Selling Sanctuary

I’m in a small cold place
perched on the edge, the solo late

night representative of Shell.
I’m researching the after

-life, heaven or hell, really can’t tell.
Muffled shadows shift beyond bullet

-proof glass, reveal inner
shit. Look away, look away.

Unleaded or diesel, Red Bull or Rizla,
Twix or a bit of smut, reformed

cheese sarnies, sausage rolls, Golden
Wonder or a pint full cream.

I don’t give a damn, all pie in the sky.
Make sure you buy before you die.

Dive in from the black
well into my bright, where pumped up

demons and angels self
-service, sniff hydro-carbon light.

It is the hour of the wolf,
and we are all overdue.

 

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Photo created by the author

 

 

Northern Soul

Portrait of a Wicker Man

 

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Photo by the author

 

Note:- compared to the rest of the UK, the North of Scotland has a high level of social problems particularly affecting men.  Unemployment, alcoholism, drug abuse, depression and suicide are on the rise due to the decline of fishing, farming and the oil industries.  Men are feeling increasingly powerless as they lose their traditional roles.  So although it is a beautiful part of the world, the Highland region is a tough place to  survive.

I met the friendly guy in the photo while I was trying to photograph a window display in the tiny shopping precinct in Wick.  He offered to pose alongside the rather creepy mannequins.  He’d just bought cat food as he does voluntary work for a cat rescue charity.

Without Warning

I saw a red balloon
low in the western sky
going down, down, down.
The wind whittled a prayer
and seagulls fell to ground.

Flowers floated slick
by the harbor wall.
Birthdays and funerals
gone, gone, gone Cola cans,
rubber bullets and condoms.

The lawyer twisted words
out the side of his mouth.
The preacher whistled
Three Blind Mice as the poet
flew away in a paper plane.

White feathers gathered
on the darkening lawn
so I turned myself inside.
Mesmerized by static,
I waited for the fall.

 

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Painting titled Atomic Bay by the author. Acrylic and mixed media on canvas.

The Good Housekeeping Guide to the Apocalypse

In the aftermath of  the Hawaii ‘whoops apocalypse’ fiasco, here are a few tips for surviving a nuclear war gleaned from the internet.  (A good sense of humour, a vacuum cleaner and a four leaf clover are also essential):-

The best advice for surviving a nuclear bomb is to be somewhere else when it goes off.  If that doesn’t work out for you then remember ‘duck and cover’.

Think of radiation as dust that can be consistently and carefully cleaned and disposed of. Twice daily vacuuming of house hold surfaces is recommended. Warning! Do not dry dust or sweep because this will cause dust, and potentially isotopes, to become airborne where they can settle onto surfaces or be inhaled.  Feather-type dusters should especially be avoided. Internal Contamination is 20 to 100 times more harmful than external exposures. Run the air conditioner 12 hours a day on the re-circulation setting. Warning! Do not use fans or AC units to blow outside air into the house.  Be sure to try and keep indoor air from becoming too dry.

 

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Artwork by the author

 

Some careful kitchen habits:-

Keep your dinnerware in clean cabinets with doors, or place in containers such as Tupperware bins.  Remove covers carefully so dust doesn’t land on clean surfaces. Rinse your cooking utensils with clean filtered water before use.  The best filters use activated charcoal or reverse osmosis which are very effective against radioisotopes. Rinse the outside of food cans before opening them.

Survival Checklist:- Think of radiation as an invisible layer of dust on all surfaces that needs to be carefully cleaned away and managed.

Create an air tight seal in your home. Seal all external doors and windows.  Duct tape is handy and comes in twenty seven different colours and patterns to match your décor.  I recommend Penguin Invasion and zebra print for a modern funky look. The glow in the dark option will help you find your way around when the lights go out.

Aggressively clean off surfaces in your home without creating dust (wet wipes and water filled vacuums essential).  Keep food in clean, sealed containers.

When you go outside, wear a set of coveralls, goggles and good quality dust masks to cover your mouth and nose.  Shower every time you return from outdoors.  Sleep at least two feet above the floor.

Carry young children while outdoors.

Fight fall-out with duct tape, mop, water filtered vacuum, sponge, paper towels, plastic bags, sturdy trash container, hand-held radiation detector.

Essential reading: Step-by Step Home Butchering, A Beginners Guide to Hunting, Self Defense for Dummies, DIY Burials.

Desire

For the city that speeds, tail to nose
to a scalloped shore and meets with light.
For the city in frozen motion, tarnished
wings poised to embrace the night.
For the city that parties with a glittering heart
but is never satisfied and every morning seeks
enlightenment, the river unwinding
a scrambled horizon to the rising sun.
For the city that guards south from north,
brick to chink, indivisible, a fortress spawning
iron ships for capitalist wars.
The great angel grounded hope
for these iridescent folk seeking stars
and rainbow moons shining in the gutters
of wet streets between discarded kebabs and shit.
The city folk way too stupid, way too smart
to give up looking for an out, in black and white
running easy, gunning for a fight, living
for another goal and one more Saturday night.
For the city where shops are poly-chrome heaven
and bars ooze overflow. The coffee bubbles
froth and bile, the stories spike with rhyme
and folk soak in the sun at picnic tables
while dogs scamper on green swards.
Rebels serenade and lovers dance
unashamed, in the city, for the city,
for the brave.

 

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Original photograph by the author

The Bag in the Bog

Early alarm, Tuesday, already.  Sales meeting at nine-thirty.  Me in dog house
probably.  Power shower.  Red or black, white or cream, toast or cereal?
Remember buy bread today.  Clean teeth, empty dishwasher.  Feed cat.
Defrost fish, clean shoes, forgot to floss.  More tea.  Leave note to milkman,
check e-mail.  Turn on Radio 4; spies, lies, Brexit, austerity, food banks.
Trump bombs terror, sunshine, showers, intervals, fog in parts.  Think positive.
Check bag; keys, iPhone, Mars Bar, Polos, Panadols, tampons, luminiser,
lipstick, mascara, tissues, iPad,  pen,  comb, compact mirror, sanitiser.
Stop for cash and petrol.  Text boss.  Idiot!  Check hair, OK?
Lock door.  Running late, play Taylor Swift, take short cut, Camster Cairns,
single track floating, peat bog, passing space, sleeping sheep,  speeding car.

 

 
Archaeologists believe the 3,000 year old leather pouch discovered at Camster Bog
speaks the fate of a young queen from the Plastic Period who, through folly
or misadventure, was deemed to have failed to please the Gods Apple, Mars
and Pan on whose benevolence her people depended.  She made blood sacrifice.
The pouch contained phallic objects adorned with the names of her lovers;
Elizabeth Harden, Max Fatter and Christi Door suggesting that Plastics enjoyed
multiple partners in frenzied fertility rites.  Androgyny was inevitable as male
potency and sperm count decreased.   Simple signalling and recording devices
typically used by breeding queens to attract a mate were also found at the site.
Technos hope to retrieve images which may explain why Plastics self -destructed
by releasing gender bender chemicals into the wild until the rivers ran red.

 

DC2C2658-E492-4B3A-AC65-CB6EC706D19E
Painting by the author