23 Cats (Portrait of an Outsider Artist)

Posted in poetry with tags , , on June 23, 2017 by malartart

Had 23 cats

A colour coded chart on the wall

Telling me when they sat on my lap

1975 onwards the cats started to die out

Chart was needed no more

So, like a collapsed rainbow it lay on the floor

Spit Into The Wind

Posted in poetry with tags , , on June 19, 2017 by malartart

      Look up Moon-Dog

        Barking at the stars

            Snake of Saturn as head-dress

            Cloak as standard with collar raised up high

             Hazy halo redeems what you’ve done

               Choke on old chicken bird’s bones

                 No wing

                 No prayer

                 Nothing to declare

Or thus mustly/ Or must thusly??:

That when caught in a gaze

   It is over compensating

  Heavy critique is a violation

  Heavy metal

       Violence is golden

           Silence is older

Before paraphernalia

         A rock came a’calling

Share not a name but good will

             Not food but ground down dust

The sun as an enemy

              The moon something worse

  Flickering meteorites

                 Bass drum matter

  Roll up the Universe’s sleeves

              And place a Galaxy’s hands together

Praying in the 4th dimension

         Means we’ll meet downwind cosmically

             Even if I must soften the landing

                 By sprinkling sparkle dust liberally

Tired & At ’em

Posted in poetry with tags , , , on June 18, 2017 by malartart

even though it’s a lonely road, there’s still houses and cars

homes as lit cages, road rages, watch the traffic pass

hold your breath and pass out after every single life-form

magazine subscription paid for in advance

                              up to date as of tomorrow

december on the cover, manipulated, you’re everybody’s twin

I recognise you even though they’ve taken a couple of blemishes away

burnt off so-called fat and then being placed in a new-born’s cot

making a hatched chick look at their cracked shell in the mirror

whether its good for its mental well being or not


Put another way

What they put in


What you cut out


Take a scalpel


Remove your lungs

Forgive yourself for smoking


Take up drinking instead

Elvis in Levi’s

Posted in poetry with tags , , , on June 16, 2017 by malartart


                               these denims

                             squeal on me

                             ripped down

                      uncovering knees

                           taste is taste

                    but I am ragged

                          and mislead

             an informant bent

                                              all the way round

                              the bell rings for the end of romance

                        now tell all of them everything about me

                    all the juicy parts and maybe a lie or two

        about how I speak but do not govern

      about how I eat and always remain hungry

    about how I am close to my neighbours but have no friends

about how I am The King but will die at dawn tomorrow

2 Forward, 3 Back

Posted in poetry with tags , , on June 10, 2017 by malartart

                  documents leaked

        mopped up deceit

tell on me

             talk liberally

speak formally

            behind shirt sleeves

  converse conservatively

                        know your place


             labour under

                         the misapprehension

              of moving to the centre



Dentures for Vampires

Posted in poetry with tags , , on June 5, 2017 by malartart

Fast cars

A man on mars


I got SARS

I had a crush on the gal who writes the reports

Wish I’d been there before she sent it to H.R.

Knock on wood, they gotta be invited in

                                         Scratching on glass—

                                                         sitting on the window sill

Stein’s got his obsessions—

                                        he’s letting the Bad Batch lactate

                                        on office goods

                                        the black belch, no respect from 50 plus up

Me an’ m’ Merman murders my memory of memes (transient)

Electronic bush- whackers brings all viruses to the yard (translucent)

Juicy Gills on flat lips and I’m love sucked in

                                  Instead of bitten at

Into a l’goon— skanky dank black ‘goon

Liquid lizard eyes say we’re nothing but the simple folk

                                                  Night whistles off the day

                                                       (we thank on high)

We met in a coma, it continued through the WKND

After helplessness for 48 hours

Ineptitudes are compost for a relationship

Baggage we can grow

Cut down— Trim— Tidy up

Won’t let it get outta control again

Sensibly seasonal

Climb trees next to home

Cut them down when deemed impractical

Or open both hands and let shared seeds go

Self-Critical Frivolity

Posted in poetry with tags , , on June 3, 2017 by malartart

            who do you think you are?

(celebrities, family trees,

            vineyard, empty bottles

fallen apples , scrimping,


we’ve been together, maybe,

25 out of these 40 years?

knock-a-door run

               jumping gardens

Jehovah explained

                brandy snaps

and deodorant banned

             you think you know me?

got it all in hand and

              under control

                  out of my head

and now on paper

            in the circle I am known as M

does this aid others or cause confusion

                         later down the line?

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