A.Fox looking at a fox by A FOX

 

MY PAINTINGS AND PHOTOS ARE VERY ABSTRACT AS I CANT CONJURE AN IMAGE IN MY HEAD. HOPE THIS AND BOOK HELPS, WANT TO HELP DISABLED AND APHANTASTIC STRANGE FISH OUT THERE.

Stroke, aphasia

Aphantasia, sepsis

Alive and kicking

Aphantasia-

no minds eye darkness within

dark Aphantastic

 

A FLOW STATE


Browsing poetry archive, I’m out on a limb, a paralyzed one.
I don’t even have a voice for my Verse if that’s what you call it.
I cant find my voice among the verses. Will you gift to me your voice so I can Lilt a rhyming song and not have a flat Hyphen-

ated broken word, without Rise and fall.


I cant even remember how my words Worked in you, all ego now
is egoless. I need a little bit of hope, for my words To pick me up
and warble a warbler’s birdsong, full-throated joy. Let my words
rise in you, to roll Them of your tongue like
goingInto a flow state, non-being


Realm of possibility.

 

PHOETRY

A WELL-DEFINED EXPRESSION

 

1.          Basho had nature

and seasons to walk, I cut

bedbound disability.

 2.          Of all the songs in

All the world this one rhythm’s up 

twice in one day.

 

 HALF-DOOR DAWN

 

At the half door dawn, from

Kavanagh’s ditch came a fox

Looking at A. Fox. Keats guided

Me with a magic hand of chance

and a negative capability.

 

Lowell and Stevens said ‘yet

Why not say what happened.

The theory of poetry is theory

Of life’. Raymond Carver caught

My breath and I caught his.

 James Simmons had Muckish 

Portmuck over his shoulder.

Michaux and Pessoa showed me

Living with feeling. To these great

Men like fathers, I homage. Loving

Them all the way back to the source.

 

Enrapture encapture me,

ESTIMATED TIME OF ARRIVAL

Meditate-E.T.A,

it-dem-ension, deep

Focus, brain fuel 

morpho-genetic

 A CULL-AGE OF WORDS

I’M NOT IN YOUR GANG

 

Are we going to put up

With U.S.A.U.K-RAIN

Double standards.

I haven’t voted in years 

and still, you make me 

feel dirty and corrupted.

You’re taking away my

Human rights I am not

A black op’s sabotage.

I am not in your gang,

My mother used to say

Honesty is the best policy. 

Leave my policy alone please, 

don’t be sleazy. I have standards 

you have none, we are letting

These people drag 

us through the dirt.

MICK-MUCK

For Michael

 

I served up a bowl

Of bile to my care-

Giver wheeze, rattle

Free cool, he said

as only a caregiver would.

 

My air waves hadn’t been

That free in twenty years.

No wonder I was turning

Muck to gold, I was carrying

Around that muck for 20-

 

Years. I wheezed words out

And rattled down my food

chocking everyday making

me sick. I told them for years

 that I couldn’t get it up, only

 

now am I on their script.

morpho-

genetic

FIRST AND LAST

 

My room smelt like

a Maternity ward

Infantile blues woke

up this morning with

dummy-tit trans-

parency bard-o.

 

Sucking up to no-one

but me to be woke up

with a childhood rattle-

beat rattling like death

in my throat.

VICE-

 

This is getting out of the big hands

Of 20:20, am I being hacked like Liz?

I have not a thing to hide, poetry like

Sunshine is free, I’ve got the infan-

Tile blues a wee man syndrome.

 

Nonchalantly I lie here bedbound like

A shadow of my former SELf self.

 

A lower case of being but being BIG

AND BOLD, my words will follow me

Under ground or vice-versa. Gripped

By the divided mind over matter.

 

This is all that matters, locked-in

@21:12.