HERE NOW AND NOW

MUCKER

I can't remember a moment

by the half-door, it is etched into my

broken mind. A verbal memory, A Fox

skulked out of a red glow dawn, 

Kavanagh ditch.

 

This was the first morn of the rest of my

Life. The fox from the ditch was like

 a gasp, never seen felt before. 

All I knew was Raw War, Street Kid, 

and Gutterance. It stopped in motion, 

glared at me, and left its mark.

 

A stamp of approval, Kavanagh's bright 

shillings of March, forged into my mind

 that morning. Like an animal symbol out of 

circulation, a lost wax process (cire perdu).

I never knew true natural beauty.

The fox gave me that nature nurtured 

into words. It took my inner-city 

sight slang and tossed it

and spit hatred to the gutter.

War-torn Belfast was no more,

I saw peace, not war, in Hackballscross 

with my Mucker Muttley with only one eye 

and three legs Beaten by Brit rifle butts.

 

He chased the camouflage cows like uni-

Formed hatred to chase away shellshock 

cool green around our ankles. 

The same fields Patrick Kavanagh 

walked through.

 

Mucker left its mark; freedom winds 

hacked my mindset and true natural wonder, 

I will never forget.

 

The Cottage had two rooms, no water, to shit, you had to call a spade, a spade. The well- 

water sparkling spring. I have never tasted 

anything like it.

A skater on healthy water, bending.

Reality. I blogged to see how often I wrote

this moment on the right hemisphere, the half-

 door. I am lost. Really, I am lost in my dis-

abled bubble.

 

Substance, my absolute rhythm, carved by

The uncarved block Kavanagh, Carver,

the fox footfall like an uncarved circadian 

rhythm, the thought fox to be

A Fox thought.

 

 These images are seared into my mind 

These images are etched into my mind, 

branded like livestock aphant-trauma, 

aphasia, paralysed my down right side. 

This is my dogs honest truth. Even I cant 

understand, I call these pomements moment-

us moments No past

cling on to memory spoke from a broken 

Emind. 

I feel so alone,lost they cant handle my 

negative capability. 

My filthy realism, how can you come to 

terms when you have no long-term memory

There is nothing else in my mind like 

odes they are a song of myself. I wanted 

to write a romantic poem like Keats,Milton, 

but my paradise is lost. The morphic vibration 

of life is felt through works of art like a sham-

manic fox foot fall, fingerprint. I feel poe-art

without memory; poe-art is undermy skin. 

It seems I have lived two lives, one with 

and one without.

A Fox Looking at a fox by A Fox means 

so much to me; I like those flow states.

A Fox Thought and the Dreamscape of 

the fox thought.

I can't put my finger footfall on nature's 

memory but feel adrift. Like the diving bell 

and the butterfly, fluttering in a backward law.

A reverse effort floating up to the top, locked-

in a default syndrome.

When I first took the massive stroke, j was 

drifting between life and death in a flimsy 

hologram, a grey state. Beside my hospital

bed was an exit door. 

Above it was a little green man. I was tripping 

like I had never tripped. The drugs to keep me 

live were making me hallucinate, and my balance 

was gone; I couldn't even put my foot on the floor, 

it was like an ocean. My compass point of fantasy 

and reality, I had no fixed issue and couldn't tell the difference.

Everything on the ward was moving nurses on off rota; patients

time/space meant nothing to me. The little Greenman I focused 

where I got this strength of mind is beyond me because 

the stroke erased my hard drive. There was nothing in my mind

but I told myself if I had seen the Greenman, then I was in reality

and not fantasy hallucinating. I realised that the consultants

whispered, not knowing where I fit in life or death.

Self-determination gives you strength if you just believe in you

It felt great knowing that I was in control of my stroke recovery.

The nurse opened the exit door, and I tasted greenery. My ashen grey

flimsy hologram felt the rush of life. The breath of fresh air was like the stroke boost that woke me bolt upright from death's door. Declared dead for seconds,  I saw my reflection in my son's eye

like a zoom-me.

Summer entered me like a rebirth; the nurses, and doctors saw me

in a different light. Paddy, the little green man, showed me Ashfalt

which led to the bluestone road and Lylo cemetery, where my mother

and sister are soiled, waiting for me. This was the first day of my

blemished acceptance; I knew where I was at the back of the hospital. A Google map opened in my mind like a sat-nav. From that

moment, no matter what three hospitals I went to, the compass point

was in my mind. I no longer felt lost and alone. I felt good in myself, knowing my mind had figured this out; there was hope in me. Paddy showed me the road; self-determination is a beautiful thing. If only

we believed in ourselves.  I was on the road to recovery, not hell.

OPTIMYSTIC N.I.HILIST

POETRY LIKE SUNSHINE IS FREE

     BEING ALONE AWAY FROM HERD

MENTALITY

embrace solitude

 

 

 

COPY PASTE 

AND HOPE

 

The internet was down

 for a day. I realized my broken mind had no Cling on to memory, lost without Photo- graphs and Internet. 

                                                                                        PROPER PIC

There Was nothing on my mind, blank.

 I always knew memory was mor-photo-

genetic, the net gave me stimulation. I tried 

to conjure up something in my mind but no 

remembrance.

 

I cant even think up a con-no-clue-sion, 

wordplay is my depth. I want to say more 

and roll poetic of my tongue but it’s like 

when I woke from stroke.

 

I seen the word in my mind but nothing 

came out. I am like internet my network 

is down. I can only write of the moment 

I am in no past and future intense.

 

I tried to save this Word document

But just like me, there is nothing on

Its mind, copy-paste and hope.

 

Am I just a blog on the write

Hemisphere, waiting to be put

In the virtual-reality wastepaper bin..

  PESSIMYSTIC

Will, synchronicity

Butterfly flutter by

Nature opens up

the door and drifts

like time itself.

Seen green smelt

Greenery, the road

Mum/sis soiled

Greif and joy was

in my heart.

Google map was

in my head, dead

steered me back

to life to Lylo.

MY WILL TO POWER

' for I love thee eternity’

Nietzsche

I seen all this today be-

cause I seen all that

tomorrow.

MORPHOTO-

                      GENETIC-
                                         SHAMANIC-
                                                             BEING

These are the words of a broken human being.

 Being broken how?  Is so hard to put my finger

On that pulse: Stroke-long-term memory loss-

Aphasia-aphantasia, a veil of black behind eyes.

                        

Marguerite Dumas said of her studies on mel-

oncholy when you find yourself in a blackhole

at the bottom of a hole, you realize only writing

can save you, the write hemisphere blog.

 

I haven’t dreamed in twenty years but last night

The snapshot of a fox in a grey multistorey-Car-

park. The fox slept on the soft-top roof of a car

it was daylight colour road signs and bunker grey.

 

Just days ago I watched a shamanic journey he

spoke of your animal symbol, ticking my boxes

Of shamanistic, Pagen, animal skin drum beat

I went on my url and found a poem, pagen poet.

 

I don’t do that new-age mystic shit if I don’t

See touch or feel I don’t believe the stroke

Put me in a confusing default mode. The snap-

shot pierced black fabric of life just a shutter

speed flicker of fox.

 

As close I could almost touch, said hey there

 mister aphantastic fox. Nonchalantly he raised

 his head to fall as if  I wasn't even there was this

 the animal symbol of myself caring not to care?

 or a sham-manistic being of my broken self.

 

I flicked my computer of poe-artry memory as

My human hard drive was wiped clean, I was

amazed how often the fox appeared. There is

Hope after all in my hopeless hope, flicker foxy-

Foxy like the back of my hand, a morphoto

genetic flashed up Johnny the Fox alias Jim

 (father's name) before my eyes. A Fox looking 

at a fox by a fox mantra-shaman. I lived with 

Dad when I saw the fox

I don't remember.

 HYPHEN-ATE ME REPETITIVE REPEAT

Black-

Hole, this is a melancholy study

            Its black and bleak down here.

        No emotional engineering, just

A .dot-wired up al-chem muck

T-OO- GOLD

 

 

 

 

I look inside my black face mask

               To see what is in me, no dream-

       Scape psych a trip, tripped up M-

Ore-mining, how far down can-u

         I’m in a black underearth a black-

 

           Hole, this is a melancholy study

                 Its black and bleak down here.

No emotional engineering, just

               A .dot-wired up al-chem muck

To gold-Neitzschian. He knew  

 

 

 

How to suffer- Will and will to

Power-no x-mas or birth day

Cell-leb its just pure Dubh-bla

Bla-black. I know the world is

Out there I hear them drive-

 

By-shooting. On my per-if-

Eerie is a dis-able room dis-

Abled bed and the curtains

Blacked out allergic to sun-

Light red around the head.

 

A native Irish/English man

with nowhere to go Shop-

pen-Will is my time my-

hour pess-I-mytic hope.

 

 

No green/orange- red/blue shot by

Both sides we were wired up, some

Of will get creedmore-electro- shock

You can kill your sons,music was like

A Kill city-round and round abot city

But we took the mushtoom hit.

 

Cows were alien force we tripped

Nothing the lawonly works dried

out. We were dole hoppers hop-

ping on the mi-cell-ian socal net-

work Fun-guy 2.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HYPH

 

 

To gold-Neitzschian. He knew

 How to suffer- Will and will to

Power-no x-mas or birth day

Cell-leb its just pure Dubh-bla

Bla-black. I know the world is

Out there I hear them drive-

 

By-shooting. On my per-if-

            Eerie is a dis-able room dis-

Abled bed and the curtains

        Blacked out allergic to sun-

   Light red around the head.

 

A native Irish/English man

             with nowhere to go Shop-

pen-Will is my time my-

           hour pess-I-mytic hope.

 

 

No-go black path,  I knew like the back

of my back of my hand ta-too-foxy was ere.

Fuck queen and the pope this was my-

Well- fare state,me and Rab-king we

Walked on the wild side-Lou-Read.

 

No green/orange- red/blue shot by

Both sides we were wired up, some

Of will get creedmore-electro- shock

You can kill your sons, music was like

A Kill city-round and round abot city

But we took the mushrooms hit.

 

Cows were alien force we tripped

Nothing the lawonly works dried

out. We were dole hoppers hop-

ping on the mi-cell-ian socal net-

work Fun-guy 2.