Let’s Walk

Come, dear one,
let’s walk through the echo
of this moment
hand in hand and quiet despair
defying all
that hope to leave us
distanced
from the smiles
of passing strangers
or ‘protected’ from a common air
Let’s walk amid
these single roses
made wreathes by loveless hands
and would be thieves
and those, that one supposes
resist the will to care.
But there, and there
and there, there, there,
in the church you don’t attend
and the colour you don’t trust
and the team you don’t support
the left
the right
and just
around the bend
not quite in your sight
not quite in your court
are those that would
dig through the rocks
would open doors
would clean your face
would wipe away the tear stained dust
and hold you for the longest time
to rest inside a real embrace
devoid of those dividing lines
that we’re so quick
to put in place.

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A Letter to them thats shouty

Dear shouty folk,

You keep going around all creation and being shouty
and I end up covering my ears and I see your shouty face but hear nothing.

You shout at just about everyone and everything including family, friends,
some animals and your car and traffic and the telly and people on it
and a little slug the size of a baby thumb and you shout at underpants and crayons
and fish just because they the fish don’t wear T-shirts or something like that and your face is always in a state of disgust like this;

1. Frown
2. Raise your head cheeks (the right cheek should be raised a little more)
3. squint your eyes
4. smile but don’t bend the sides of the mouth upward, keep them straight
5. That’s your mardy head all the time

And you know what’s really happening and you said so ages ago
and you tell people again when they didn’t hear you the first time because someone else had an opinion and it cut through your ‘see I told you so’ stuff…
so you actually repeat it to get the full recognition you deserve and will it ever stop no I don’t think so but then again.

And you do this to each other –
‘No YOUR a knob’
‘No YOUR a knob’ and point a finger toward your interlocutors face
and scrunch your own face up as in 1 to 4 above and I used ‘knob’ with a k
because my mummy might be watching and also ‘interlocutor’ for the same reason.

And you shout for about 4 days on social media and you cack on and on then talk about
the fact that at least you give a toss about everything to actually
call someone a knob and god help us and jesus christ I wish you didn’t give a toss.

And you pick targets that are literally the size of a planet made from bisuits
or you use a flamethrower to catch a blind fly in a wheelchair or you go around and around in a revolving door for a billion years and occasionally shout ‘I don’t believe it’ or you go on the Mad-Mouse in Blackpool
and try and talk sense to the woman in the buggie behind you
who’s screaming her teeth out or you do a frown face as in 1 to 4 above.

Or you look at me because you want confirmation that your pissed offness is warranted – well guess what:
IT”S NOT!!!! Not everything warrants your mardy face.

You’re reading one side. You’re seeing one road.
You’re caught in a trap. You can’t walk out.
Because I love you too much
baby.

They are all wrong, no matter which side you’re on and your
particular paper ‘The Daily Bias’ said so and you feel all the better for it.

You’re all wrong
No, you’re all wrong
No, YOU”RE all wrong
No, go back to your disillusion planet
No, YOU go back to the 70s
No, you go back to being a lolly
No.

He took money from ‘Elvin Tremendous’, the Flax seed magnate.
Yes but Elvin was his Father and it was money for a bonnet for
his best friend ‘Putin le’Pepper’ who was six and her parents have an ironic sense of humour and are you following this?

And 3 thousand years back you had dinner with Len Smalls
the guy who now owns ‘Bubblewrap for Cows’.
Well, you said something nice about Ged O’Creamy the Westboro Baptist T-Shirt Tycoon.
No I didn’t.
Yes you did… and here’s THE LINK!!! AHA!!
HO HO … That’s Fake I was saying something nice about Barry Gibb
and someone cut in a pic of Ged O’Creamy…
Whatever
I know you is but what am I?

If you give a flying fuck, source your bullshit to the endth degree
and if you can’t get to the endth degree i.e the truth about Kevin,
then why are you clogging up the airwaves with it?

Stop it. Or we all chip in and buy our own planet called ‘Planet For Non-Bullshitters who seldom use 1 to 4 above’ and we have a waste bin for vitriolic
epithets so that we can get to the point.

Actually good vitriolic epithets are fun in the mouth of an expert.
But experts are too few.
Know why your not an expert? Because you source what you already agree with!!!!

You source what you already believe! FOR FUCK’S SAKE! IT”S SCREAMING AT YOU SO LOUDLY!!
We actually hate that guy or that woman because they truly believe a certain credo?
We HATE them?
Or are these just words? Are we using hate in the fun sense?

And then you say, ‘I know what you’re going to say’.
Jesus!! – now you can chew on my opinion and spit it out before I get chance to even taste it.

I wish it were all so simple. But it ain’t.
It’s complex. And shitspraying everywhere with a biased opinion sourced from a biased opinion just makes a crock of shit out of the whole shebang.

Plus, you keep quiet about your shares in the ‘Marimba Weekly Magazine’ and check the share price against Shell Oil on a weekly basis.

It takes effort to get into the opposite opinion…
It takes even more guts to see at least some of the points of that opinion.

But jeez it’s an effort worth making in a land of the shouty.
And they’ll get mad and try to shouty you into silence.
Have none of it.

Under Your Wing

In the shadow of your history
Under your wing
Safe and silent
In the dust of your blazed trail
Following your footsteps,
Safely out of reach

Of that love you crave

And then I saw
That beautiful Dark

Where your light
Hadn’t thought to wander

And I held the Darkling close

And was met with life untraveled 

And colours you couldn’t hide 

And I had to let go 

I had to let go 

Of that love you crave.

Vows

This is about being risqué with your loved one in
places one absolutely must risk being risqué.

.
.
…….

In that bold tombed statement
that carved out cathedral of quiet
you passed me a vocal note
barely under the breath of the faithful
Just out of reach of the virtuous
In the shadow of the snake
Lips pulsing concealed conflagrations
to my ear, agape with reverence.
And though I’d said farewell
to spells so long ago
(In many ways I’d never said hello)
I felt your step too far,
echoing the ache of all within.
And as I
untied
the briefest look,
you eyed an equal look
and shot that note
with such intent
and such a solemn vow,
that all your violent ardour pressed
against my soundless shout
and deafened the song of their praise
and the silence of doubt.

They Fall Quietly Now

In a cafe,
built sometime after bombs
had burrowed the echo
of cracked open cries
into middle of the night 
memories,

two gentlemen 
I often listen to,

had fallen quiet now.
They had long
since decamped.
Wisdom turned
to silence on soil
boot hacked
for reasons best left
to those few
who know of such things.
Tired of the page turn. Dog
tired. Bone
tired.
Tired on
tired on
tired.
Weary words, heaped,
clambering
for breath.
Mud soaked children
forced to shed the skin
of youth.
Buried shells,
arms in arms,
Twisted cud of
bone and metal,
barbed wired into memory
and two quiet men.

Lighthouse

The imprint your body made
and your reading glasses
left where you laid them down
and the space
I should have been in
listening more

for the hidden folds in your stories

and your hands

slow and childlike

palm prints, even now

where you left them.

The day I came home

Your hands
were so clumsy
and gentle
I heard you
but did not respond
until a day

that stays with me

a beautifully cruel day

you there, in the kitchen

soul crucified

and the pictures turned,

my hand slowly coming to rest 

on your shoulder

calming you I hoped

and then you sat down 

and I whispered to you 

my hand on your shoulder still,

and I saw you,
as if for the first time

through my veil,
my mist of me,

I listened to your silence

and swallowed my throat

and grew up in that moment

in the fix of your desolate gaze

and I stopped wanting to be seen

and just held you.

Spill

Today I cooked dinner
I took time
I invested myself
I was careful with measurements
And the placement of celery
And the garlic, and the peppers
Deep red and the carrots
Brushed with honey
And the juice reduced to
Infinite bliss
like a first kiss
On and on
And the wine was dark
And as husky as Lauren Bacall
And the glass was next to the plate
On the tray and it all
looked good enough to devour
And I walked with that in mind
Toward the living room
And caught my sleeve
On the brake lever of my bike
And watched the wine glass
Spill itself almost empty
Onto my food
And I shouted ‘Fuck’
As loud as gossip could stand
As the juice was reduced
to a laughing stock.

This truly happened.

I’m going to share a couple of letters I sent a while a back, one to a dear friend, Steve Swallow, and one to Channel 4. 

I shared these letters on FB many moons ago but I came across them recently in my archives and thought they might bring a smile to those that didn’t catch them then. 

The first is a letter I wrote to Steve Swallow. It’s absolutely true ………………………. the 2nd is a reply to Channel 4 – Read their letter to me first then read my reply. My time in the car trade came as news to me, but I was delighted to find out I was part of a warm family of car traders. What a great place to start!! 

Anyway, if you’re thumbing through ‘Wilful blindness in the age of Buffoonery’ or some such airport fodder, rest a while in these trinky blatherings.

Swallow,

So i’m up in court for a possible ban driving wise.
I wait 5 hours to be seen, surrounded by loons and girls that spit good.
So I goes into the courtroom and I stand there while a catalogue of mini motoring misdemeanours is aired by a sweaty woman who’s important but not the bird with the loudest chirp on the block.
That particular turkey looks mean.  Flanked by 2 stern looking chicks that refuse sympathy on a regular basis.  I slowly roast.
‘You’re facing a mandatory 12 point ban’  says the clerk.
‘Yes’ I say in my most pathetic voice trying to look ashamed.
‘You plead guilty?’
‘Yes’.
‘You want to say why the court shouldn’t ban you from driving?’
‘Yes please’ .
‘Ok take this blah blah in your right blah and say after me…..’
‘ I swear on the thing that i’ll tell the truth and nothing but the thing so help me thing’.
So I tell them.
‘I need the car because……………. and it would cause hardship……………
up and down the country………….. too much heavy gear………….so public transport no use……… 2 kids that would starve or worse end up on telly…………. etc etc…..’
‘And you are a session musician?’  says Judge turkey.
‘Of a kind’  says I.
‘You play in Bands?’
‘Yes Sir’
‘Anyone we know?’  Says the less mean looking Judge.
‘Well I’m in a band with Steve Swallow
‘Ah’ he says,  “Stan Getz‘…….
15 mins later, after deliberations,  he says….. ‘Right,  we won’t ban you this time.  You get 3 points and a £60 fine’.
I nodded like a dog.
So I thought i’d better thank ya for playing with Stan Getz and getting me a reduced sentence.
Best,
Lug.
.
.
………
This is the letter I received from channel 4.
.
Subject: Channel 4 documentary series – we’d like to hear from you!
Hi there,
I hope you don’t mind me contacting you out of the blue. My name is Katy and I work for Twofour, a BAFTA winning television production company based in London. We are currently developing an exciting new documentary series for Channel 4 about family life across Britain in 2012. We’re looking to find a small number of warm and outgoing families from all over the UK that will represent British family life in all its fabulous forms.
I wanted to drop you a line, as we’re keen to speak to people who work in all sorts of professions and thought the car trade might be a good place to start. Our search for families is very broad, but we are looking for a family with at least two teenage children still living at home- other than that, absolutely anything and everyone goes!
We are hoping to make a landmark series about what life is really like for British families in this iconic year and are looking for six vibrant families from different backgrounds and regions to film with throughout this summer. At this stage, we would like to speak to as many people as possible – all our conversations are confidential and do not commit people to be involved.
If you are a dynamic, engaging family, then we’d love to hear from you! Get in touch for more information and an informal chat. You can simply reply to this email or call any member of our team on 0207 xxxxxxxx
Alternatively, if you could help us in any way by forwarding on the flyer, which I have attached, to people you know or via Facebook, that would great.
We may also base our series on one specific street, looking at the lives of several families living as neighbours – do you live on the perfect street with lots of characterful families? Please do get in touch if so.
Thanks again for your help and I look forward to hearing from you.
Best wishes
.
And my reply,
.
Hi there Katy,
Do we really have to be ‘Warm’?  I mean, we hug at funerals and stuff but would you consider that warm?
I’m a Single Dad with 2 amazing children of 21 and 17.  My daughter actually asked to go on Holiday with me, which brings me Joy.
We are occasionally ‘dynamic’ in that we watch eggs boiling together and point at grass that’s a bit less green than other grass that is more green
than the grass we are pointing at.  We also like the word ‘vole’ and use it regularly as a ‘family’ if you’ll allow me to use that splendid, if somewhat,
abused term.
We are ‘vibrant’ and ‘engaging’ and we run around in a tight circle on odd occasions with absolutely no music needed to gee us up. Can you believe that?  It’s totally true.
Sometimes I might throw a crisp (though I don’t allow many into the house) across the dinner table and we all laugh.
‘Don’t take the fun out of funeral’ is our family motto.
Our street is ‘perfect’.  Some people have said things like ‘your street is even better than real life’.  I sobbed with almost real emotion that went deep into my mind.
I remember one time ‘Old Granny Churlish’ put her own tights on her head and pretended to rob the kids one xmas morning, as they tried to get passed her alsation dog ‘Melt’.
We laughed and laughed when ‘Melt’ sank his teeth into a box that contained a ‘babyliss pro’ hairdryer.  The look on that dog’s face!!  Perfect.
Would you like to ‘hear from’ me?
Bestest,
Mike Walker