I've just been doing a bit of weeding and pruning in the garden and noticed that my 'Glory of the Snow' bulbs are already showing signs of sprouting. I don't know how I feel about this; pleased because I'll be able to enjoy a bit of colour in the garden come December, or sad because it marks the onset of the beginning of autumn.

DIRECTIVE

Please note:

As of October 1st.
The Imperial unit
Of measurement, the worm
Will be replaced by
Its metric equivalents,
The millipede and centipede.

Thank you.

One of the main problems I personally have with modern capitalism is that there is too much consumer choice, much of it superfluous.

I suppose one advantage about being unemployed and on a limited income is that I don't need to participate in this pointless ritual. I merely purchase the least expensive food (frequently out of date) and shop for clothing in charity shops.

Naturally, I'm immune to the effects of advertising, aren't I?

AMERICANS

Herts. van hire
Gogh away!

Sidewalking crabs
On the john.

Downtown,
Janet buys
Burghers to go.

I've not had my daily fix of chocolate yet, I'll have to get some later. It's my only addiction, I truly believe that my body can't go more than forty eight hours without the stuff though.

MAUDLIN

Mark a Christian
In the box provided,
In case of a tie
All bets are off!

Meanwhile,
At the Magistrates' Court
A tie-breaker, only
Just arrested
Pulls rank on the ward.

"You're all sacred!"
She yelled out loud
And spoiled her paper,
Drawing a crowd.

There's been nothing to watch on TV over the bank holiday weekend, not even a Bond film; so I've just been spending hours on end surfing the net

In one sense, getting online at home has literally opened up the world for me, yet in another sense it depresses me to learn how much of everything there's out there and I'm not a part of it [yet].

It was interesting to listen to live radio from Louisiana as Hurricane Katrina hit though.

SKINNY DIPPING

Beneath
the surface,
we're all
the bleeding
same.

It's recently been reported that the owners of a farm in The Midlands that breeds guinea pigs for medical research have been forced to stop this perfectly legal activity because of intimidation and attacks by animal rights terrorists.

Where are the organs of state when it comes to protecting the farm and its employees or prosecuting the guilty?

Terrorism is still terrorism, wherever we find it, and whatever the politics or religion of its perpetrators and supporters.

TO AND FRO

Smothered; strong
Fingers pull apart the night,
Thighs align with the lay,
Chocolate drips from lips
I tongue the foraging day.

Behind closed doors:
Cloud draped sisters
Call across the moor,
Contours howl and
All the wild's a watercolour.

Today's a Bank Holiday, never an easy time when you're unemployed - I just feel more lonely and isolated than usual.

Why can't the government operate a scheme to encourage (or even coerce) people in my circumstances to be able to work today whilst everyone else is off enjoying themselves? Of course, with the benefits system as it is, nothing will ever happen.

Personally I'm in favour of a 'social wage' system whereby just by being an adult citizen you are entitled to a set basic weekly subsistence allowance irrespective of your employment status...naturally, payment of all current benefits would be scrapped.

Then it's up to you as an individual; you'd be taxed on whatever you earn at a flat rate. Hopefully this system would personally take myself out of the benefits trap whereby I've got to secure pretty much a full-time job or remain stuck on benefits...not that I've had any offers of part-time or temporary work though.

THE THINKER

He would only eat
Grapes at a minute
To midnight,
Spitting out the pips
As the time signal
Heralded the hour.

RECCE

If it rhmes,
Shoot it!

Better safe
Than Ralph.

After this morning's rather depressing blog entry I thought I'd write something a bit more cheerful - another short list of things that bring me pleasure or make me happy.

1...Reading the Sunday newspaper (usually the Sunday Times.)
2...Soaking in a hot bath.
3...Going to bed knowing that I'll thankfully usually be fortunate enough to have a good night's sleep.

UNEMPLOYED PERSON

I do it
Just to
Please
The boss.

I'll admit I cried a bit last night: a Saturday night and I'm at home on my own with nowhere to go and no-one I'm able to call on the phone...I usually pop round to a friend's house and we watch videos, but he's away working at a music festival this bank holiday weekend.

Oh how I need someone to have a bit of faith in me; to take me by the hand and invite me to join the rest of the human race.

I've never had a job, never had a relationship with anyone....I once attended a few sessions with a psychologist and she summised that I was one of the sanest people she'd ever met; having all of the answers to my problems in life, but none of the solutions.

As I perceive the situation, the two main things that define us as an individual and bring purpose to our lives are participating in an intimate relationship with someone and having a job which brings you status and money...no matter how lowly your job might appear to be, you're still included in society...that's more than I've ever been.

For relatively short periods of time a person can manage, yet struggle, when either of these crucial elements is missing from his life; but to have lived to be forty three years old and never having had the experience of either is not to live as a human being but to merely survive as a homo sapiens. The enforced loneliness and social exclusion; the feelings of uselessness, inadequacy and guilt and the unsympathetic attitudes of others...well, it just make me cry sometimes.

I suppose that in a small way though, writing this blog is helping me by allowing me to share my thoughts with other people.

ROMBALD'S MOOR STONE CIRCLE

Twelve Apostles:
Six factors
Six clockwise revolutions,
Enter by the south
Exit by the north:
Absolution.

Yesterday I received a magazine/newsletter containing five of my short poems: not a very impressive publication, more like a parish magazine than anything literary.

But it's always nice to see my name in print and knowing that people (probably not very many in this case) are seeing my work.

HOME IS...

Kitchenshrunk always wrapped her emotions in clingfilm. Preserve them, keep them fresh; but also squash them, flatten them, distort them.
Her hands were those of a worker, all fingers still intact; but bloodied at the edges, nails bitten (rather than chipped) and callouses erupting from Sunday best palms.
On her left hand her lifeline had long since gone off the rails, spinning two or three times round her thumb and then seeking refuge deep within the scar on her wrist that was a constant reminder of several failed suicide attempts and one fewer failed marriages.

I regularly travel on the buses here in Doncaster and am continually annoyed at the lack of ticketing co-ordination.

Personally I use the services of four of the six bus companies operating in the town and end up having to purchase all day tickets with a variety of names, prices and validity.

If I'm just making a return trip to one destination it's fine and I save money; but if I want to travel out of town to two destinations in opposite directions (served by different operators) I have to buy separate tickets; costing me a fortune.

The government is always telling us to use public transport, some of us don't have a choice; but it's no surprise that those with access to a car stay well clear of the buses.

PETRIFIED

Out of earshot
We dance to the
Rhythm of the rain,
Our audience
Turned to stone.

IS THIS IT?

Night follows day:
Day follows night.
And then what?

Several years ago I used to go hiking on the moors nearly every weekend with a small group of friends.
Unfortunately they've now left the area and I haven't done any serious hiking since then.

Anyhow, I placed a posting on the Doncaster Forum and have already had few replies. As a result of one of these I've contacted a local group and am now waiting for membership details in the mail...I'd prefer just a small informal group of people to be honest, because I'm worried about the cost of membership...and these formally constituted groups always seem to plan their walks around visits to pubs (yet more expense, or you eat your sandwiches outside and you're not fully participating on the social side of things: one of the main reasons for joining.)

I hope it's a serious group with other unemployed members and that things work out for me. I don'y drive and so I'll be relying on lifts or publis transport; but at least I live in the town centre.

SWASTIKA STONE (Ilkley Moor)

Cloud-clothed moor;
Only two at the feast
Game here aplenty
But still they shoot
The beast.

Shouting at Gaelic
Swearing on time
Running at contours
This land still is mine!

I don't know yet if I'm coming down with a fever or something, but I was constantly shivering last night; I just couldn't get warm and so had to switch on the electric fire for a couple of hours.

Being a hay fever sufferer I'm used to constantly streaming eyes and a runny nose, but if this is the flu then the shivering and the muscle aches are an additional unpleasantness to endure.

PILGRIM

Standing aside
The Greenwich Meridian;
His compass still
Pointing magnetic north.

MOORLAND PUB

The sun:
A circular saw.

The horizon:
An ancient beam.

Inside:
Time cuts
To the bone.

1...Time spent with family and friends.
2...Travelling or going somewhere with a purpose, whatever the means of tranport.
3...Pleasant, and unexpected, surprises.
4...Visiting my family and enjoying eating a traditional English lunch cooked by my mum.
5...The sound of someone calling my name, irrespective of the circumstances.
6...Not always having to be on my own; being involved, participating and contributing - making a difference, no matter how small.
7...The taste, aroma, texture and appearance of chocolate; the darker, the better.

SLIP OF THE TONGUE

A snake enters
A railway tunnel,
Underneath an
Erupting volcano.

At a safe distance,
A teenage boy
Plays guitar.

The weather forecast for today seems quite promising, so it looks like there'll be plenty of play at Trent Bridge later. The fourth test is critical; England needing to win at least one of the remaining two test matches in order to win back The Ashes.

I love watching cricket. I can lose myself for an entire day, obsessively studying the tactics and monitoring the statistics. Of course, the one question you really shouldn't ask to a cricket fan is, 'Who's winning?'. Ask me the score and that's fine; but as to who's actually winning...well, I might not know until the very last ball of the game.

GETTING THERE

Losing conversation
I rushed around
The stones for the
Sixth (and last) time.

My companion
Didn't understand;
I didn't try
To explain.

At the next cairn
I forgot to add a stone;
Merely contributing
Lively debate and pointing
To the quickest way home.

Since I signed up to register for the Telephone Preference Service I've noticed that I'm now receiving far fewer unwanted telemarketing calls. This is a relief because it was getting really annoying being disturbed by up to half a dozen calls a day; the silent ones being the most annoying of all.

LATER HOME

Arrivals and departures
Already bored with nowhere to go
(Nothing to do with me)
Been everywhere, done everything
Worn out the tee shirt.

Sitting, cupped in plastic
Cupping plastic in my hands
Steaming hot tea; patience.

An hour to kill
On timetables and notices
Of weekend engineering work:
Why don't don't they hang poetry,
Or poets here?

The train's late
And I've just realised
I'm the only one alone here;
Everyone escorts their shadow home -
I curse my empty flat
Which will still be empty
When I get back home.

Stitches of conversations
Hold the seconds together
Make the passage of time linear;
A paperback novel, embossed cover
On the inside pages I take cover
Behind the wrong cue.

I watched a very interesting documentary on TV last night, presented by the newsreader Michael Buerk entitled 'What Are Men For?' The simple premise of the programme was that the whole of society, family, work, culture and, from his point of view in particular, the media, has become feminised, leaving men merely existing as nothing more than 'optional extras' in many circumstances.

A woman gains status and recognition in society by being the person she actually is; mother, wife, daughter, homemaker, carer, even an object of desire [yes].

However, a man is perceived by others by what he achieves, what job he does, how wealthy he is and what material possessions he can flaunt.

Of course, I'm an unemployed man...in fact, not just unemployed, I've never had a [paid] job due to the total collapse of the local economy when I was looking for my first job as a school-leaver...you can imagine how these personal circumstances have ruined my life.

At the moment being male isn't easy; as a man I don't know what is expected from me by society and what I'm supposed to do.

DANDELION

One small insect
On the launchpad;
How much further to
The stars from here?

Whilst out shopping this morning I bumped into two friends. I only had time to exchange a few lines of conversation with each of them, but this small contact with a familiar part of the rest of humanity has really got my day off to a good start.

MORE AND MISSED

The Devil's weather;
No horizon on which
To tether a thought,
Tendering loose change
The sun hangs out
Eight till late.

A LITTLE KNOWLEDGE

It's a good job
That it's so
Difficult to
Draw a five
Sided star.

I've had no major disasters with my computer so far, in fact it's working very efficiently at the moment: fewer problems booting up with MSN Messenger installed and I'm even learning how to more effectively utilise the program - I still occasionally get my left and right clicks confused though.

I'm spending a lot of time listening to internet and international radio stations; mainly news and talk programmes and Latin American dance music...all perfectly clear reception, unlike all the years I spent listening to short-wave.

GHOST STORY

It was useless attempting to escape; all exits were blocked, timesealed or limescaled for the duration. She was desperate, panicking her head from side to side, pulling down the blinds over her light-sensitive eyes, pushing her fingers in all directions.

Space is always a compromise; too much and you're lost, too little and you'll never get out - but Mealtime's predicament was unique: her half-full glass had now become half-empty and the clock was ticking.

She sat in the corner of a Champagne bubble which was steadily sinking to the surface tension. Her headache was lighter than air, her IQ half way to Tipperary but she still couldn't work out how to open the fridge door.

Last night I was watching an old episode of Sherlock Holmes on the TV starring Jeremy Brett, who happens to do my absolute favourite portrayal of the great fictional detective; continually snarling and sniping whilst accentuating some of the less obvious traits in the personality of Holmes.

His vanity, mood swings, hypochondria, drug addiction, latent homosexuality, and mysogyny are exploited to the full by Brett. And the relationships with Doctor Watson and Mrs. Hudson, the housekeeper...Holmes' unrelenting sarcasm and bullying existing within these two close friendships.

And, of course, the subdued wry comedy in the series; expressed especially well in Holmes' being shown to be terrified of the female sex...overall, the show is great fun to watch and I could study every facial expression and vocal inflection several times over and still find something new to make me smile.

ORTHODOXY

Naked;
Only a penknife,
She cuts a slit
In the milk carton,
Holds it to her lips
And drinks...
Until sated.

Yesterday I spent an hour or so just sitting in the garden. Not doing anything; not reading, not listening to the radio - and certainly not weeding.

I was just sitting there in my deckchair admiring the sun streaming through the hollyhocks. Very spectacular specimens; ten foot tall with up to a dozen large rosette-like flowers simultaneously in bloom on each spike.

They are now probably a couple of weeks beyond their best display and look a bit untidy due to wind damage. However, my dahlias and fuchsias are putting on their best shows at the moment and might well both be in flower come the end of October.

FIXTURE

Game on;
Hard luck
Hard on
Cherry on
The top.

DEAL

Loose change
From a kiss:
Sometimes
Emotion
Negotiates
Its own price.

One of the joys of a Sunday is reading the Sunday newspaper (or, should I say, reading some of the paper and leaving the magazines and supplements for later in the week.)

In today's Sunday Times there's a report about a plan to introduce women-only taxis and segregated compartments on trains. It doesn't surprise me.

Some people don't seem to understand the concept of equality before the law; that any law should be applied equally to everyone irrespective of gender [or race].

Of course, being an Englishman in England I'm no-one's priority and am at the bottom of everyone's list when it comes to accessing benefits or services, or attempting to participate in, and contribute to, society.

And then there's the constant ridicule of men in the media and the fact that I can't even identify myself as English on most ethnic monitoring forms...just to mention two recent observations.

If you're English, male, white, northern and law-abiding in England in 2005 you just don't count...nobody wants to know!

GREENKEEPER

Even if I were on piecerate
Maybe I'd still divert
Around the crocuses.

BALANCE SHEET

Closed in a kiss
The day sleeps
Contentedly.

Yesterday I was quite busy sending and receiving emails and instant messaging with family and friends. It really lifts me to hear from people; it may be only a few lines on a computer screen, but someone has taken the time to write them, and to send them to me - and that means a lot.

AFTER THE PARTY

My face is lying in the wastebin
Wrapped in a tissue of lies.

My dinner languishes in the cabinet
Being eaten by files.

My body lies over the ocean
Good travel agents insist on insurance.

This morning I was walking out of Kwiksave, carrying two heavy bags and a full rucksack of groceries and I found a woman in a large, powered wheelchair blocking my way. I just said something sarcastic to her to express my displeasure and managed to squeeze by.

This incident is typical behaviour for me, I always treat people as I find them. It doesn't mean that I'm rude or inconsiderate towards disabled people - I spent several years doing voluntary work, working with and helping disabled people. But what it does mean is; if I come across someone who's behaviour is causing inconvenience to others (myself included) I will tell them...whether they're in a wheelchair or not.

PARLEY

She speaks
In tongues;
French kissing
The dictionary.

LOVE STORY

Tongue in cheek
They kissed,
Lips burning
With disinfectant.

Yesterday was a lovely day here in Doncaster and so I did a couple of hours gardening, in particular pruning back my buddleia bush - a beautiful bush with a profusion of purple blossom which attracts many butterflies into my garden.

The only problem with buddleia though is how quickly it grows; ten foot per season: and so I have to prune it back to ground level every year, placing the pruned foliage into my wheelie bin because the local council doesn't [yet] operate a garden waste collection service.

For a few months now though the council has been operating a general re-cycling scheme; glass, newspapers and tin cans are to be put into a green plastic box which residents are then to place on the pavement outside their houses...to be emptied at some time later in the day.

I've decided not to participate in this scheme, for two reasons:-

1) The authorities only seem to acknowledge my existence when they want something from me, or for me to do something for them.

2) The fact that if I were to have a green box (full or empty) outside my front door it would inform any potential burglar that there's no-one at home. I live alone and there's no-one to take in the empty box.

FIRST CLASS MAIL

Sunday morning,
Only the rain is calling.

No I.D. needed...
I know her simile
Intimately.

She moves in closer,
Envelopes the mist;
licks her lips and
Then my stamp.

Still half asleep
I remind her
There are no
Deliveries today.

This morning I've received a rejection letter for some poems that I submitted to a magazine. It's not a setback for me though, it frequently happens (as does my receiving letters of acceptance) and so I won't worry about it.

It could be that the poems submitted weren't good enough; equally likely is that they just might have not fitted the personal preferences of the editor, or weren't suitable or appropriate material or subject matter for the magazine concerned.

Ideally, I'd like to able to do research on publications before sending off work, but I can't afford to be subscribing to numerous smallpress magazines. In this instance the internet certainly helps.

RITES OF SPRING

I'm so romantic.
I've often wanted to bring
You fresh-faced flowers, leave notes
Under your pillow, or
Stuck to the fridge door.

I'm so romantic.
Many's the time I've almost
Bought boxed chocolates, a bottle
Of wine, an unexpected
Girl's best friend. But didn't.

I'm so romantic.
Surely I've thought about it
Surprising you at the kitchen sink,
It's so much more fun with two
To pull your stomach in.

I'm so romantic.
Love on the Dole, shared April showers
Crushed petals hand in hand
A packet of three, two-thirds
Unused. Something left unplanned.

I've just received an email from an old friend who I haven't seen in years; he's responded to a posting I placed on a local forum. That's the best thing about the internet; how it can bring people together.

On a totally unrelated subject; I'm fealing a lot better after my piles bled last night.

ORDER OF PLAY

You told me
You loved me;
Then left me.

I walked out
Through the door -
Closing it first.

GENESIS

In the beginning
Eve was the apple
of her father's eye.

I've just been watching BBC NEWS 24 and noticed on one of the reports a microphone with the words 'BBC Brazil' emblazoned on it. Why on earth should this be; don't they have any radio services in Brazil; and more pertinently, who's paying for it?

On pain of imprisonment I'm compelled to pay a licence fee of £126 per year to the BBC (an organisation that denegrates and denies everything that I am and believe in) yet people in Brazil get to watch for free...and they aren't abused in the way that we are in Britain.

I've finally received some post this morning; a collection of poetry from T.. in Harrogate, a fellow student on the Writer development Programme. Haven't looked at the poems, but they should keep me away from the computer screen for a few hours.

SAFETY FIRST

Light the litmus paper
Step back to a safe distance:
If passion still fails to ignite
Phone home for a refund.

There's no need to return
To point of purchase -
Your money-back guarantee
Is included in the smallprint
Spoken on your lover's breath.