Ten poems

Ten poems


And the laggard apes were popes and the lions
nearly quit
waking up. Must be 3am at least
no. that was several days ago
the owls are already swearing at the morning, they swear all day
i take each one and strangle them
as they continue
not that it is within my blood to have anything against anything
or otherwise

I think about a coffee and a smoke
and the 5 miles I have to run
to burn off the night

Decide that it’s nearer 1am. Hit snooze. My autonama doll
starts dancing on my desk
snaking the demons away
she looks like a marionette
dawn and light say that I should love a parallel
made from red shadow swaying
and with a cracking jiggle and I say aloud: HEY

Since early in the never day we are all human
and then inside song, I have never let go, as in this descent
mercury finds me

And in her click clack
we awake
part of my dream was about yesterday
all of my days are worlds and work permits for tomorrow
spring in rain’s winter
and the marionette
is out of reach
beside me

It’s a Saturday inside a world
Amazon knock at my door more than two days ago
and the geese, the swans, the wild deer, the wild populace of silent calls
nail each fly to the wall in the next element we create

have we an element named: DAMN
that is a mixture of (unsaid)
lets say of
three days of blue
where we meet
our singular dust.


A spiritual man
who forms spirit from blood
the muscles, where blood may be still
flows, in the knife in-between
the lion’s mouth – his tongue
the flame, the rain

All burning destinies, tasting
the devourless odour
calming the lightning
to a thunderous point
my hands are raw and wrought
take a bone from a heart.


Green light shatters bayonet eye
down low and 12, 1, 2am, all of the river’s birds
I will go back soon
to all the litmus screams of day, but
this almost black country, the bats of deceased bats
and kamikaze horses are still, I wonder
which planets are under my feet?

Am I the only one who misses their friends?
I doubt, only this last waterfall
sips to this night’s birds
where I see you again.


Many of the swans this summer
are walking below the water
I keep count of only their grace.


Teeth are my skin
you are my scent.


Hammered a garden all day
and in-between sang

I sang heavy, my voice doesn’t
reach much
beyond a rumble, but hey slammed
a song of dream

into clay – and then we could be equals
since sweat and

the armchairs of limbs
are better than words.


Here the sky roars
my office screams in white, bleach, opal, and storm
and where I am in this storm and outside means nothing
where as the knife that a dead man carries to work, or
an orchard world of poem suggests that he leaves
home without it
i do
i recreateate this sebastian name of light which is bone
and births bone from itself, such a shocked rose, perspiring its day
all of the ghosts exclaim near my death of life
near a coach
near a train
i travel within which road will take me
and hear the thunder displeased
another white light comes into my office
and finally you rain!

You bring down all treaties, you are my soul, downwards
east south north west, your voice baritone world
and the deceased are no longer mongrels
but the rising grace damning my wind-shield

And when my discern is more alone
I rise my pen, saying to the lightening
you dance
just like me ole lass, did, when we were on good terms.


I chose to sit under the waterfall
I crack my neck
I crack it, water and dune, delilah clocks, coffee and shore
I make more sense on a Wednesday
we’ll even pour a beer against the dirt rain
might even
insult our own ghosts, in the timed spirits
pouring, you’ll
read my mind brother
when we we’re both swimming
but for now
we toast.

A train wreck near Pluto

Valyene counted the shades pouring in through the porter hole in the vessel. The ship from which he would soon have to leave, showed him every life, every manifestation, and each light of indifference. Then the stars barked. It was normal for a mouth to open singing, to say departing, opening, breaking the stitches away from it’s mouth, where an iguana or a black hole floats by a stone in song, yet, Valyene suited up, as crippling as it felt.


Past night, as if we ever have time
the week was a day, our dance was a year
just now the fields I cross have wild deer in June
never now and completely.


is Raoul Moat in a boat. His first words were ‘Newky Brown’. As well as being our most prolific writer, René also creates graphic art, paintings and screenplays.

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