory.
And when you laugh, he follows down that echoed path
and finds you in his room (alone)
and all too soon he knows that laugh is yours.
And his. And through your laugh he lives.
As if a sailor in a Captain’s ship, a kiss upon your upper lip, a squeeze around your tiny waist a problem that alone you’ve faced
and now no longer need to. (together)
Live calm. Live free. Live underneath life’s Apple tree that knocks your head to bruise it.
And I recall one summer’s day
when air was thick from harvest hay
down Norfolk’s path down country’s way
came gallant man and jagged sway,
he challenged you, you challenged him,
you let your little team begin.
(Fight and game link carefully with the pains of love and lust
support yourself, support him too and wrap it up in trust.
Trust is life’s requirement - the centre of it all-
it seems to me without these things the cards will surely fall)
With greatest power, with sudden pace
with two hands clasped and face on face
your impish spirits dancing free
provide the depth to shallow sea.
You fill it up
with life and soul
shall live your future till its full.
(You walked the bays of local seas
Rubbed ice - cream on your grubby knees )
So tell us dears how it is done?
Two people meet in mutual fun
respect and laugh and tease and cry
tell mortal fog to pass you by.
You give your time, to those who need
support your friends till they succeed
scatter light on checkered sheet
connecting those who’d never meet
and we live on through all this care
with knowledge that you’re always there.
And you ask and she helps you rest your mind.
Tonight your veil we’ll dance beneath,
in shadowed suit and rosebud wreath
a wedding gale is breezing in,
it urges me to sing this hymn:
‘Before the gale takes flight itself
before the book falls off the shelf
I take this silent church’s calm
I take your lover’s sweaty palm
I’ll make her place it in the brick
press sweat and trust in wall so thick
and leave it resting here until
the bricks come down but in them still
remains your love remains your sweat
through crumbled bricks it wont forget’.
and we shall witness it.
It came as only it could, with a BOLT.
With upbeat and buoyant ease he takes his leave. From place he knew
since birth he takes his leave, to seek what he can only see in dreams
he’s yet to make. The early bird of German soil tweets on (and in)
and fuels his aimless wandering, through textured grass and path of
unknown mysteries. They call him Miller. The stream shall not stop,
so why must he? All restless cogs and moving feet, push on with
distant energy that seems to seek new changes.
Here come views of pastures green, distant buzz of brook and stream
I challenge any Man or Miller who’s beady eye and body may cast aside
desire to wander down. All amplified, as if shining through some
colour-flavoured looking glass, (with sound). ‘Go down’ . A water imp
speaks out in form of babbling brook. Teeth chatter, like rocky stone
on toe, such joy to be alone as stream will solo flow . He follows on,
for this is natures song guiding him along from childhood history
straight to modern memory of stories new and free. Struck, as if by
chance, with Elder’s frothy bloom and sun light shining through, this
is his path, his current destiny.
A nearby Mill, light glowing still from in the house, the home that
calls him, leads him, a deep rooted echo from within. I ask you, tiny brook, but do I understand. This is new land, fertile and open, yet wrapped in mystery. Can’t you see I have no judgement. I’m face down, clothed in lust and love and destiny. You call me Miller, it’s clear she cannot be my child. O Brook. I’m dining on your surface with china from the world I long to be a part of. Was that humming you, or her? The cuckoo call of female breast will stir within my chest and make me strong. and move me on.
He feels it now, the pain of push and plough, of lift and cut and
hammer strong, all the clogs they turn again. And there, in cool time
of rest, they thank him for his best, but all the others too are best,
or more improved. Goodnight, she says, Goodnight to all. Lovely maiden
makes no neat notice of him.
Now questions take control of you. for is this true . is she that
woman of your destiny - of dream and vivid
fantasy. Oh stars you hang with no word or answer, and flowers sway in
painful dis response. I was sure just once. And now I question
everything. Is love so feverish that temperature and temperament
should sway so restlessly? Don’t you see? And brook? The one who told
me all, you fall, with stream like silence, no hint of yes or no.
Just tell me this, for this shall tell me where I go. 7) I yearn with
red cheeked madness but shall not turn her. No thought for me you see,
I carve my love in bark of tree. Read it on my silent lips or feel it
in my finger tips, electric, fuelled, by madness and desire. 8)
I see your morning gaze, sweet maid. Sleep- drugged eyes and blossom
dimmed by dew. Oh YOU, you turn away from me, pull your face so far
away to be consumed by sunshine’s ecstasy. My tears are blossoms’ dewy eyes who’s cry lands right beside your window. We sat, like loved up flowering plants on banks, with branch, and brook beneath our feet. All stars and moons and crazy raindrop beat could not halt my search for your reflections. And now you’re mine, tell sun to shine and bird to tweet for Millers child sits by my feet wrapped up in blissful joy.
I hang my lute upon this wall, resign to loves, sick pain, Green band
entwined in mane a symbol of my heart. I give not part, but all my dear. From powdered white to green as clear as envy. What comes here ? A beard in form of gallant man, of hunter tall and body strong. I ask you where you're coming from? Leave gun and fight in root of tree, the game no longer rivals me, you see - this mill, the quietness still is mine.
Oh Brook , you wimp, you shall not rest or flow with head HELD HIGH or
liquid low , for maiden now does show her hunt for lust.
NOT ME. but he. Wild hunter of her dream. I trust no more your
babbling guide. Un tamed and quick to cast aside my heart.
This pain my brook, you'll never know, man's heart doth beat as brook
doth flow, but arrow through man's beating BREAST and water fed through human chest , to suffocate and fill ones lungs, with all the distant songs unsung- and Green and Lute and Brook and Mill, those memories consume me still and push me deep , and push me down take Millers life, take Millers sound - my song, my skip, sweet natures beat, turn into gentle rocking sleep.
The endless rest the gentle end, lay clasped in Brook and Millers friend.
Polzeath. Where wooly windy wake
breaks down on silent sandy bay.
Where men with pipes and whistling tune,
bring out their paints from May to June
in search of local summer scenes,
still-lives of green-stained runner beans.
Along the jagged bridge they go
to gulf with seagulls down below,
who pick and tend to terrorize,
the unsuspecting passers-by.
And women with their precious dogs,
emerging from the hazy fogs,
in stripy petit bateau shirts,
and soft-washed summer swirly skirts
and little boys run in for tea,
to show the eager crowd the knee
of Bill, the bravest one of all,
who cut it climbing up the wall
to fetch the wicked bouncy ball
that Lucy tried to throw to Paul.
And early morn before the sun,
before the hustle has begun,
you see the beach in all its calm,
the grey-washed beat of nature’s drum,
loved couples heading for a run
to contemplate the days to come.
Bobbing heads round peeking rocks,
and crashing waves like ticking clocks
that lull your brain to gentle sleep,
hold stories that you’ll always keep
in dreams and in reality
those happy days beside the sea.
Everything Starts Somewhere
Gone is the S. The London sound
with stolen space
that turns to new bred letters of the Smoke.
Drown your sorrows, dock your cap invite us in.
To mourn your death l beat my chest as Thames swirls From South to West to us, and back to him.
In sin - You’re sexy.
The NAY. The spray paint of today
you are mine
for all the sounds that one encounters.
Smog filled streets breathe echoes time.
To us, comes Soul comes Shackled GRIME.
‘Mind Forged Manacles’ a mechanical memory
Chiming Blakes first History.
And now our London.
To Spray or Not to Spray.
One day, you’ll see this place and fire it up in smoke
Just like Pepys wrote.
You coffee Cats, you wild tamed tigers of the urban jungle.
I’m Only 19. But shit the things that I have seen
the things that you’ve endured, the self-assured fragility
of living like you’ll never be.
What does this mean?