Leave a rainbow in the bog… Tuesday, Oct. 21, 2014 / Sheffield, UK #SchwervonPoetry

We make a break for it
Say our goodbyes quickly
And then it’s off
into the mustard sky night

I am a chicken head
waiting to separate from it’s body
So much less to worry about
All the wasted hours
Walking from place to place
The sore muscles
The stretching

Our heroes for the night
are a pack of boy musicians
They save us from the war
Of office politics
And High Blood Pressure

I am a building ledge talker downer
I Basque in  the simplicity
Things always go one of two ways
I spend my nights flip flopping
On the purpose of my existence

I am a luxury
I am a necessity
I give purpose
I have purpose

I am marsh land
Flooded with things
Slipping into the cold dark mud
An ageless place for
Things without eyes
To be
Or not to be
No questions asked

Just leave notch on the bedpost
And Before you go
leave a rainbow in the bog
For the next sad shitter

(This poem was originally recited at The Rocking Chair on October 21, 2014 in Sheffield, UK)

Toilet engaged… Monday, Oct. 20, 2014 / Norwich, UK #SchwervonPoetry

The toilet was engaged
So we gave it a shower
The shower was engaged
So we used the hose

I’ve been in love many times
Nearly every day

I’ve watched the apples and bananas
Fall from the sky.
Meat puppets dancing
Along the highway
Feasting on kale and rain water

It blows my mind
It blows my mind
How man times
can a mind be blown.
I just can’t say.

A poster on the wall
A hole in a table
The stuffing in a seat cushion
Blowing in the wind
Hanging from a tree
Good construction material
For a nest
I’ve always been a nester
Never much of a houser

Can’t remember what it was
About the Saxaphone that
I loved so much as a child
Not true
It was the loudest instrument
I could get my hands on
I needed it
I needed it to be my voice.

Now we have gigabites
Now we have open source
Voices in our heads
We share everything
There is no need to scream

(This poem was originally recited at The Norwich Arts Centre on October 20, 2014 in Norwich, UK)

Call me pack horse…Sunday Oct. 19, 2014 / Nottingham, UK #SchwervonPoetry

Call me pack horse
Call me living dream
Call me quiet strange lady
Sitting a cross from me on the train
Call me a liar.
She wasn’t strange at all
Actually quite nice.
But she did refer to herself as short.

Giant cranes swing their
Giant steely beaks
Through the air
Slicing through a Shepard pie sky
Dousing the clouds in a thick
Warm industrial gravy

I hear tale of an old model ship
That hasen’t been dusted
For a many many years
For fear that the chosen janitor
Be struck down dead
just like the last several in the past

Love is a test that you never fail
Stop trying to memorize
Start fighting bees

Pumping things up to win
Lambs on the prairie drinking cider
Waving at a bullet as it passes by
Is there a doorman at the gates of hell
Checking OD’s ?
Measuring the with of you sores

No shortage of green pastures around here
No shortage of rain
The rain comes and then it goes
Just like the sun

 (This poem was originally recited at Spanky Van Dykes on October 19, 2014 in Nottingham, UK)


London undone…Saturday Oct. 18, 2014 / London, UK #SchwervonPoetry

Your the one don
So much fucking fun don
An I don’t have to run don

Fresh Cat Sandwiches
Raining cuts and dogs
The Dogs of London
The frogs of war
The fog of dogs
Packs and packs
running in the street
Eating out of pots
Checking email
Humping the neighbors cat
Before the velvety thick backdrop
of a soft London fog

I woke up fine and cranky
But You swallowd me up
And spit me out whole
Wiggling and fighting.
Living moment to moment

Green and snug
Damp and classy
Tired and sexy
Dimly lit inspiration
We bond in the shadows
We connect through dark entries

Thank you

 (This poem was originally recited at Dalston Victoria on October 18, 2014 in London, UK)


There’s always time to listen…Friday Oct. 18, 2014 / Colchester, UK #SchwervonPoetry

Awesome merchandise
Troublesome meaningless transactions
The questions of life
are much easier to answer
When you are a moving target

Pickled piccolos
Alarm clocking
Soft distant oboes

Dog stockings
Sliced vine ripe tomatoes
Smeared runny makeup face
On a crusty nub of peasant bread

Rubber shoes sloshing in the brain
The blood flows through your neck
like warm sauce

Copping on the train
Things have a way
And then they get in the way

I’ll speak to the customer
You speak to the man Chester
And the man will speak to you

There’s always time to listen
So plug your ears and get to it

 (This poem was originally recited at Lakeside Theatre on October 17, 2014 in Colchester, UK)