perpe-traitor

moondance

HAS ANYONE SEEN THESE TWO PIECES?  WENT MISSING AS PART OF NORTH ARMAGH ARTIST COLLECTIVE.

MIGHT BE JUST BIN MATERIAL TO YOU BUT MEAN A LOT TO ME.

MORPHOGENETIC POETRY

Watched Lou Read morph, a blue mask

On painter 6, death mask. One minute

Keats, Cash and Read again like detailed

Watercolour, impression illustration

Modern art painting, pen and ink drawing.

A water painting splashed before my eyes

Shimmering my no-minds eye. I can't 

Explain how or why but was like Monets

Water lilies write there before my eye.

A water canvas of vegetation like

Blotches on my eyes, I was editing

a file of paintings found from 2004.

Was this part of the reason, was I

Looking at art to long. Who cares

What or why it was cool, I blinked

But it appeared again and again.

Was the pome trying to tell me some-

Thing, with the waters flow, was I going 

against the tide only I will ever know.

Morphogenetic poetry. They say

the past catches up with us, this was my

birds eye view a pure unpolluted flow scene

through a blackbird scanning the surface,

vegetation above, fish below, a layered slice 

of life. Why am i seeing this I have never seen

it before. Give me a reason for living, this figment

of imagination surpassing my aphantasia,

usually black behind my eye. This was more

that just a blotch. A vibration of my inner

self splashing a pond.

G

 

2004-2005

angry cop26 protester

TRUE BLUE LOU

                    

paint and mums ashes

one arm one leg

3000 cuts

headstone

Bluestone road 

orange hall

                        ( again and again)

Peter woke to a bright November day, he rubbed the gunk from his eyes drawn out by the T.V. doctor black eye mask. He was used to seeing black. It was black when he closed his eyes he suffered from, Aphantasia he lay there trying to see a snippet of a dream but he had a no-minds eye. he flicked through his blog on blodder.com. He couldn't remember what he wrote yesterday.    

 

This was my mind-eye recycled image when he took the first stroke that struck my balance. Never would I walk, paralyzed down the right side that lost all long term no memory of my childhood, three children  And a wife, no childhood, three children. My life was lived in a locked-in moment.No future said Johnnie Rotten, no projected hologram, both dead and gone.

The stroke left me in a wheelchair, covid was being hibernated, only caregivers and a niece. four people in two years. To years in bed to op top that I have, APHASIA. broken chords. So all I do is mumble poems on recycled distorted paintings.

adrianfox.org

Done twenty years, I cant conjure imagination so I write what i read on youtube cant cling onto memories. And I have a spinal disease, when I leave I can feel every bump in the road, can't even lay down, try to stay on one floor. Three weeks ago I had a blood infection, Sepsis took three or four weeks to recover, I am not telling you for pity this is the dog's honest truth  I can't tell lies. the stroke took all sensation from my body leaving me impotently unable to use any touch screen, all my nerve endings are. I find it so difficult to find

the buzz of life as life has no stimulation and most things are written from memory true or false so it just ends up depressing me as i know ill never be able to live as they lived.  even the Paralympics depresses me as I'm paralyzed down my right side, with only the use of one hand so I cant propel a wheelchair, end up going round and round. i want to take part in life but I know i will never walk so what's the use in living none, people think I'm saying that out of depression but again it's the dog's honest truth. I don't believe in God as there is no such entity in my mind I think I live in the right hemisphere of my mind the left is erased or damaged.

Before all this, I was a creative wring tutor with a masters degree with seven collections of 5 of my own and 2 anthologies the classes I used to teach. I had a young girlfriend who I loved, i created a cd with a folk singing friend based on lost lives which we called violets anagram we toured it in Germany, Amsterdam Belgium prisons and Ireland north and south and even did a session in the secondary school I tried to burn to the ground. I'm amazed at how I remember this and can't remember my family and friends.

I have been taking lions mane a mushroom compound that helps memory so hopefully, one day that keeps me alive and my blogs of pomes, notice I don't call them poetry, my poems used to be created from dreams and memory now I have none so I write for myself and post them on Facebook some have been published but I never wrote for money I believe that poetry like sunshine is free in both senses.

 IMAGINE THIS IS LEGAHORY CRAIGAVON

Revealing lush grass and earthly delights

Every tree bears a scar, each walked on

blade of grass.  Even the black-bird has 

a problem with the Robin scouring 

the earth tossing aside yesterdays 

rotting leaves to find food for survival.

Imagine this is Legahory, Craigavon

Northern Ireland and I’m sitting in the car

outside the health centre waiting for my wife

who will arrive any moment now with a pre-

scription that will help her through another 

stage of life.

 HAIKYOU

You have to write bad

poems to write the good ones

William Stafford

Art beats out of sync

accidentally on purpose

being non-being

I'm-poet-tent

4-skin 3-skin-

2-1-skint

Stroke, aphasia

Aphantasia, sepsis

Alive and kicking

Aphantasia-

no minds eye darkness within

dark Aphantastic

 DEATH NO DREAMS

Picasso’s Weeping woman 

and Lou Reed colour my walls 

in ecstatic agony

Humanity needs

The Belmarsh tribunal

solidarity

I no longer live

In a dream state flimsy hol-

Low gram projection.

Peace, green and orange

White is lost in between both

Blue and red

 

A LONG LONG  DAY (no hate)

How can I get down to the root of my-

self? do I really want to go there, memory?

I’m glad I don’t remember all I know

It was a riot, poems tell my tale.

They kicked me with the right foot

 And the left beat me prod and taig

But I’m still sitting on the fence, 

I am getting up again and again.

I won't let you beat me down, Iknow

You are right and wrong, like me.

Ireland/England can never be won-

One. Stop fighting, put down your guns

Tradition gets us nowhere.

You won't beat Peace out of me.

I’m locked in the vacuum of will 

Not kill. Memory is a black

And white photo shuttered Etna-

Drive, a mountainous moment

A levelled layer of street life, no

Hologram state- is that due to

A lack of memory or Aphantasia?

The left and write of centre.

Darkness within darkness, you

Can beat me all you want to but

My metabolism is strong, stroke

And sepsis won't bring me down.

Peace is in my heart, stuck shell-

Shock, Its coming apart at the seams.

I’m still sitting on the fence.

In the morning I’m up, up, up. up.

By evening I'm down, down, down.

Poetry is the middle ground..

HAIKYOU

Sammy the spider 

Reincarnated on my 

Wall almost motionless

A nuclear bomb named

Trinity-three in one

Killed one in three

From child poverty

To Lambborgini Sian

You tube division

Soil oil, rape the land

Pillage everything that’s good

Call it climate change

                  HAIKYOU