↑Ali B's blog

What is she whispering?

Outside..

the brittle beech decor

rustles in shy applause

Inside..

unencumbered slumber

wins the aching World

to half made play,

Arcadian chapels

hover in folds

to form in the fields

of gathering grey,

and still she whispers

Damp calico dales

murmur and shift

in the twist of a tremor

a cold palm press

upon temples that pulse

for the touch of a presence

that passes high over

the way..

What is she whispering?

Witch-fingers lift at

the gossamer latches

saltwater patches

salivate free...

lasciviously

while under pearly

listing blinds,

stutter-dance eyes

scour windswept causeways

always searching

always waiting

for some unknown..

And still she whispers...

In Mazarin acres

rare cloud draws breath

children's-book shapes

of aqueous grace

tarry on pondering waters

while reeds, hurled high,

in their Lincoln battalions

bow to the order

of warblers calls.

All ripples slightly

on shimmering wings.

From sylvan chancels

seeds advance

in downy droves

shepherded on zepyhr lifts

the gifts of next years hope

float by, to where the idle

 hands of Summer, brush

 the ripened pastures

down to dust.

The fingers cascade

down the vertebrae bends

the perfect destruction

of balance in question,

to gun down resistance

on Sundown parades

where, luciferan smiles delight.

Angelic incursions

in tongue unremembered

through portals of Cherry-blush

blossom in turn

stoking the fires

of livid compulsion

vortices spiral,

each-other to burn.

Through sensual redemption

all blood becomes sound

energy races

from primal enclosures,

standards are captured

and banished to basements

replaced by the want of the Soul.

Chemicals spill

from the mouth

of the moment

dripping in liberty,

gravity slips

relative concepts

abandon their charges

now lost in forever

we kiss....

How low lies the line

the thin separation

of earth and sky

far, far, beyond

the blending ambles,

the solitary gables,

where pylons descend

rolling their cables

deep into the heart

of distant cities.

Bellicose clouds

in league with the sea winds

wrest sapphire fragments

from sentinel peace

folding all in the pitying glamour

of harridan water on slate.

Here, in spartan gardens

Viper's Bu-gloss thrusts

bruised petals up

on rusted stantions

Melancholy anthems

flower and flow,

centuries of note-less turbulence

lent utterance by modernity,

plucking loose slung wires,

hymns of long gone mariners,

mutter through salted gorse

hurry inland, to rattle at

the doors of Norman churches,

seeking some last sanctuary.

Throughout all this

the valiant little

Star of Bethlehem still glows

its constellations cling toward

the frosted edge of gravelled bowls

where the Sun-pattered laughter

of children remains,

falling in keeping of bustling gulls.

Where the small hours rest

in the second hand soothing

of darkest address: frost crawls.

Having crept down the lane

on a serpentine silver

to pilfer the vaults of an Indian Summer,

in crystalline raiment

the scatter glass pavements

succumb to its covering sprawl.

On shellac returns of lamp delta falls

minutiae maraud in bitter sweet symmetry

shattering petals, encasing in glass

the Stella shot run of the vine.

A glacier tourniquet scuppers the mold

an accomplished assassin of natural device,

with icy indifference it hushes the vixen:

The Moon, for the life in her eyes.

Party Monkey woke..stretched and yawned rubbed his eyes with his furry paws..a half smile playing upon his face in honour of a half remembered dream..( it was something to do with finding a banana palm, that grew the fruits with a soft chocolate centre)..tiptoed over to the window, and slowly eased his head through the gap in the curtains....Then, with a high pitched yelp..turned tail and dived straight back under the covers.

All that was visible, was a bump of shivering duvet...

"Oh come on "PM"!..what's wrong?..what is it now?..it's not that bloke with the "eye patch" again is it?..I told you about him!,..you know he's not a Pirate!..its not that rather rotund young man with the strawberry blond follicles is it?...you know FULL well that he is NOT an Orangutan..true his knuckles do scrape the pavement a little..when he walks down the road..but, hey!..play the game, PM!..lets have a little social decorum and respect here!..eh?..soooo...whasssssupp wit yo simian ass,..my cheeky chimp chum?

With that..a little paw emerged from the bedclothes pointing in the direction of the window, there was nothing else for it, I had to take a look .I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the horror that lay beyond the drawn drop of the drape.( "drawn drop of the drape "eh?..woooohooooo!...get me!!!)....I closed my eyes..and with all the elegance and control of an incontinent Morris Dancer...threw back the curtains...I made a couple of wild slashing motions with my arms..( eyes still closed of course...any passing pedestrian, would surely mistake this for a rudimentary form of demented Tai Chi..so I was covered there)...I eased up on the wild flailing..and..slowly and painfully opened my eyes, my countenance adopting the furrowed topography of someone who is inflating a balloon...and the balloon is full..very full...one more breath..and  well,..it could be OK..on the other hand it might explode..( you get the picture!)...my vision swam murkily into focus...upon ...nothing!...absolutely sod all!...apart from a miserable grey, rainy ,British summer day.

Then I understood!...PM had simply had enough of this..he had sat with me through our pictorial adventures on ipernity!...he loved to see all the places in the World and all the lovely people!...he would dance and spin!..sometimes even perform high quality mimes..when he would see something he liked!...Here, it always seemed to rain...PM could not go far, for he had no clothes...he was a poor Party Monkey..abandoned at birth by some  "Full on, giving' it the Big One...arse 'n pockets,spin missile of a semi torpor, lock up your daughter, white powder snorter, shit reporter , slack smack whacked Silver back with a bad track........ record."..or something similar..along those lines...

I had found him in a flower bed..talking to a Song Thrush..it was raining...

I took him in   dried him ,sat him in front of the fire in a tiny towel ( left by the previous occupiers of the flat, who just happened to be Ninja Midgets)..then baked fine and tasty Monkey Pies

He would come with me to the Pub and the locals took to him well and he would enjoy himself..even managing to secure a regular spot as a Monday Night DJ at the Station House but!..it was when we were switched to ipernity, that PM would go monkey nuts!

One day, we were on a friends page..when PM tugged my arm..and pointed to the wool and knitting needles that were shown in a picture..I did not understand, so I moved on..but PM became agitated..but still communication was sketchy, to say the least.

Simians are, of course highly intelligent mammals, and it was not long before he had mastered the rudimentary vowel sounds of my language..( good job too, or this particular piece could just run and run)..but it was still something of a surprise, when he climbed upon my shoulder ( as he is wont to do  when the pics are up)..and whispered..."Pretty Lady Knit me Rainbow?"....and.."Please I go to Mr Tobacco?"...well!...I didn't know what to say!..I supposed, that all I could do was ask!

And there you have it!...the beginnings of the "Party Monkey World Tour"..Asa, has knitted a beautiful little jumper ( with "tail space" I might add! )..and dT, has agreed to take him to some famous sights in the States!

What WOULD be wonderful, is the possibility of seeing how far the little fellow can travel around the World..perhaps we can all shake" PM" by the paw....take a couple of pics of him in our home towns?..

its just a thought...it just COULD be..the best journey ever undertaken!...it's all our journeys..all our lives,

Big love to Asa and dT, for seeing the fun and potential in this!..( just keeping my fingers crossed that he makes it across the Pond!)

"...people say we Monkey around"

Go on Party Monkey!..Live the DREAM!

Cheers!

Ali!

A stealthy temper, schools the rise

fishes pearls from draped recline,

Darkened anvils press upon

the humid course of sluggish minds.

Arid earth, asthmatic dust

in parliament with traffic fumes

doles the breath laborious

to heavy handed sighs.

Limps a haze from melted roads,

stricken hedgerow, broken fields

aromas of the dead appeal

wreathed in rumours of decay

but on the back another strain

in slight arrest from overtones

the ozone's perfumed lust of rain

has carried down the way

A Swallow dashes, fast before

the millisecond talon flash

that cleaves the stifled ether

burning blue upon the retina.

Water volleys in

thrashing leaves

to sodden bunting

sun bleached paths

run dark and lend

their dusty ardour

to the wind.

Wing shot admirals

tumble down

the blasted bramble

of last loiter

sealed within their

dying cloister

lie broken butterflies.

Volume hurls into the vacuum

dreadful,peerless exclamation!

Heaven's restless riders rage

to charge the lightning path again.

A hundred hooves reverberate

to clatter down the astral steps

saturated masonry

deflects the grim cacophony.

The noise of cavalry subsides

but on the spark, the riders turn

to fling their wrath and vitriol

upon the point of strike.