Hidden page. Art produced during a period in the years leading up to mid 2017.




Rotting Yellows - The Football Disasters

Various Keepers of England Untidy

Once again I call to the stand - the Right Wing!

To contest the label of 'The Free and The Brave'

Instead, it's made the world All-Or-Nothing

And told all the children, there's a god who'll save


The old world crumbled, washed away in the tide

All past arrangements were forgotten

Warnings, trembling elders were swept aside

Mocked, treated like something rotten

Approved morals - God, took a back seat

The Left was attacked, Control took a new course

Remaining masters turned down their heat

Giants were thrust in the way with force

The Larger-Than-Life compelled men to follow

Revealed an arena where they would demonise

Showed often, their new world had no sorrow

Said Have Faith in what was before the eyes

Sofas, benches and bench seats replaced the pew

Wisdoms, doctrines were rebranded from the past

The giants paved the way for whatever was true

A new, better grip to hold the hopefuls fast



X woke late, and so did Y

They'd even got merry, not twenty feet apart

But Y was a king, and X lived in a sty

Y had dream cars, X's was more of a cart

Both worked hard, both were busy bees

Mostly. Y had other lines, side by side

And the snorting types, paid with great ease

Footballer, Star. On that treasure trail ride.

X was just himself. X made ends meet

Or tried to, at minus-something

X = X, minus real ground under his feet

Minus the rewards a fair chance would bring

He closed yesterday's tabloid back page

Thoughts and feelings settled into a haze

He composed himself like preparing for a stage

Went out to work, on the last of his days

Most of it went as it always goes

But today more aligned nicely, by chance

Y, almost as a trade, had abundant woes

And passed over the day's horoscope trance

It was his last too. Fated, some would have said

That a divinity had had them paired

In fact, it turned out to be fantastic instead

Random, near perfect symmetry if compared

Y's day had been helping England to fail

He'd even tried to, hushed up, ill and vague

And not alone had he raised that tangled sail

On Exclusive Vanity, spreading wide a hapless plague

Failing was harder, after the Olympics

Miserable fate cut deeper than before

The high payroll needed better tactics

A better act for the burden he bore

All or nothing - Y told himself each day

To blunt the old edges that cut him

His lot - a miraculous life was the only way

And the other, was downhill to grimmer than grim

- Where X was, and holding on in pain

Shakes could tumble him out of control

Pressure kept him highly productively insane

A battery farm? Just one up from a begging bowl

X consoled himself, watching England

Told himself everything is a game

Without playing - not feeling in command

He had a vague idea of who he should blame

He saw Y, spectacularly in defeat

Nearly content to not have seen it live

He readied himself and walked into the street

Nodding to early tantrums, mingling to survive

A pair, another pair of feet wobbled apart

Another wall took a dark, glistening sheen

Spitting and cursing, and another loud fart

Turned heads from another completed obscene

The dark wall commandeered paving slabs

And more, the wet blurred blobs of spit

It hissed with burning cigarette tabs

And diluted, ran stagnant rivulets of vomit

Anguish burned from hundreds, maybe thousands of eyes

A chorus united and hailed "England is beat"

Road signs were struck and with practised war cries

Bottles punished England, hurled high to smash them or the street.

The half-hearted play was an expected embarrassment

A familiar, infamous battle re-enacted

With rehearsed, witnessed scandals of harassment

Collateral, and spice to keep the followers distracted


The fans rarely give it a shot

Changing, too often seems too hard a task

And the crowd, has them tied in a knot

To soak up celebrity rays, lazily bask

They could kick balls themselves

And get a good workout in the process

Too many, after work are onto shelves

Letting heroes create their industrial mess

Guilt and pride, in what they say it's about

Rarely improving, rarely developing their art

Display. Who sounds best when they shout!

Frenzied chance, hope. Tempers allowed to depart

And they should stop and turn their backs

Go on strike, No more spectators!

Until the sport is back on its tracks

And the players are once again gladiators


Y debated whether appearance should be made

In the pub. Should he show his face?

Freshly fleeced fans were better off in the shade

Exploding, calming, and going back to their place

He went through all facial expressions

Seeing which ones were a no-no

Seeing which looked like confessions

But want of mutual comfort, dared him to go

He got his comfort, expected quotas filled

And his appearance didn't go unharassed

For his performance he was medium-grilled

But without incident, the evening gathering passed

Mixed-race Z was heaped with praise

Admirably, he'd carried the only guiding light

But different paths he had through the maze

Different plans were drawn for black and white

And different portrayal, of Nature and Colour

And Nouse. Like the other reputed repressed

Betrayal, of the... altogether sillier, wronger, duller...

Deserving. Passed off as mixing, and hate as jest

We're back to the main axis, the Right Wing

Who plan exactly who's weak and who's strong

Affording the ever-lowly little, if anything

Excusing, accusing like the church, of inherent wrong

Z's paths had extra, long dark corridors

With flickering flames... white anti-white sluts

Jabbing wounds, clutching, with packaged straws

To emerge as idols, mainly hopefuls and idiots

X knew one of those, forever on laurels

Thought himself a bull, given things to smash

A fraud every day. Dismantled of all morals

Jealously stamping other sparks and flames to ash


X and Y left the pub, this time for good

In courtesy, holding open the doors

Poetically, to leave as they would

They'd now reached their final scores

Each went home to a dreamful sleep

Earlier, X's fortunes had roused his spirit

But now, they'd crashed so hard it made him weep

Down further... he dreamed of a bottomless pit

In one of his lines, Y had struck gold

He sprawled, in a heap of contempt and a sigh

Elated, in paradise his dream would unfold

He felt cleared to take off in the highest sky


X landed and saw the sky, a faint blue patch

No one could have survived

But he got up without a bruise or scratch

And nearly believing himself many-lived

A warmth like a promising note,

Played gently in a scene, to lead him on

To a tunnel of dark water and a waiting boat

Fearless, he rowed to where a distant light shone

The light burned him as he drew near

And another could be seen along the silent way

Covering his head, he left his hands to sear

Then dark, with the glare passing further away

The destination was guarded by dazzling light

Or the escape - behind him was the past

Returning didn't exist, was nowhere a plight

Onwards to tranquillity, clear and vast

Certainty and wonder ran through his veins

A great heirloom that he had to collect

The fading of long-suffered pains,

Now only a sensation he could barely detect

Another boat approached, greetings were exchanged

X knew him somehow, the one-man crew

A stranger here, and somehow far more estranged

- Y. Uprooted, collecting some burden he was due

A third presence was felt, beyond the wall

A statue in a protected exhibition space

Seeing, staring like a cyclops eyeball

- Z. Through a hole, just a dark round face

X and Y departed, still only a word spoken

As before, like they were never meant to meet

Z's unfathomable distraction was broken

And the water was again a dark mirror sheet

X navigated the remaining burning lights

And slept through a peaceful summer's daybreak

Lying on soft grass in a meadow of nature's delights

They soothed his burns and let him gently wake

They told him five were ready, out of eight

His sleeping, real face smiled in glee

Where he was, well that could wait!

And what else existed and who ever else could see

Included, was the best yoga and massage

He'd never had so much practised perfection

He could come and go, all at no charge

Had he died, was this a resurrection?

He knew some believed that to be true

Snapping alert, he spun in a fighting poise

Maybe they were here, that's how they knew!

Did he have to defend his startled joys?

But this dream had no combat

And there were no other men around

He'd forgotten Y, and Z in his strange habitat

He and the ladies enjoyed the pleasures around

A lavish resort. Tranquil island and sea

For the civilised, buffets, barbecues and bars

Somehow. Beyond explanation, as real as can be

And of course, his paradise had his dream cars

Across the sea, there he'd be cold and tired

With eye-blink breaks, all for measly pay

No improvements, while foreigners could be hired

Noise, added to the same babbled songs all day

And back at home, an ongoing suspense thriller

One brat like Hitler, another smoking pot

The other growing up to be a zombie-killer

In fact, he was better off without the lot

The tone, the promise... stopped. End of a tether

A deep will, he had to return, he was hypnotised

He gripped a tree branch, trying to keep together

But the felt, deep will pulled him and prised

Compelled, he was a robot under command

Someone was telling him, but they didn't speak

He'd return, have to, after this animated errand

He gave in, like he did five days every week

The ladies didn't comment, as he conducted past

But knew. A programmed part of their script

The boat waited as he'd left it, held fast

He drifted back on the gentle current in the crypt


Y had woke with tunnel vision, and found a tunnel

A river tunnel, with a boat, for him to return

He followed, like fluid pouring down a funnel

Drifting through, he sat as a spectator at the stern

He saw another boat, someone rowing upstream

A revelation? No, just someone from the pub

He saw Z also. In a quarantine or in a daydream

Familiar... Z thinks himself central, an axis, a hub

Corruption's hound, happily domesticated

Protected, pampered, ennobled and landed

Hype-powered robot. Psycopathically accommodated

But his white lights could wink and leave him stranded

Y drifted to the bottom of a mine

A spiral stair beckoned cruelly to the top

To a promise or gamble, of clouding sunshine

Persuading with the occasional barely felt raindrop

He began in dismay, putting deserting courage to the test

His bones cold and wet, his flesh thin and porous

Faltering along, he was wounded prey in an eagle's nest

Each step an abacus bead, adding, clattering a chorus

Each goal now, reaching a fault in the rock

A wound - like he felt, split with a hatchet

The fault passed him like the hour hand of a clock

Each turn like winding a catapult, or crossbow ratchet

Moss coated the way, as if helping to collect a debt

It filthied and stuck to him like paint

It marked and hailed him as prey, the next easy bet

He dozed, surrendering, hiding. Hoping to wake less faint

X's boat nudged against Y's

No plan in mind, only a force that compelled

He saw the stair, and the view that could paralyse

He saw Y, expired. The Star, the giant felled

Y needs a stretcher! Honestly, for the first time?

As usual... Y = 50X, but too scared to go on?

Or X plus 50, feet. Best height he can climb

And yesterday I fell down this same one!

X was keeping his mind off the... fall

Half-X plus 50 was in fact, Y's predicament

But X found he could hardly climb at all

Distracted or not, on any mindful tangent

He reached half way to Y, there to die alone

The hour hand stopped at the distance he'd creep

His compulsion turned his thoughts to stone

Embodied wish and denial, and denied of sleep

They could have jumped, died and woke

If they'd known where they really were

But too real, a spell that couldn't be broke

And a myth, didn't let that thought occur

They woke eventually, in the past

In their own beds, alone with their quest

But both of them, down to the lowest caste

X fallen, Y woken? More than either could digest

X had reached the sky, had escaped the lowly plight

To be ground to a pulp, again. His life wrung out

Y had crashed a rich party, believing himself a knight

He thought. 'Poisoned himself with this suicidal scout'

Snapping, fleeing, they withdrew their consent

Contrast, extremities, barbarity so far unsaid

Irreparable, unforgivable breach, reality overspent

They each found something and painted their carpets red.