Shining threads

Shining threads

Thursday, 15 September 2016

Anagrams of Theresa May

Theresa May - The Yes Rama
Yet Ham Ears - Stare Hay Me
They Same Ra - Seeth A Mary
Hear Yam Set - Year Hate Me
Say Mere Hat - Stem Hara Yes
Tram Sear Yah - Seer Math Ay
Heat My Area - Tray Here Sam
Mast Hey Ear - Master Yeah
Them Say Ear - Hey Mar East
Art Hay Seem - A Heresy ATM
Thy Are Same - As Matey Here

Sunday, 28 August 2016

this is not your life

'a thing made, this is not your life.
 an intruder disguises the all-seeing quilt
 and patches argue over
 who has woven the prettiest patterns.
 admit it - there is no weaver yet
 there is nothing but the web.
 this is not your life.'

from some time in the noughties

Tuesday, 19 July 2016

Hybrid quote

'The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way. Some see nature all ridicule and deformity...and some scarce see nature at all. Some see a pastoral scene of utopia. Others see a golden opportunity for fracking and mining. Some see a vast taxonomy of species of plants and animals. Others see a dazzling matrix of zeros and ones. Some see something to be stripped and remade. Others see only pristine and perennial glory. Some see a transient vale of tears and others a lustful arena of drives and passions. But to the eyes of the man* of imagination, nature is imagination itself.' William Blake and me.

*insert your preferred word (sticking to the original for the sake of simplicity)

from around 2011

Monday, 11 July 2016

This is not England - a love story (to a country I do not know)

This is not England.
I love you - my story is one spread within
and spilling out from your book.
I do not know you.

This is not England.
Not the one I was told about.
Not the one I imagined.
Not the one I expected.

This is not England.
I only knew a slice.
And then more and more.
Yet the slices do not make a comprehensible cake.
I do not know you.

This is not England.
Yes. The land, the country, the hills,
the sky, the rivers, the coasts.
No. These strange folk who inhabit and sculpt this island.
And the strangest are the ones who cling to it most tightly.
I do not know you.

This is not England.
These changes, like rushing currents and swirling eddies.
The stamp which brought us first class delivery before
Is out of date.
Its imprint bedazzled by creative destruction.
We can add it to the collection,
uncorrelated to the stock-market
and see where its value lies relative to others.

This is not England.
I see your many histories,
each pivotal event and era
like stars in an incoherent sky,
forming patterns yet still beyond our ken.
We hold close for warmth to the nearest sun
and even that is not present but a message from the past.
I do not know you. Can never.

This is not England.
Not the land of my forefathers,
for they came from scattered places,
to congregate in this my body.
And so too yours.
I do not know you. We are both.

This is not England.
Your flag takes on an ugly nature,
for a moment.
And then seems redeemed.
And then mundane.
England - you are a chimera.
I do not know you.

This is not England.
Never was and shall never be.
Tis a great effort to invoke your glory.
And yet, many are ashamed.
Sometimes rightly.
We know too much
and some try to hide in their cultivated ignorance.

This is a love-story to a country I do not know.
This is not England.

Friday, 20 May 2016


Departed. Started from.
Go to Mart.
Eat Tart.
Connect Heart.
Assemble Part.

Part of me crumbles.
This is okay.
Not a bad thing.
Ice-lips melt so fluids flow.
As they tend to do.
So the town is calling.
Alive now.
Always alive.

Part of me clings.
I don't want to sing.
I don't want to bring
my difference forward.

Aggression is a temptation.
To thrust what can be offered.
To dictate what can be said.

Compression can be virtuous.
Compact, neat and succinct.
Short has its advantages.
It can combine with length too.
I don't need to duck.
Though I stand on tip-toe too often.
How many people notice?
No-one has ever said.
No-one has ever said.


MuSLIMS versus the Obese West.
AmuSLIMS are not amused at jokes about Mohammed.
MuSLIMES versus the Feminist West.
MusicLIMES versus the Future is Orange (in 1995).
MustLIMES versus Maybe Lemons.
MustyLIMES versus Fresh Tangerines.
MuseLIMES versus Inspiration Kiwis.
MusLIMPS versus the Western erections.

Choice for change

The resolution for revolution is an evolution in absolution.
The decision for insurrection is an upgrading in universals. 
The choice for change is an improvement in rules. 

High up in the hills

Up high in the hills.
Still I get up on the top.
Only when the churning does stop.
Comes the endless spirit amidst the skies.
Winds of infinity transcending truth and lies.

Time matters more below
but it still gets cold.
Heat increases, when you have someone to hold.
When actions become bold.
When dreams unfold.

I have met 10,000 people
and spotted many more.
And some left me breathless
and some left me sore.
And some I saw at a distance
and some felt in my core.

So tell me why I'm dancing
and tell me what music is.
And play that song again and again,
whilst it is my favourite.
And make a move which is only ours 
and touch what is fresh.

Give me a plan and let's see how events proceed.
Tell me your beliefs and
let's scramble them into something new.
There seems to be many
but actually there are only a few.
Don't curse me if I don't want to make money.
I'm still rich. I always was.
Don't blame me if you cannot see happiness.
Perhaps you weren't there.

There is kindness, if you do a sensitive translation.
There is motion and a web is being woven.
There is transformation and what is seen is included.

On this plateau, the clouds follow me in reflection
along the slim river's path.
I enjoy truth and illusion, sincerity and levity,
coolness and heat, reality and fantasy,
and where they meet is the Way
and where we meet is where we say,
'this is where we were travelling to
and this is where we set out from.'
And the stars surround me in all directions.
Whatever variation is playing
and whatever symphony is sung.

Monday, 9 May 2016

Snakes and ladders

Pythons, cobras, anacondas, adders,
all slippery chutes down to the bottom.

Staircases, lifts, ramps and ladders,
all pathways to ascend to.

The snakes are moving patterns
on the floor of the earth.
The ladders are vertical routes
pointing up to the clouds.

One roll of the dice takes you
on a trip into the unknown.

Wednesday, 10 February 2016

Alphabet breakdown


Tuesday, 9 February 2016

We are fiction

We are fiction.
Divine diction.
Existential scions.
Precise inflections.
Defeat infections.
Serendipitous intersections.

We are fiction.
These characters are not real.
And yet they bleed.
And yet we feed.
And yet there is greed.
And yet there are deeds.

We are fiction.
Emerging from the shadows
Between the pages.
Thriller/novel/short stories/crime
Skim read or take your time.
Walzing through paragraphs
These heroes leap from the paper.

We are fiction.
Created and creative.
Speak your lines
like your character depends on it. 

Thursday, 21 January 2016

Existential Terror

Underneath the cupcakes,
Facebook updates,
Tweets and tweaks,
agendas and amendments
lies Existential Terror.
The Nightmare in the Mirror.

We push,
I push,
you push,
binary push
and also Tiger Tiger burning bright
sleep tight
as you speak out loud dream images
which are locked away by

too many social habits

yet spacetime IS dream.

Embrace the Existential Terror
which is fear of contact,
fear of contract
juxtaposed by fear of solitude
and touch, melt, join and expand.

The Stunning New Year's Resolution

Are you going to let the glory go to the Tories?
Are you going to let your rage be contained in a cage?
Are you going to let the TTP/TTIP fly-tip your future
into a corporate-dominated State,
set to annihilate
all those dimensions
untethered to its fate.

Are you going to let Cameron
keep sucking off the pigs of Saudi Arabia?
A c(o)untry where they still allow
mutilation of young girls' labias?

What are you waiting for? Some kind of Saviour?
There's no Second Coming. JC's left it to us.
So between you and me, we've got to suss.
The way-forward.
The win-wins. The King-pins.
The Fat Lady Sings when we say: This is It.

nb: still relevant in July 2017 and can be updated to Theresa May (though as someone pointed out, JC could refer to Jeremy Corbyn, though it doesn't). And it may be theologically incorrect.