I fell thru this
I plied the rick and rile
instant frill chip n nosey
I felt the fowling
through inner outer
pose prose n posie
fort the justicing
snubbery and power first
opposed the jousting
sailed the steaming
boiling sea saw
with my fellow sheep
full feasting
saw the stillness
coming as we fed
the least unleashing
our grail a lie
our crown a jest
we dressed a beast in.
we depart blynd
we care not wher
just long for leaving
I learned this least
yay things occur
once we’re rolling
n schemeing
radiant brilliance
and blade
edge meaning
lays in wait
in nonsense
ruck the rools
and back the trends
your own shape
before is ripe
n rotten

Mak you sang new
start linn
four go former
forms with
reckless feeling
if the vault door
must be bleached
it must i’m thinking
for wrongness
has fell here
and frost covers
iron morning
thru witch we must
yawning for
our former snoring
slept in hiding
as the wolves
and snakes
went reaving.
for sure
their free for all
is low n boring.
Evil evening.
nowt in the orchard
for this ad man
I may say
I fel anyway
raw in
parting play
ground dan
once grand
my trees
all blushing nude
there leaves
all blown
Bye good.
ward back.
gone be.

Is there a genuine poetry here in this work as I had heard?

Song lyrics certainly sometimes indulge such aspirations.

My good friend Felicity who also seeks such things has said so,
“There’s a life in here and things afoot under the statement,
mournful and homiletic.”

The journey is from spittle flecked raging youth slogans to
yearning disillusion and finally resignation, there’s clues, nods to
the tradition of dreamer poets of earlier times, exasperated by
the petty material drudge inflicted on the spirit by the exploitation
of the commercial con mans tragic comedy.

This work certainly and clearly exists outside and agen this. It’s for people who agree we should burn the flags, that there’s no mystery
no more and the prizes don’t look nice like they did.. The voice here is willing to admit to truly feel would make him cry and
he weeps anyway for the numbness and isolation he see’s and feels in a bleak manscape of disconnection and desensitisation, but wait, there’s darker than dark comedy and a distended cheek here too..young lovers name the trees and the bruised mother at the birthday party likes the ache..and it’s him whose ‘just another heartbreak’ and outside defiant blooms ignite the avenue..so dark hope hangs on in every bleak moment.

A Novel/short story collection of an album..an under the radar underground hidden
treasure of a work that foregoes the gimmickry and novelty of the current tacky moment
and exists in another timeless land of melancholy and rumbling dissent.
From leftfield the wyrd and wonderful Firedogs are quoting Finnegan’s wake at a karaoke

Unexpected and extradinary.

Tom Langer.