Dissecting a space, Words by Alan Whitfield


The spaces pull,
Under my skin.
No surface itches,
Drawn to the light.

Inside the whale,
Tentatively,
Contemplating,
Shafts of white.

A nasal breech,
Sawdust,
stale bleach,
Industrial fridge murder.

Christmas rush hush,
long gone.
Blaming lame public,
Purchase pessimism.

And you will stay no more,
No carpet floor.
A black corner.
No longer warm.

 

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No-Tory-Us


I am not a leper,

nor was I ever.

I did sign on once though.

Just a means to adhere.

 I wanted to improve me,

bad chances went my way.

I was told a different name

not dole of handouts fame.

Mentally I moved on?

My scars aren’t glued on.

A blue frown rigid,

juxtaposing your deep cuts.

Austerity and Caviar

Daimler Bankers Peers

off shore accounts

no fears…

A Short film of memories and dreams


I manged to get into my old junior school before it was knocked down. In the short film there is footage from the production we did of ‘Joseph and his amazing Technicolor dream coat’. Looking back this was a massive effort from the community. While musicals not been something im interested in this feet still makes me smile. Please enjoy The last days of school

My Past, My future


Somethings are like red wine stains, they are difficult to remove with time get faint but will always last. You can add formulas to remove them. This is my formula!

Cleaning mess of some guys trade.

Right place wrong face.

Scrap heap imprint stupidity,

please give me some validity.

 
Closure of the grinding,

mini cans close my mind in.

Musical defibrillation.

No else to confined with.

 

Time has raced to evolve on.

Scared but wise, still I despise.

Now I’m here, thoughts, no care.

The grinding sparks have untied me.

 

Your age shows experience.

delivery, I can’t contain this.

Feeling the greater love,

enormous glow music buzz.

 

I look to crashing tides.

Screens project our minds.

Well trodden yet fresh,

just this time its mine.

 

Last night cleansed me.

The vocal lifeline echoes.

Your mess connecting to me

love rein on me

A poem about leaving. Last Call For Whitfield


3 1/2 hours on train in 25 degrees builds a certain momentum to leave. Add this with the deadline of a departing flight to catch. In the time on the train from Milazzo to Palermo the only entertainment was a rather large bee that was flying up and down the carriage. If i could have vignetted the corners of my field of vision it would have been a seen from a classic european film. Everyone was watching this bee with a look of ‘don’t come near me’. It could have run a mock on the packed train. It also got me thinking that when it went backwards down the carriage does that class as time travel?

Last Call For Whitfield

Churn,
On time,
Just!
Mount settle breath.

Sound makes sense,
but I don’t understand.
Round beads form,
Fall like the words.

Moving fast,
Time dam slow!
How long can it last.
Where to look.

And I’m sick of the sea,
straight blue line beauty,
Following me home,
Crashing harrowing free.

A dog sleeps alone.
The platform grown.
Drunk man ego.

Bump!

I arrive,
Get me out,
Away.
To be free…

Alan in Sicily Day#2


Ottimo!

image

Still sat under the same tree strangely it’s called a word press tree 😉

Settled in well yesterday even if i had phone my data roaming on for a bit 😦

Chatted lots with Allie she is an artist from chicago she cool although my dull sit Widnesian tones confuse sometimes.

Actually sat in the sun yesterday which was novel for me. I ve got a watch now so i must get a tan.

Recreated a clash song today ‘i got lost in supermarket’ even Allie said it was bigger than anything she had seen in the states. Then the fun began. I got to the till with the apples i had bought. I didn’t realise you had put your own code on from a register. So pulling that dum english face we have all pulled due to losing it in translation the kind lady swiftly behind me in the que whisked my apples off to bar code them for me. Scusi 🙂

We went to the village restaurant last night. It was great even if the manager of the gaff did come over and shake my hand. He tried to get me to pay for all the bill 🙂

Found this for my dad. Peroni beer
image

 

Rd. East (Alan Whitfield)


Rd. East

 

A testing time.

I know this road so well.

I hope the man does?

A ridge of snow make the centre line.

 

So far from home.

Yet I know the tarmac,

Like the ridges on my hands.

Voices that frequently turned to laughs.

 

A sign glows.

Trespassers will be prosecuted.

It should have read,

Family’s to be divided.

 

Wind skims the waves.

Loch so vast.

Again I’m by water,

Contemplating my past.