A Better Place to Rant: 2012

Sunday 26 February 2012

One for Dave France

This one’s about Red Indians he said

I saw some red lines and a triangle and said

Why don’t you do some still lives like the fruitbowl
on your mum’s sideboard? Get paid
Do Red Indians and landscapes in your spare time
Get famous later

Last I heard on facebook he’d gone to Venice and

of course I thought Italy? at the time
But what if he went to Southern California with
his long arms back in 1994
and I missed him there too?

Copyright © 2012 J A Lee

Saturday 18 February 2012

to be continued

everyone on the web’s now a poet
an artist
poetic artist
and sometimes they’re also photographers
who do weddings and meetups.
Poetic photographer artists then?

in the old days say

about five or six years ago
or maybe ten or fifteen when
i was in class learning how
it was more difficulter
to get noticed without appearing
wearing a hooded leather winter coat and shades and
tweaking and sweating through hazy paranoid bravado
at the community college creative writing class to read
from your own commissioned textbook you know
your own poems created in writing class and for
homework and freaking out catholic teen girls
with your poems about burning her white cat fluffy alive or
at least you might as well have been burning her fluffy charred cat
alive right there in class reading
your hazy brave unpoems on the overdose death
of a god who fucked about and all this with cannabis
and dangerous drugs

would it perhaps have been a better statement then

to grab her stupid cat right from the hand carved pages of her homework
cut out its liver alive and set it alight on her student desk?
would she have learned she didn’t have to try to be a poet?
would she have gone to the anthropology class instead?
would she have cared her stupid cat was dead? probably
it would have caused a wok sized stir and big Tom college security chief
would have been summoned from his cosy poker
made a brief and scenic arrest and dragged off a poet
jailed him in his trailer office a while while
proper cops came in real black and whites with cuffs

was it ever even about making a statement though?
wasn’t it more about saying clever paragraphs
getting people to think back backwards?

course if i’d known about the internet back then

if there’d been an internet in the desert
i could have just ordered free business cards with
poet on them in one of five or six bold fonts
with an email address and maybe my cell number and
paid only the postage and gone about creating
blogs and publishing all the daft thoughts that drip
constantly unmetered from my sore fingers
i would not have needed to go
to all the trouble of learning graphic design
on the pastor’s apple back in the 1984 kitchen and smoking
all that dope in 1996
wouldn’t have needed to go to kinko’s at death of night
having worked there all death of day
to make perfect citylight sized books
saddle stitch them then
cover up the saddle stitching with awfully creative binding
do not try this at home
to make sure a catholic teen girl didn’t wind up tetanus shot at e r
for cutting her fingers on a rusty staple to be continued

epilogue

somewhere in her catholic dream universe

a non-charred cat has a poetry blog of her own now

Copyright © 2012 J A Lee

Wednesday 15 February 2012

Neighbours

Neighbours. Everybody needs good neighbours to watch

our backs and protect us from the stately mob,

shore up the cracks in the crumbling ancient fabric

of our vicious big society club.

We need good hearted neighbours to turn us in to

lash us fast to the stake and burn us properly down to the ground.

We need neighbours to bind us in the village stocks and

lob their rotten allotment crops at our bewildered mops.

We need illiterate neighbours to publish our memoirs abroad

and hungry illegitimate neighbours to shout out all about

our goings in and comings out and gorge themselves

on the intimate details of our private lives.

We need trusty klepto-neighbours to spy on us from behind

their rusty iron curtains and line us up

against the garden wall and haul our dirty smalls

back to their lairs to sniff while they type up their reports.

We need a thespian neighbour to enter our home in a mask

of friendship and without letting her commission slip

or even looking slightly shady go back and share

her findings discreetly with the landlady.

We need a nautical neighbour to construct an ark

under cover of dark and the eyesore yellow tarp

in his boathouse yard and help God flush us commies out

and swill us down the Tory spout.

We need psycho-neighbours we can trust to do their best

to slice the tightrope on which we balance

the wheelbarrow of our deep dark fears and rest

the tears we’ve tried to leave behind.

We need engineering neighbours to dig up our drains and summon all their mates

to view the remains, inspect the goodies and moderate a mass debate.

We need them to send the not-so-flushed contents for a DNA test

lest there could be any doubt about our filthy guilty state and then

to take our cash and use the ill-gotten gains

to draw up diagrams, make plans for our demise

with lies and slander, defaming our good nature

without reserve, without restraint.

We need outstanding neighbours to parade

their smug paper grins at holiday street parties

and crown themselves with the awards they scored

for sticking their antisocial boot up some local arses.

What we really need is a neighbour who will go the third and fourth miles

to extract the last gobful of bile from right inside our fading smiles or

how ‘bout a neighbour with a radio telescope trained on our personal calls?

Or one with CCTV cameras installed instead of eyeballs?

Better yet let’s have a neighbour with a uniform and truncheon

going about our business all legit to verify our organs function!

Or perhaps a neighbour who will flush himself right down our loo

in search of the stickiest stinkiest piece of poo?

Do you think this will do, good neighbour? Do you?

Do you think at all or do you just crawl inside your bed

at night and lie there wrapped up tight in fright and hope

your big society dope’s not just a joke, not just in your head?

What we really need is a neighbour who doesn’t mind

our own business, has no cameras for eyes, speaks no lies

about us, with no ties to big society, big bro; to tell it true

what we really don’t need is you!

Wednesday 1 February 2012

mechanics

breathe

feed and listen to a body

absorb some energy

breathe

feed some of Luther’s birds

discuss beauty a while

get some air

ask the leaves for music

soft as breath

oxygen for the flame

experiment with Bunsen burners

taste

salt air in your nostrils

warm water
imagine

rationalize

playback

b r e a t h e

pace the field again

underline a concept or two

tear off your pants

jump!

Quartz Hill, California 1996

Saturday 28 January 2012

Head Contents (with commercials)

Meditate Now! Free

Your mind Only

Ten quid a session.

Dump your Head Contents

in our foreign wheelie bins!
Easier than your regular system dump!
Please recycle your thoughts and
all that crap you bought but
you better make damn sure to separate
the paper and plastic, the sheep from the goats,
the good the bad and the ugly vicar’s anecdotes or
we won’t collect your rubbish
only proper property and
intellectual will not do
so unless we can tax it
screw you.

Stained glass windows?
Can’t see clearly now?
All cuddly lambs and fat prophets spanked
sparkling new with Windex!
Ten percent off
of your income.

Can’t get high?
Climb our discount minarets today!
The five pillars are in need of repair and
while you’re up there yell into the air
in an unknown tongue to
call the blind and dumb to prayer.
Smoke mirrors
not hashish.

Part of a pseudobiographical tributatory experiment in neo-alphalinguistic sociolandscaping not intended as an accurate portrayal of an unknown northern artist named Dave.

exvitro curricula frauddetective

honeylipped wheelspinner collection

advanced fakir supplicant toolfake phonetician

patheticallypisces suicidepills cablenoose puker

tense pitted dinosaurfossilfuck

parsimonious enrage inflictee postulator

endgame malleable claygranite sphinx desert

prior to never mending any matter farup the galaxy

gallahad gadabout girl witch tentacles decried

no testes passed one and a half

interminally terminal intern cheater

problematic discourses its venerable currency

current usury debating twist of the index

rule of three thumbs and sentimental

sediment beneath six feet of topsoil

soured egg bowling soupnoodle engine

intensified collumbus projects aboard lost grail

shell death skull intake pumping valve

incendiary smokeout burnt carwreck wrestled device

bulbous fast sportscarshifting santaclaus sacks indifferent

whirling derivative andes mescaline bus trek ravaged

syphilis margin whelk muscletied pope variant

intensivecarepain unit defaultmanagement

pitbull scaled residual lime juicebar

retentive arse midterm failure cringe buffalo

chinashop coward like formed misconnected crystal

twentyninemegamilliondollar crematorium inferno

retardant suit of armour lovejacketsound

system four tea two municipal scumrodentbag

worm defamed jagged rusted wine celebrant epistle tomes

charade factor extreme binge merchant astec

primary dissident soul bastardisation destructive peace

probed forceps violent universal

benevolent tumor malignant supreme pusher

adolescent infection passtime among warrior five

codevibrator playgirlbunnies aesop fairygodde spitter

in tents from gotcha ratarse people government secretary

unbuttoned twelveyearold spaghetti misogynist to set colloquial

vagabond spermdonor bags shopped late

mentioning indisplaced hetero mildew deterrent

inspected bullcastrator neophyte semantic spectatorspectator

in part boiledcow gutbagtheodolite odeon animist

missed mylar philanthropist blendhost sphincter

biological deviltwin elliptical division ceremonial

carp shed waterhoused deaththread levicommercial

barrage mystic pot pixelhorse labour

detoxmenstrual masticator tulip cusp lorry

abligous monad mockingpinchpunch phantom cyst

binocular theist intention deflowered choirfrock anthem locutor

customary secularite insipid tranquiloquistic lubricator enso

munition dumpedcartfiles well madrigal indicative spectacle blogger

seekist mentor dimentive participant mugbreakercement pinup

vast universed insecticidal orbiter bilateral interceptor

ventricle thermometer toujourslamemechose bungled wakeout

cigarette receptacled influenceadvert disciple gent

iceberged facilitation seminar cruiseship defector wastrel blank

tude bene bene eternity monitor augenblick smashed funklab

space renter tied manifestation included smegmabomb stricken

poor inept soulcounter demanipulating spidervein lens tutor

blame specimen fusionfast enginedecelerated vessel

experienced twilight crack enjoyer delicatessen globe lobotomist

warhead simulatory plungepouch and flameseat

encapsulatory swimmingpool drowning flagellationist

recalcitrant larded layabout endsentence communist

mortuarybugger tube insertion condom emergency

salesmanproclivitiy whip sentiment genetecism debacle

svelt lesbian card appliance broker intruder dusk panel

machinery compliant saviourmoth splendourwindow applicator

bahnhoff raider taxi mounted ballistic megaton helmet segment

septuagintist maniacal extralabial sponge neolith

intestine relevant arsepounder fiendish school urinary tractbubble

ellipse faction specialist indicatored dental lobe attired reptile

mendicant jury rule posse imbibism

too inasmuch far behind imbalance prude before

greengobsmacked privates tutor nervegas torture delay

innate lugubriousness fishtank spark zygote

range journey tomism spent librarian seat harpy

tiding macegun stunned kinetic ballpark stopper

Hoorah! Yah, enjoy it thenbefore it afterward mosesmount disperses fire atop

icicle bone flagrationary spike in fourth mahjong spleen curry mason!

Yah! jellyfishstinger delight! Splendour! globeindexing populators

fifthform pranksters incarcerate heavy below indepth televangelist

bungee spaghetti trains foremost improvisationary squaredancefishmonger

pans goldwinger elaborationism cocktail cement mixes

spectates smiling jumpropeknickers behind oak

performs semirobotic friendhater tarpaulin raindance

entwines all forgone monastic windtunnel hatredgraph racist forts

porcupine needless to say trouble intoxicated

dissolved impersonated human two or three times.

Part of a pseudobiographical tributatory experiment in neoalphalinguistic sociolandscaping not intended as an accurate portrayal of an unknown northern artist named Dave.

Sunday 22 January 2012

what odds?

as if european minks

or illusive olympian mountain goats

or sperm whales

could wage war fair

against mother nature

uncle man

or parents of children who'd like them

behind bars

I mean

what chance

do minks have

against

vague magazines

and millions of fashionistas and

what chance

do illusive olympian mountain goats have

mounting on the mountain

against

all odds and even

what chance

the whales

when their sperm is lost

in a sea of oceans and

what chance

has uncle man

against

parting from sweet sorrow

clothed in finest fur

unsated with mock venison

bloated on blubber

and so far

removed

from mother nature

as to be

left

out

of her will

Quartz Hill, California, 1996
Copyright © 2012 J A Lee

Morning has broken in

At first I was annoyed thinking

who the fuck’s that and where the hell

did they come from and how did they get in

and what balls they have at six on a Sunday tapping

on my door with the edge of a gramophone

recording of a Scouse poet?

About a minute or two afterwards it became apparent

as my eyes, still full of dreams in which feral cats groaned

their way into hell and dark forebodings managed musical acts

encamped outside the city and nomads boiled tea in wooden pots,

fell in tune with the rhythmic awakening ritual, cracks between bent blinds

wriggled into the motion picture and the sound checking wet wires relocated the source

to the bedroom window outside and a woodpecker systematically attempting breaking

and entry from the still dampened sill;

annoyance crossfaded to starkly contrasting miniature rainbows blazing

laserbeamingly through thick eyelids making their inverted marks on my retinae

only to be edited, have blindspots filled in from memory, shifted through coffee making

breakfast wonderings, wanderings in grocery aisles to recycling centers and dishes, bills and conversations to be had with loved ones and lovers, the imperial depth of tread on that front tire

publishing projects left undone, boxes of books to be reunpacked now no one was moving yet before moving to Europe unless the bailiff comes with padlocks and sheriffs and notices and cash for keys

if we’re lucky, if I play the right cards in this game of grab and go now while the chance still

avails itself and an unfortuitous economic upturn is announced on the ten o’clock news

and where did I leave my wallet and how is it such an impossibility to maintain much

needed fitness routines and eat right with all the room in the world? and I began

to wonder at the persistence of the little bugger and why he would pick

my Sunday window and if he really imagined he could smash through

glass and what he hoped to accomplish or if perhaps he too

wondered about a fresh brewed mug of coffee when

suddenly my nostrils reminded me I was not yet

at the theater and I saw smoke rushing in

beneath the bedroom door, heard swift

wingflapping, more tapping echoed

off in the distance outside

my next door neighbour’s

Sunday window.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Lancaster, California

Starbuck George

You start out with the mango passion, an espresso,

toss in some sun dried tomatoes and steak

recall your last beef in a pub

and substitute chicken Panini

spot the California style free refills and since you're here

to write your novel today

get a Grande and pronounce the tomatoes in British.

Through the glass wall

shoppers and lunch breakers

smartly keep in touch

pushing pushchairs through

the mall single handedly,

absently; Bluetooth salesmen must starve here;

osteopaths make a killing in elbows and shoulders.

It's a trip to the zoo for the price of a sandwich

but inside the glass cage

no laptopping student tycoons

no philosophers or poets not even

a polisci major passing out

manifestos. They come here from Next

to exhibit their bargains, dissect soap and

exercise George, a wild two year old

specimen with highly evolved lungs.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Guildford

Jessica

Imagine we really had met in the seventeen and nineteen year old flesh

the love we would have made as spectacular as every atom

nuclear reactions blowing up each nerve in our systems

a fusion of elemental beings exponentially exploding

into the vastly expanding cosmos the way we are this morning.

By now we'd have evolved astronomically probably

and become an entirely new species and our child

would have grown up to be buddha. She'd teach both ends

of the universe in mandarin and english speaking in pictograms

and parables and the world would understand.

Her name would have been Jennifer Charlotte. She'd be

the great writer and philosopher of her generation and

sometimes I'd call her Jessica. Perhaps it was at the party

where we met that we both let go of her hand and now

she comes to us only in our dreams.

Tuesday, 24 April 2010

Oakham, Rutland

Of bondage and idle buddhas in my pretendo zendo

. . . bondage

i don’t know

but i like the word invisibly

surrounded by inexplicable tyranny

the word i am fully persuaded is so in love

with me it takes away my sinful desert ass

with stained glass dildos

makes me bend down and lies in my face

(coyotes howling at another c-one thirty midnight test flight

have once again desecrated my most holy meditation)

your only peace and no pie man

(howled at eight ten to twenty five past overtime)

a hundred thousand howls from

the highest eye queues this planet’s seen

prophets and poets and bands of professional

eccentrics grinning at the rest of us

behind bud stained beards

and buddhas and

one of the buddhas here in the zendo must go

right now essentially

exit

the departed

beatific italian buddha

catholic antichrist impish criminal cherub

a bargain for only ten ninety five at ross

six buddhas weighed in

all unbalanced in the twinkling of an eye

one found wanting at birth

caught up in manic devotion

the italian was sinful

post gild

(we are peter)

yesterday a similar revelation:

wood buddha is missing the very end

of his flipping finger

and his ultraviolent block pedestal inconsistent

with the skin tight designer robe

the painted silk genital sash

ersatz buddha, his right hand disguised as a blessing

he’s brutally out of proportion

no art here only capitalist famine kids

his enormous nazi feet are carved out of course to

step to siegesmarsch der erwachten nation

his vertical palm pushes away anyway

i will hide and go seek

the twin of fools gold buddha announcing

samsara lotus buddha

his right hand man

(almost looks gilded

clutches plantlife or a silk handkerchief)

on ebay and maybe

new gilt coats and some black and gibson sunburst paint

with fondant hands and

these three buddhas will be one

and you will be one

surrounded by howling buddhas and peter

on this church we build god

(your only peace be with you)

more buddhas wait to help you howl into the night ocean

when the crimson curtain is rent

behind the bamboo screen

from chinatown still in their plastic shopping bags

huge hollow head buddhas

with no place even in my ersatz zendo and

others outside may someday awake

in a relative's mock hawaiian zen hammock garden

if he wants them

(a golf cart ride of the mind from the south pacific)

and still there are more untouched and bound

wood buddha is cia and won’t be converted

black buddha ten thousand nations united

a matt one with salvadorian copper robe endowed

and gentle buddha meek and

made in china high, aloof

blesses the unborn three in one buddha and all are

surrounded by candles flickering in the mighty rushing wind

of the spray painted altar before this howl

which is still me stuck inside my non-existent soul

December 2007

Lancaster California