Tinsel Town In Scene Of A Crime

Poem – mrb

Tinsel Town In Scene Of A Crime; August 2017

Those woolly mammoth machines

The tanks on the horizon

Firing shells over the seashores

We’d hope they were extinct by now

Why won’t they let us be?

Be

Bees in a hive of sweet honey

Those furry sloths

Those tinsel town furries

The cuddly truth – life, lived and huddled

The negating slurry pile outside

We must avoid the drab somedays

To mention the futile is a nun day

Few like none say

Tiles on the church floor are all splintered

Let us keep our resistance, friends

Keep the resistance of machinery

And the warmth of the natural world

It’s tinsel town in scene of a crime

Roll up boys and girls!

Father Christmas has come to play with you

Sit on his lap for a present or two

Chuckle with mince pies and mum’s cookin’ stew

Far away from the mammoth tanks

And the slurry pile of everyday life.

Tinsel town in scene of a crime.

Life beyond feeling like a lost dime,

Thrown into the sea like a shell off a soldier;

Relaxing from conflagration of aggressive boulders;

A rolling bauble gathers no moss .

And a child of the world no unkindness to throw over the trenches

Why won’t they let us be?

We knew...

We lied to father Christmas once...

We didn’t put tinsel round the tree

We lost our faith in humanity.

2K17 Mrb Poetry - Nature and death afflictions

Womb kicks

the blow is fetched on someone, the blow regains its power

storms blow and trespass in hemispheres

by the hourly tide 

you shone with your arms out wide

just perched there like a scarecrow

an innocent crucifix with no ribbons

and no bows. 

i would bow in your presence

but it would only sacrifice humility for pretense

the art of pompousness in portent

unrelenting destruction relating to conundrums of the soul

scoring an own goal, kicked off the pitch

wind blown in a ball, all the air kicked out of it

all the air kicked out of it

all the air

kicked out of the very thing that gave life its speed. 

Death waltz

The line
Drab
Inked into dust
Cast on the sky
A dusk constellation either way
Waltzing with sentient beings
Obsessed by atomic death
And clause by cryptographic clusters
Cloying to the mind's eye.

 Apartness

Apart you say
Who are we
Alluding to catastrophe
Dismay dismay dismay

The path seems rocky
Your bones will soon find
Frailty is not proposed by the wind

Nor is calamity produced by snow
Catastrophe, who are we
Dismay, dismay, dismay.

Apart from the seasons we experience treason
All down to psychiatric failure
No rhythm
No reason
Oh dismay
Are you fickle?
Are we a trickle
A raindrop
Dismay dismay

Oh, apart we turned to gray.

Convalescence

The transcription of wit
From an inked glass
Blotted like a murderer's paper
What are these deeds, you ask
A cornucopia caper
A trick of the devil
An illusion of relativity
Or a convalescence of greed.

The bright sun shines outside
Oh widow, won't you weep for me.

Affliction of the distinctive soul

Something comes from nothingness

Always from death to life

Pain to strife

Regenerating forwards and back like a marble lock

The smell of machinery gloats on the dock

Cogs in machines

Cogs in streams

Buried from view

Alligators swallowing marbles

Drowning the marbles of others

This ode to death cannot be recovered

It can only be docked

As a regeneration process from death to life

One which we all experience

At a later time in life.

Copyright Michael Robert Buckingham - MRB poetry 2017 all rights reserved.

Mrb (Michael Robert Buckingham - www.focisleft.bandcamp.com / www.kapsil.net/muttley) - Nova Cone Trail Poem.

Mrb - Nova Cone Trail

The moment you fall
Is the moment I wake
What moment
Just a moment
Love speaketh like slake
Scattered like ashes
Over a nova cone trail
Beaming into the present
Where a gift is a moment
Frail to the touch
Indebted to containment
And kindest in gentle hands.

I waited for your trail
Yes I did, and I
I might not have followed
In your footsteps
But I love that trail you walk.

Let's imagine we are doves
Swooping in and out of the trail
Creating a supernova of purity
Always cast on wind and sail.

Let's think? Slake speaketh like ash
That money did not bring us together
At best a vehicle, twas broken down
Filled in the bonnet with leaking
...Petrol a graze on mankind.

Let's graze
Like two collared doves
Indebted to containment
Kindest with gentile
..Touches, brushes, kisses, even drum kits
Beat hay, I do love that track you talk.

The momentous fall
Of a lumberjack carrying
An onion for a bonce
A drum kit for twenty pence
To try his luck
At the slot machine of your heart.
From the start I'll gamble too much
Love acts like one armed bandit
A candid toss of fates coin; Indebted
To containment; Kindest in gentle hands.

Maybe you'd give me a stake back
To nest upon, collared dove
I swiftly collared you, that's certain
Corny catchphrase of roboism
Sent from above? No, not.
I can do a lot better I know.
But I adore that braille you baulk for me.

Let's imagine, slake burning to ashes
Monty did not bring us together
I know you really don't care
Whether I am a prince or a pauper
You show you care omnipresent
And that's omnipresently enough
You love me for who I am - me
And I love you
unconditional
For you - a ram, regardless.
You like attention, so you told me in 1410
Way back in the day.

And like two collared doves
I became inseparable from you
Nowt artificial intelligence
You glow through the horizons mineshaft
Exploring that trail you walk
Leaving me explosive
And talkative.

Oh love, I love that trail you walk.

SubVersion Stop 261: Clova Pine Poem

Mrb - Clova pine poem
Can you hear them?
Wait, we're here, I'm here, so you close
And I'm apologetic to you. I am
Like a synthetic that's only monophonic
Sometimes it takes seeing in 2d-3
To realise there's more than this
Eye, eyes, eyesight, foresight, snap

Can you see me? Do you wonder...
Do you wonder if I lived on drab
Sour milk or drizzled on resin?
I think you know that's not the way I bring the bacon in!
And perhaps that's liver in a bird
For a laugh or a while escaping from the herd
Do you think they really cared?
Can you hear them? They know you.
I shudder, but you're
You're now closer to me.

~ Michael Robert Buckingham - Mrb.

 

SubVersion Stop 252: Muttley - Black Stars [2008]

Muttley - Black Stars - July2008 Poem

However adept one is at painting black over white
The moon will tell you otherwise within time
And these stars have many layers on their sights
And this sky is a tapestry of picture-perfect
Whenever you're down sing a song for hope
Even if worrying seems like all you can do
Ruminating over past actions won't help
Even if it feels like all you can do
These bright lights are your decision
Words aren't always meant to be red
Sometimes we're all wandering towards what was unsaid
But whether there's fruit is anyone's guess.
Black stars are in your head and heart.

~ This is a sleight edit to what I wrote in a mental health outpatients department in 2008 when induced with symptoms of bipolar disorder and psychotic depression. It has stayed in the back of my mind all this time. It is one of the favourite poems I've written. I will adapt it into an intuitive song-based improvisation at some point, as well as a mixtape. 

subversion stop 249=250 - subversion recommends muttley: uncertain things (muttley's 27th bday mix)

subversion stop 249=250 - subversion recommends muttley: uncertain things (muttley's 27th bday mix)
feat. altus, asc, vangelis, foci's left (fl), little red, slow club, seconds before awakening, sky residents
(enjoy & eschaton), fanu, simon bean, 36, eveson, grouper; 1h 15 minutes length.

https://www.dropbox.com/s/tkwiw3zez098z40/Uncertain%20Things....mp3?dl=0

/|
poetry by muttley
|/
doctrine of unexpected endings and quelled finalism.
kicking a habit like the smoke was blown out of the room by a vaccum.
diarising over a point-free exponent of the mind.
missing the details where there should be cognition inside.
changing the format as if it were pepperspray across a restaurant table.
finding sinuous connections until we're rarely unable.
controlling uncertain things may be a doctrine of unexpected endings i find.
but it's another thing being just controlled by the tide...

SubVersion Stop 247: Do You See What I See (Audiograft [rout] proto-visiting poem)

Do you see what I see? 
All those red balloons

Those wines  and perfumes

Do you see they are beyond a tree? 

For, my lovers, a tree is where it started
An opal seed was planted
The seed grew in a vein of permafrost
Dissolving anything unlike itself.

The plant's leaves may be slanted 
Do you see what I see? 
Beyond the roof they have darted 
Like balloons, perfumes and costumes. 

Are they 
              Beyond a tree? 

[This is a poem I wrote down quickly in a notebook to mark my first visit to the Holywell Music Room in over a year - actually, since 2010 - the Audiograft festival night from Oxford Contemporary Music at the venue after some workshops in the day. I have been wanting to go back to the Holywell for some time; there are always good things to see; I put Greg Haines and Alexander Thomas (ANTA) on SubVersion's events in May 28th 2010; and tonight's live performance featuring Jennifer Walshe, James Saunders and Felicity Ford should benefit my mental health and continuously those around me]. :) 

 

SubVersion Stop 229: Mick Buckingham (Foci's Left) - "Tender Thoughts" poem / lyrics

Tender Thoughts ~ Mick Buckingham

Tenderness feels like a lion's grip
Time ticks like a roar muted sharpish
Rickety realism in the face of smashed ribs
An underbelly, carriage for the evermore.

But when it's up
We're cushioned like a rug
Yes when it's up for you and me
I can waver it off like herbal tea
An incense with little potency.

Tender thoughts trip us up
They rest on lifeless momentum
The chaining of conservatism
A force sometimes too much to mention.
Until it's time to smash the horse's cart
Tender thoughts break us apart
A wino's marriage with his bottle
Mottled until the very last drop.

Care too little, tender thoughts are brittle
Care too great - time's shiny like nickel
Counterbalance the truth of soul with the social
And you're usually safe while the milkmen go docile

So tender thoughts may be cherished
But they also cause a lot of grief
The time's when we voice, act, or cling to addiction
An indication of what lies beneath.