Issuu on Google+

The only one you can manipulate is yourself, we can’t be fixated on the pasts physical and mental torture, excluded features of sorrows expression rising in frenzy, this desires surrounded in uncomfortable claustrophobia. The abyss of your walking space fluctuates, the eyes wish a compassion looming in dark clouds, desperately broke, The intensity of a temporary significance scolded, punished these deceptive emotions Somehow you gain a reputation is it time to be considerate to yourself. Falling on your face in abundance, obviously an unconscious action of events, we are not alone in listening The projected vision divulged from hardships dismayed with restlessness look at the evidence. Wipe away tears in a strange place, negociations are not your own fault, sad figure and you gain everyone’s disapproval wipe away rejection. Voice mind persona is another’s discomfort Insult by the lack of acknowledgement, larkdrewhand

The junk yard procession Art, poetry Issue one


I said I would never do another magazine, I said I would never promote gigs again, Not that I do not like running them Why as much as my passion burns for these things they are never a financial success sometimes previous events broke even. The first event this year lost me lots of money which has knocked me back for six hence this online only edition . I could not afford to lose that money but I do take lots of risks ,because of that I feel guilt of not been able to deliver a physical zine,it was meant to be ready February his year Why this zine? I Am not a quitter ,I do not give up easily, i started this a long time ago and dropped it due to mental health hospitalizations, losing my job, house , the ongoing inquest into my fathers death but that was the major hurdles. If you need an expert in commercial suicide then I am your man ,everything I have ever done has never made money, may be that’s why I am not a business man .As I write this ,just want to sya thanks to contributors for their pieces and patince . I hope you enjoy this and if you wish to get in touch then do.Most of all thankyou for your contributions .

thejunkyardprocession@yahoo.co.uk www.facebook.com/thejunkyardprocession twitter.com/junkyardprocess.

071213 - Believe in You 21 x 30cm Ballpoint Pens on Paper


Contents Page 2-Welcome Page 3-contents Page 4-Jack little-Cuahtemóc Page 5-Akeim Buck –walking and looking on a Sunday Page 6-Akeim Buck -The I mentality by Page7 Henry Raby-extract from my city Page 7 Dale Prudent– Haikus Page 8--Leanne Bridgewater-Mafia in a fiat Page 9-Andy Carrington-This capitalist sluts got me in Handcuffs Page 10-Andy Carrington continued Page11-Adrian Slatcher -4/8 (from “8 Drafts of a Multi-Dimensional Poem) Page 12-Adrian Slatcher continued Page 13-Robert Francis-on the platform Page14-Luke Hogarth-There’s a nob head down my street Page15-Adam Clark– A simple equity Page 16– A simple Equity and a flare gun Page17-Adam Clark –A flare gun continued Page18-Adam Clark -To Defy Nurture & To Exceed Nature Page19-Adam Clark -the destroyerPage20-John G Hall– The Apolitical Poet Page21-John G Hall-Kill the Mickey Mouse that lives in your head, it wants your brain for cheese. Page 22-John G Hall– Continued Page23-John G Hall-Revolutions, Page 24-Info Page 25-John G HallDeference Page 26-John G Hall-You are here to go (the Rabbit Revolution) Page 27-SpaceGhost- I listen to kool Keith Page 28-Spaceghost-I listen to kool keith Page 29 /30/31 SpaceGhost-in the air. Page 32 Jessie JJ –Your source Page 33-Kelly Boyle –An introduction Page 34-Kelly Boyle-230110 Page 35-Kelly Boyle-I believe in you Page 36

230110 20 x 20cm Biro on Paper


Cuahtemóc Mountains envelope Plautdietsch banking billboards carved against the desert backdrop of northern Mexico. Ice white Mennonite blondes serve pizza– rich cheese and ranch palaces dominate a land of bare branch winter apple trees where Tarahumaras beg at traffic lights, cloaked in worn tradition primary colours against gravel… Ancke, or Marike, was not the girl I had imagined, the waitress, forbidden to talk to men [my uncle said] except to take orders, her Spanish rough and accented rounded and sliced in ways different to mine. Her words an efficiency, a stubbornness of five generations a colony, a desert island on this highway leaving Cuauhtémoc enveloped in faraway lyrics - in Europe in America - in the like me – not from here, but home. JACK LITTLE

Kelly Boyle

As an artist I am free to create my own life force. Crafting spontaneous drawings using ballpoint pens, they capture the essence of the moment in its truest form. I draw in all situations but happiest when at gigs, generally in a meditative state, each pen stroke produced in time with the beat. The eyes are the soul of my work; they give it life, enabling me to passionately connect with each piece. The emotion of the faces represents my emotion at the time they’re created. I believe that everything we see, feel or have around is balanced by contrast. There are multiple contrasting factors in my work, whether it is colours, patterns or shapes. My basic artistic concept is always to achieve balance over perfection.

For more information see her website

http://www.kellyboyle.co.uk/


Walking and looking on a Sunday. My mind lingers like the atmosphere of a bad deed I feel it the greed of the inner me, Self-centering fool, disagree with you I must For the things you speak of I really don't have interest. Look at everyone walking their walks of life all of us living but for what? It’s for living sake I think For we all go through our days with the same motive To get on the other side of the day Our endless cycle we wake up we pursue something we get tired we sleep The next day we keep working towards this thing With no clue on whether we will find it or not. Are we all self-centered beings? Or should we all actually help each other Turn to a stranger and give them money whenever For another day it will be their turn to give to you Because we are all after the same thing trying to get to the same place. akeim buck.


your not to blame , i am not playing the game we're history The I mentality by Akeim Buck I am the disbeliever of all things material. Money to me is paper given unworthy value. Paper with pictures of people who never wanted to be important, But are given this status By groups who do not value the gift of life as much as we should The tax collector becomes the venerable member in society Who must be given attention or a bond will be broken. I ask: why this bond was made? Why we created a world where living is a chore? Living should not be work it should be something we can enjoy. Living is so hard to do for the poor They fear having a day off work For bills have the possibility of not being paid. Life has become a huge list of deadlines to be made and figures to be counted. Why not stop all of what we do and do something new. The face of the planet needs to change, We need to readjust, and a rebuilding of our society needs to be made A destruction of the material and superficial variables in life is in order. We must change everything because it is inhumane and selfish The way we live everyone is out to succeed for own selfish pleasure I am guilty of it too but I am just doing as a human do Which is to adapt to my surroundings to survive, the preservation of the id. Now a new has come, where the camouflage has to be withered Man has forgotten truest of values so now the man who knows Must live what he knows so others can see the message No more hiding the divinity in man’s thought Explore the mass which is always there but so easily not seen Due to the chase of the green, all mankind has become consuming fiends The eye of man now has no choice In order to make change the line must be broken The eye must be open so I can live in the open.

parting ways , i know why caged birds sing i have a reflection , gotta lotta walls good times , upon the arrival of you i had a panic attack so watch out i am the one playing musical chairs so say hey there to me and then BAM next minute your pouring me drinks i use to think i was smart but guess i was just crazy she had an angels face that night i felt like a little man overthrown , they call it love , you make me want to have secrets too she is horny sunshine , she is number 1 , dont forget Do Peyote and party over here and make the sun come out


Adjust all i mean

Extract from My City

at a place where i can learn that sound is vibration ,

by Henry Raby

many a modern man , many a scapegoat , messy handwritting seems like my head caved in , in my prime with sad sad plans such sad plans , and thats more like it I am not free or dead , have had a homecoming party , had a fight and i can write , so im mixed up ,

Take a walk in my city When the sun shines, you’ll always find a space patch of grass, see old bricks cascade in light and with the sound of a busker in the background things can just feel right. Nestled and secure, my city was a city of safe swords and soldiers. It is protected, it’s thick walls a humbling shell. It doesn’t reach too high, just enough to fit into a tourist’s snapshot while the roots sap deep on history. We have maps on display; we pretend not to have mysteries. My city has a lot of growing up to do.

They are all going to laugh at you. more paranoid than normal just trying to make friends again and again and again and

Oh Blue Sky Thinking

i have been through a break up or two

Corporate Gobshittery

the woman with the tattoo was nothing but sunshine , made me travel

Sat Outside the Box

and between the lines i cry for the sheep

Woah! Coulson and Brooks Cameron looks on sadly

no need to question my intentions it goes . if i was santa claus i would be an aspiring sociopath but i am not any of them getting lost and found lost and found lost and found lost and found God loves it if your ugly , give me strength ! , fuck you friend because lovelife saves the day , cashier in a convenience store , asleep on the floor , met a girl with hope , one of a kind

"I thought she loved me?" Opportunity Comes round here regularly But not for us two Jeremy's gutted Lewisham Hospital saved Hands off NHS Prices up again It's shareholder ecstacy Eat or heat the choice Dale prudent


Mafia in a fiat: Fruit for thought Leanne Bridgewater #1 World Culturely A neo nazi soprano soaps an elderberry in Idaho, it hoes know to see soap a man go from dirt to polished, squeaks cleandom neon lights shown, from his ass. It’s night grown and that’s to see a strawberry in the place of Bury, Text Fest impressed but where’s the visual poetry, of a lime in cockle shelter hell, in mock all at fruit stall. 49p for 3 melons? 49p for 3 melons? A dyslexic confished correction, for it be bitter instead – LE MOON scarpered and tippled over, scraping its knee on velvet gutter and gin. Bug it bitter, jitterbug, and booty – she’s got peaches juicier than Grand Elf or El der, berry, er, hayleberry, Bert said, “I like lychees on a bed of dates”, they are easy. One night standstills of a pearchap shacking shape morph but what goes baa is a naan burnt – tikkaway bail: Hitlergy, after he who squashed grapes with his feet made the pleasures of wine. A sheep overlooks his doing and says, “What the muck?

she's a success , better off without me getting rid was the best thing you ever did driving back from Kernow i said drop me in Burnage even through we lived in North Reddish is that it then ? wake up today hoping for a better tomorrow i want to bang on a t.v and do whatever it suggests when i moved out i posted my key and found a pen with its lid on found a dead bird on the doorstep and never forgot thanks for coming to visit me no hard feelings i love Kool Keith in the air so long sad sad poet so long

# 2 A portrait of a Lozenge

Sad Sad Clown hugging a pillow , swollowing the pill

If nor loz it was a poor for paws throat bloat stomach atom with a gun, shot in the throat-singed butt pissed out as a traitor. It Porsche on garfunklet age it ate miles of vengeance, the evangelists coma thrive: We have ye a liver to swap for a sweetner

being so forward , running away with scissors

#3 I am no lemon, am cunt

the ocean i have heard looks great when it breaks things

If I can’t say I’m cunt then can it count as being wrong if I couldn’t have the chance to be cunt then don’t get me wrong, if it is wrong that I a cunt, and I call myself that then what it gestures is I spat on an overcoming males shoulder. If I to say my cunt’s a badger would it be budge all to smudge, if I pret a manger out my cunt for brunch would men, they not come lunch? If the coming is too late then cunt will stay in some detention, if I daren’t say cunt then you say cunt as see what it accounts for, a badger or a weasel-y whore?

and someones fashion magazine in love with the wind , Hungry as fuck what on earth is hell if not a playground

i am certain i feel something but really inside buildings i am a outsider , would rather be by the river in outcast weather conditions like it is 1597 should give a brief description but never will


now what ? i have feelings yo you don't have to have sex with a stranger to tell me it's over , but don't get me wrong , that would help , don't get it twisted we was in a relationship not a marriage your on the rebound , i am getting reconised in the castle and truthfully am missing the arguments mainly we both had a totaly different upbringing now im just memorising excuses for the hell of it try not taking the piss , i am not as much of an idiot as you might think so what if i liked you , i will let go and nothings wrong , all is right now i pretend we was in a film i wathed ONCE all i do is listen to birds sing , when im not swimming that is , or learning Kool Keith lyrics decent , drop a hefty verse if she ever trys coming over and the fact i passed her without noticing her vibes means a lot to me too busy in council estate mode im yet to go to war but i am getting closer and not looking back is easier said than done let the ghosts sing with me during this madness do you think im faking it ? or am i living on the edge on my knees grabbing under my bed and rocking back and forth waving a remote at the mirror . You phoned me to say Bosco was dead , you upset me , well the thought of our pet dieing did and i could not help but to think we somehow caused our cats death

This Capitalist Slut’s Got Me in Handcuffs She likes the makeup; she likes to plaster it on to make her seem beautiful. I fell for her when I was young even though she was loaded and way out of my league. Her tits used to be pert but now they’re saggy with age; and her breath stinks that I smell it wherever I go. She’s on every street corner; cheap perfume and rotting vaginal juices, she takes men in then fucks them kills their wills and senses till they’re slowly dying. She gets me down so much I drink and smoke drink and smoke till I’m horny and ringing her up begging to be fucked again. There’s others like me -- scabs on her otherwise perfect cunt – who’ll go after her wanting to feel alive. It used to be the men, all sexist and powerful now she’s the one who’s just so fierce and flauntful.


I try to ignore her, as many others I know try to do as well. No matter how much we say she’s bad, though, still we pursue her believing her to be something so rightfully good; something, so pure. Andy Carrington Relationships can be difficult to break free from. Especially when they’ve taken over a huge part of your life...

i listen to Kool Keith , I t does'nt matter that you dumped me No , no , no , NNNNNNNNN Not that bothered yeah , do what you want , move on , let your friends and family influence your decisions they don't know me babe remember when we was together, back then i use to listen to Kool Keith and imagine us not lasting forever and the good thing about getting dumped is; the excitement of meeting someone new you like me in red underpants and a see thru raincoat but i nearly got dumped when she discovered the photo we're besotted and acting dafter than daft in her pressence i am ready to believe what she is prepaired to tell me blasting aliens in the background and pointing out of the open window like crazy i can entertain myself plus one in my bedroom , a box of mad fun don't even try to say im making it up ask yourself why i let you down i am easily replaced and so is she , it has been years , so long it does'nt even hurt anymore on 14th May 2008 i realised on the bus what we had was gone but it was on 1st March 2009 that we decided to call it a day but then she still messaged me in 2011 to see if i wanted sex , i had a girlfriend so could'nt accept what she had said , so instead the responce i sent was vile , it took some guts to send , the end of everything we had worked so hard for


You are here to go (the Rabbit Revolution) We are frozen not good enough resignation accepted deals with devils done suffering death in life ransoming every other family for our own, drinking love to sleep feasting on sex to wake sat at the back of the cave guarding our precious bones preferring the pitch of darkness to the fall of shadows on the wall cast up by the fire raging inside us, a nest of rabbits caught in the middle of the road, a mesmerized society eyes wide as spinning dinner plates waiting for dictatorship to swerve away, but the driver has a death grip on the wheel his bloody foot is nailed fast to the accelerator he wants to feel the skin and guts in his tread wants to wear you and feast on his road kill, turn way from the light and choose your life only action only your thump will save you now to save your own skin know your own mind and gather the colony, leave the nest and go! You are here, to go! So go, go, go, before you are eaten up by the road. Jgh

4/8 (from “8 Drafts of a Multi-Dimensional Poem) A crash mat for a safe landing – expecting fractures – Playing eight ball in the afternoon – carpet sticky with neglect I line up the white and see over the table where a woman is watching us play – We all slip up – say the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wrong girl – Life is full of misgivings – no wonder the playboy becomes the priest – I have no such story – cynical about this world and powerless – What have I done wrong and why do I keep doing it? The faded movie posters give the memory a point in time – What shifts is our perception – the movie was panned when it was released – The transitional arrangements for our departure are in place Life is split between our nomad spirit and marking out a territory – I lit up the sky around you but you weren’t in the mood for fireworks – Or rather: other forces are at play – there’s been a shift – Pluto is no longer classed as a planet – so our uncertainty grows – They say he was last seen rooting through dustbins in search of polystyrene – Was it only I who knew your intention? That and the grants panel – Seems there is method in our madnesses – I approved of the colour scheme – The shortlist requires no introduction – past lives are uncontrollable


The memories that seep into our consciousness are beyond comprehension Some good it will do me – the value is too tight – air pockets expand Each day spend an hour looking at the water – Such is the sound and meaning of loss – it carries weight – Sitting down with an 8oz steak cooked medium rare Because you can’t risk anything bloodier in a British kitchen – World leaders are gathering and I can’t help notice the paradox – Eight men and women around which history turns – Do they go to sleep at night to dream of burning flesh? Somewhere on an assembly line in Northern Europe A new memory-powered drone is being put together Using ten thousand parts 3D printed in South Korea – The synapses and the nerve paths – we can still see the sun – Catch the sunset flight along the migratory channels This year there were white lilacs everywhere – the purples didn’t flourish. Adrian Slatcher

Deference Broken down and broken up the mazy chains fall on us mind binding in full practice milked human kindness sour deference drip fed in solution one percent asked submission make buy die birds being free everyone knows not to dream the island of Manhattan bought with $28 dollars’ worth of beads your interval of time between birth and death is being sold a perfect teeth slim wasted flesh object held as model A9 approved as long as it works do not cry out the whip stings do not dare release the pain in some historical situations it has been legal for owners to kill their slaves slavery is rare amongst hunter gatherer people the high mountains are calling me the wilderness inside seeks equality to perhaps join a rebel guerilla army and wait for the great red bat sign to the fill the burning bloody sky. jgh


*Copernicus' epochal book, De revolutionibus orbium coelestium (On the Revolutions of the Celestial Spheres), published just before his death in 1543, is often regarded as the starting point of modern astronomy and the defining epiphany that began the scientific revolution. His heliocentric model, with the Sun at the center of the universe, demonstrated that the observed motions of celestial objects can be explained without putting Earth at rest in the center of the universe. His work stimulated further scientific investigations, becoming a landmark in the history of science that is often referred to as the Copernican Revolution. *Nicolaus Copernicus (German: Nikolaus Kopernikus; Italian: Nicolò Copernico; Polish: Mikołaj Kopernik; in his youth, Niclas Koppernigk;[1] 19 February 1473 – 24 May 1543) was a Renaissance astronomer and the first person to formulate a comprehensive heliocentric cosmology which displaced the Earth from the center of the universe.[2] *"Revolution is never practical - until the hour of revolution strikes. Then it alone is practical, and all the efforts of the conservatives and compromisers become the most visionary and futile of human imaginings. For that hour let us work, think and hope. For that hour let us pawn our present ease in hopes of a glorious redemption: For that hour let us prepare the hosts of labour with intelligence sufficient to laugh at the nostrums dubbed practical by our slave-lords - practical for the perpetuation of our slavery: For the supreme crisis of human history let us watch like sentinels with weapons ever at the ready." ~James Connolly ~ James Connolly (Irish: Séamas Ó Conghaile,[1] 5 June 1868 – 12 May 1916) was an Irish republican and socialist leader. He was born in the Cowgate area of Edinburgh, Scotland, to Irish immigrant parents and spoke with a Scottish accent throughout his life.[2] He left school for working life at the age of 11, but became one of the leading Marxist theorists of his day. He also took a role in Scottish and American politics. He was executed by a British firing squad because of his leadership role in the Easter Rising of 1916.

On the platform His steel strings, I see them rusting; his tune – a hissed blue flame. The midnight stations frozen metal benches they point out who to blame. She traps him as he sits down, pulling at his skin with her clumsy ballet. He coughs into his thin wrist – with fist clenched in prayer that she would hear. He tries to blink – a hieroglyph He holds his barbed wire breath in. He watches as she takes a note, Frowning as she fails to fix. He says, “please, could you mark this now attempt to mark, mark this space that I’m holding. He stands as the ship comes – he wants the seat that is the furthest away, but as he stands he feels the ripping and she sits with his liver in her fingers. She moves her eyes as if it’s his fault, as the bile burns down on the board walk. But he just stands he will never be barking, at least not until he’s alone. He carries blue flames on his thin wrists and he coughs, he shrugs and his steel strings are still rusting. I turn to see more and more flocking, Watching dancers sleepy frolic. I’m not sure if I am safe to step on that same old street. Robert Francis


Sure there is nob down my street There's a Nob who lives down my street, I know he's a nob From what he wears on his feet, he wears red doc martins laced in white, He’s a shaven headed bastard of the ultra-right,

Revolutions Copernicus seeded celestial motion into every revolutionary movement

He wears ben Sherman and skinny red braces; he says he's a skinhead,

'De revolutionibus orbium coelestium'

But he’s not, he’s a racist, he hates other people, he thinks their unclean,

Connolly arms tied by British murderers played the atheist prey of good Christians

But he drinks their larger and eats their cuisine; he has a bagel for his breakfast And a curry for his tea, but his favourite man in history, is a fucking dead Nazi, But he is as just a sypalitic parasite, a bloody disgrace, he was no fucking champion Of the master race, he says he's proud of his heritage, proud he's white, But he’s an evil Nazi Bastard of the ultra-right, you incoherent bonehead, you really take the piss, With your Nazi ideology, you drive me round the twist; I hate everything about you, I hate what you’ve become; you’re the epitomy of ignorance,

but knew the signs of coming eruptions not a socialist Nostradamus a class Einstein his sums work on the cell walls of prisons each social equation tested on picket lines the Parliaments of pubs, fields and streets behind the equal signs sit prophetic answers ‘Revolution is never practical until the hour of revolution strikes then it alone is practical’ as gravity spins a web of dead rocks and ice black balls the matter of stars into planets

You lousy Nazi scum

pulls the rabbit of life from dark interiors so revolution brews and bubbles and digs

Luke Hogarth

under the City Gods unholy black jack economy the mole of revolution is heading for the surface. jgh(c)2012


Xbox, or a good fucking ipod, or a good fucking night out, or a good fucking fucking, whether they want it or not, aaaah get over it punk, it says all this with a child lite voice to conjurer up your innocence, it counts on it, it arms your children with dreams of slippery coins to lead them better to oblivion, this human farce is too serious to be left to comics and rodents , today it sits on Clegg and Cameron's lap blowing them each time they cut another vein, it laps up your youth, with its black inky lips, gobbles on your love, sucks out your hopes, then sings a song of Hollywood gossip and the three zillion to one chance you could make it to the top, it wants you sitting comfortably while it begins gnawing at your world. while it gnaws at your hard won prizes, while it gnaws on you. Yeah! Kill the Mickey Mouse that lives in your head, it wants your brains for cheese. Kill that fucking Mickey Mouse before it kills you!

A Simple Equality 27.8.13 adam clark She lives in the forest Stroking bees And pressing her lips against the bark of the trees Talking to all Because all is alive While we guffaw through the restrictions of our own lies She asks for the Sun And it duly comes We treat our luck like a curse And still it gets worse She follows the flow of life While we submit to a freedom Which only comes Once we've closed our eyes She gathered her resources together And now she can paint She writes poetry to the trees Upon their bark She knows that their spirit will forever keep her safe She knows this So she'll never need to ask She asks for the Sun And it duly comes

http://www.storiesofparoxysm-adam-clark.co.uk/ His new single is out march


We treat our luck like a curse And still it gets worse She follows the flow of life While we submit to a freedom Which only comes Once we've closed our eyes And oh how we are so civilized The Paranoia Oh the Pressure So sure of actions, Which have never given us pleasure Smug yet never knowing Never sure Too petrified to ever, ever want for more. A Flare Gun Sign me up for sacrifice I want to do something with my life Instead of being enslaved by every day Such a quiet resurrection Rises from the unmarked grave Just keep your mouth shut You got paid Meaning is demeaned If you had any decorum anyway? This is so far from what I dreamed But our ideals have been rarely met Our longings fade out And we forget To stand for something is to be met with a blank face The standards are so low in this place To talk beyond is to speak of the unknown ‘Pretentious and ridiculous’, they scoff As they drag you further below

Kill the Mickey Mouse that lives in your head, it wants your brain for cheese.

Kill the Mickey Mouse that lives in your head, it wants your brain for cheese, it wants to dandify death, it wants to kiss better Armageddon, it wants to lie down with your Lion and turn him into lamb, it wants to candify genocide, it wants to loop a laugh in your soul that will drown out the screams of bombs it wants to lead rich rats to your heart , it whistles while they work at numbing your righteous nerves, it calls for laughter and pratfalls to be your manifestos, it fancies dressing you up in red noses and nurses uniforms, while it bathes in lemonade champagne and smokes ginger bread cigars, it dances on each human rights grave, 'cheer up it may never happen' it squeals, while it happens to your family again and again, 'you've got to laugh' it whispers this, insists on it, it wraps up horror, rape, war, murder, corruption, violence, betrayal , poverty, debt and death, relax your head can take it, it only exists between your ears, what are the moaning commies going on about, they just need a good


The Apolitical Poet He had a slumber party in mind And we were all invited. His chosen method of suicide Self-administered crucifixion, He was brave before professors Cowardly after the main events, Wars, strikes, famines, murders, Rapes, tortures, betrayals, poison, Passed through him, human roughage, Passing through his wormy eaten soul. He had a slumber party in mind And we were all invited. Dear reader can you refuse Such a pleasant fire escape, Such a feather bedded life boat Of whimsical piss and vinegar, Such a tip tap toeing around evil Shushing us as if we were children? He has a slumber party in mind Are you feeling drowsy yet? Or are you sitting Uncomfortably? If so then I’ll begin………………… John G.Hall©

Meaning is demeaned If you had any decorum anyway This is so far from what I dreamed But our ideals have been rarely met Our longings fade out And we forget

To stand for something is to be met with a blank face The standards are so low in this place To talk beyond is to speak of the unknown ‘Pretentious and ridiculous’, they scoff As they drag you further below Meaning is demeaned If you had any decorum anyway This is so far from what I dreamed But our ideals have been rarely met Our longings fade out And we forget When did this country become Hell? Demonic grins And thoughts which never, ever Wished you well No want for loyalty No want for trust ‘You can only join if you become one of us’! Walking the streets you wonder If you are the only one You might be the only one who survived As these demons shoot down the likes of you As, their only means to stay alive Mayday Mayday! Bring your flare gun I fear I might be the only one Emergency Emergency! Please see the smoke behind the trees Would you rescue me?


To Defy Nurture & To Exceed Nature 17.10.13

She broke away from the physical And lived through her soul

It was never going to be easy for you

Kind & Brave

Your mother went into labour

Courageous & Compassionate

With a black eye and two ribs bruised

The Destroyer

An adolescence continued With more bad news So many would have longed to crawl back into the womb With no standards of influence It's all lessons and lows Learning the hard way If she comes out alive Then she must be more alive than most Growing up Becomes a case Of how much can you take? When a parents words are packed with venom Which sees the spirit break Whatever saved her must have come from deep inside her mind For her physical mentors knew little of what it is to be kind With no standards of influence It's all lessons and lows

Do you want to tell me a story? Do you want to spin me a lie? I know you And I can't see any truth in your eyes He smiles and pats me on the back But I can see the knife tied to his thigh His words are deep and exact But I have heard them a thousand times Really he's saying to me, ‘Follow me, oh, follow me’ Like a child holding fathers hand Smiling and laughing, but you don’t know his plans. Your smiling and laughing, but you don’t know his plans He bought out the Garden of Eden So he could dig an entrance to Hell And his victims... erm, I mean friends! That is where, that is where they dwell

Rising from the lows

But you, my friend, will not destroy me I have met you and your kind But I have yet to decide Do I gain or lose a bit of myself every time? I definitely know That I’m always leaving something behind... Top of Form

What do we behold?

Bottom of Form

Learning the hard way If she comes out alive Then she must be more alive than most

A passion for life She knows so much of what can be She is the happy ending While most of us would have died off in the tragedy


thejunkyardprocession issue2