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by Keith Woodhouse




Pink Spaceship


Trusting wands in whispers shadow

glancing feather soft innuendo milky

salt winds wind in trancelike moonlight

the kettles on smokey strains stranded

shrouded clouds the magic puff train

wings of dawn tearduct eyelash words

like love on downs surround ice cream

daffodil soulful spirit dreams light rays

spinning through voices of gossamer realities

tuned into distant cosmic entities sunset

horizons mystical a thousand universes collide.




a line, (a short blue one)



Mental Hospital 2


I am still mentally ill because of the pills,

I spend my time thinking of film stills and staring at window sills,

The planets are moving round,

In each universe of sound,

It is the half an hour build up to tea,

Never a borrower or a lender be,

Old Nessie's crashed out on the lithium,

The clock ticks by the sterile tedium,

There's no parole we're on the dole,

An exorcist, a medium,

Two psychos and a manic,

A car mechanic, somewhat hispanic,

All doing life,

For acting out of character

Drama queen, failed Actor

Stick a needle in your arse and call it love.

To solve the riddle of God above,

The nature of sin,

Thought or deed?

Or too much weed?

Is it innate or LSD induced?

You've got to admit there's something wrong somewhere,

Five doctors the diagnosis deduced,

Hosed him down and shaved his hair,

A Lion in a Lion's lair,

He overdid the whacky backey,

A tragedy tantamount to Nagasaki,

Altercations inevitable in institutions,

Rudely obstructed morning ablutions,

Bored patients constantly torturing each other,

Provoking violence from a brother.




a line, (a short blue one)





Liturgy Italic Dialectic

Freemason up and latent give,

Up on smoke and bone

Doped streaked eyes like lead,

Sequetered planet plantation,

Plankton itching in their curleas

Tomorrow howls in my drawer,

Living in the rich quick of something,

Psychiatrist approaching,

Shit in the spent brow,

Babied through it all.

Memory from Mothercare.




a line, (a short blue one)



Hilton Abstract


Killing time

It ain't no crime

We rhyme in time

Time is an enemy.

As the seconds tick past,

From the future to the past,

How long will it last?

To do the task?

That is all I ask.

Still I write and paint,

Like a prophet and a saint.

It ain't not what it ain't,

I paint inside out and upside down,

I paint old man druggies with a boozey frown.




a line, (a short blue one)





Needle thin, silvikrin, 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 blue one)


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