Here’s my first poem on my wolking blag. Blakling wog. Whatever.
I write poetry sometimes. I call it poetry, but then others may not name it so, as poetry is all about structure and relationship, like music, flowing with a strong sense of scientia bene movendi. It’s a nice ideal, but the thing I most like in poetry is not a metre but rhythm – musical links and melodic idiosyncrasies. See Olivier Messiaen’s relationship with melody and his Stravinskyist developments with the concept of rhythm. This provides colour in the flow and a non-metrical propulsion, and a unique ability to create within phrases crescendi and climax.
Anyhoo, this is my act of walking to my local baguette shop. It is annotated for little reason:
Arching trudge, pillared step (in this tensile street are novels)
each walk a balk of ecstatic-mad other-love
I’m living in the other-life of fell-ridden vales,
cracking leaves, archi-slate, my ’trepid mush push to shove:
Away with me…
(‘Egg mayo and bacon, if you please’)
 21 Dean’s Yard SW1P.
 The Dairy, Strutton Ground.
 Song with lyrics by Alan Jay Lerner.
 Victoria Street, Westminster.
 Cranes, from cranium, the brain enclosure.
 Cranes are indispensible in Vic-Street-style building industry.
 Department for Business, Innovation, Skills, Job-creation, Stuff, and Nonsense.
 the activity of a senior police constable – sitting at his desk in the HQ, ‘Supering’.
 My own preferred reality.
 Geographical features – hills and valleys – of the Cumbrian Fells.
 The forefather of existentialism.
 Fairly randomly (superficially) – a sea-sore-eaten hill at HP 596 160.
 Archi+tecture would describe what Vic Street has none of.
 Organ+ised and anarchy are two sides of the same Vic Street coin, therefore organanarchy.
 Gothic enthusiasm. Arch=good. Tensile stress=bad.
 My favourite.
UPDATE: The Dairy has now closed, to be replaced by yet another capitalist member of a chain of expensive and unnecessary coffee providers.