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Keith Woodhouse






Needle thin, silvikin, silver slithers,

Born with a Gemini moon and a silver spoon,

Turtle neck, tortoise neck, Taurus neck,

The words of a dead man ratified in the living.


Biblical faces fading into spaces,

Different races in localised places,

Pencils, stencils and utensils,

Obstetrics to cure all your ills.


Pink roses popping out my eyes,

Words wind up my head with lies,

Purple streaked with yellow skies,

My love she lays down my head with sighs.



a line, (a short blue one)


Mental Hospital


Slamming doors, huge thumping sounds;

Prison officers standing all around

Medication that fucks the psyche,

Tracksuit bottoms by Adidas or Nike.


Day time television blaring out,

Psychosis is the removal of all self-doubt,

Global telepathy in our heads,

Psychic sleeping in our beds.


I sent a poem to a magazine

I take my Depakote and Thorazine

Permanent cigarette and cup of tea

Shaving mirror reflecting me.


What are those mansions of the mind?

What sort of people do we find?

Within these walls, sequestered away,

No one’s going home today.


Threatened by high security,

Medicated mental purity,

The purity of raw violence,

How about some space and silence?



a line, (a short blue one)




There are no reasons, no names and no days,

We are gone and spent in all our ways,

The trees breathe language into my head,

When the work days work are said,

Rose flowers the mortal petals of longing,

I lose all sense of having been or ever belonging,

The songs I sing are all the songs of songing,

The empty floods of language flow,

On futile bushes the words do grow,

The moon laughs in the bath,

The sun screams in naked wrath,

A poet of sorts, self-taught,

Wrangling, twisted, demented, wraught,

To create my fate before it’s too late,

Because I know that time won’t wait.



a line, (a short blue one)


Pisces Moon


In the alacritous break of a second’s storm

Inclement exact and quicksilver vibrant

Taught the errant lands of desert norms

In the corrective fluid I bend you down.


Travelling atoms molecular-systematic vibration

All is cool and clear as water

Brute-stubborn wheeze dropping laugh

Tortuous paths tantamount to mountains.


My foxglove day of raging hemispheres

Thoughts of all sorts travelling and piercing

In the woning of the goning the hungry evil harvest falls

Best sunk the puddle drink in memory.


Machiavellian scraped skies bathing in the randy sun

In the haunting void my calibre runs

Little mercury spirits bring me Venusian food products

The calm quickly waxen ducts.



a line, (a short blue one)




We are sexual, telepathic, word orientated goofs,

We are nebulous, necromantic, prehensile,

We are roaming, reared and romantic,

We are benign, bovine and bizarre,

Our residencies are eclectic,

Places, like time, happen anywhere.

We have free will yet constantly fight our own destiny,

And cannot subjugate matter over fidelity,

We are born to remember ourselves,

Holding statue in the face of volition,

The road is fraught with danger,

We are supernuminaries on the stage of the world theatre,

Human life is both precious and dispensable,

The societies that have occurred are meretricious,

Tribal chaos veneered by bouncing colour,

Adult schizomania rages, civilisation’s final stages,

We are lumpen incarnate, mind-altered,

The world is a representation of our complexities,

By computer programmed serendipity,

And we are myriad, scattered, running,

Peopled by a thousand continents,

Jolly on the hop, a multi-faceted being.



a line, (a short blue one)




The night was over

And the sea curds crackled

And bent,

            crisply, in the deadening rays

Of morning,

            As she sank into the bank

Of the sand speckled

            Tulip blossom

And angry

            Red spangled pupil sun.


The flat marram pools

            spoke lizards

To the turkey sitting on an egg yolk.

Country chunk animals


Sheep hopping over styles

And farm-captained land

            Grand and handsome

In the green wheat field

            Sun shaken fairy-tale,

Magic castle,


Peopled and happening.


a line, (a blue one)


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