Friday 19 May 2023

Woollards (extended) (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)


A life in the LTD redevelopment failing 

missives what pangs capital directives 

what pangs a hissing horsehair wig undoes

Woollard’s eulogy in the loop,, in the Soul Politic 

at the time of previous circulars:

‘the Kraysstitched’ &

‘the Richardsonsis stitched’ & any other case

which has been demanded for political reasons. 

Is stitched. A silent creak for your protection,, 

& O the will of the government is

sacred impressive multi-torch cauldron

gasped a clap rounded to its flaming petal

& touch this house as it lifts the national cake, 

to respond that life, itself 

is to kneel painfully on stone

& then wipe all expression from your face,,

so that the viewer

would read suppressed or inner pain

as it renders its aching child branded plea:

To pull my finger, not just any old finger

but my ring finger my emblem,, my life,  

its feeling of ordnance  in the tiny pip. 

That idyll. That life. My hand.

As it touches the outer fray,

failing to tiny strands

that feeling consummate 

by every pull therein remands.

A thumbtack hearing amnesties withering 

in cold storage a spindle corrupts, as it coils 

that forms tiny little red dots 

all over your skins surface barrier 

a head shouts half-seen from the inside 

‘it was all good fun until someone

tried to kill a police officer with a fire extinguisher’

physical keys, numerical codes, complex passwords, 

biometric identification hushes that sloops Sitex 

& what it means to undarken light somewhere 

you have never been, Woollards & Woollards come back

blanching the floor plan under hissing rosacea horsehairs

the shrill adherences & graphical projections                  now

aspects of British Business & Professional life are thriving: 

'our legal system is widely acknowledge to be long

on integrity and short on corruption.'

A singular success, 

with a view to causing a gap 

in the crowd below spectrally

to kneel painfully 

this silent mechanism, curls inwards

murmuring the letter breathe of Law

under the holding pen exacting 

a brace of bodies 

the place from which litigants are 

(a physical demarcation between 

the core players and the areas outside 

that consecrated space) represented 

by a wooden or brass railing built in clots through which the will to whisper through:

(Members of the Jury


– Yr Honour. yr Worship. The nation is in disrepair, Southend, Essex,

Well at least he won't have to pay student fees whilst he is locked up.

He will get all the education he wants and needs courtesy of you and me.

The great English taxpayer. Ironical isn't it? 

This sentence is far too lenient.

He should serve a minimum of 5 years.

The idiot could have killed someone.

He is only sorry that he has been caught.

Well done to his mother though.

She has proved that not all scumbags come from rough backgrounds.   

Chris the Anarchist,  

–Yr Honour. yr Worship Typical right wing rantings by the Daily Mail again.....

what he did was wrong ,but what we have here is a classic example of this Fascist establishment

making an example of the people who dare speak out against them.

He is a young bright kid who got carried away...luckily no one was hurt

as that would have been a different matter...but a 2 year 8 month stretch and a future ruined....

ive known people do far far worse and get less severe sentences......

Open your eyes sheeple to whats going on....

and remember Class War...the only war worth fighting…  


–Yr Honour. yr Worship Why should you be pointing the finger at us taxpayers,

your truck is with the Government? Whilst I don't agree with the system

I'm not entirely sure the taxpayer should fund the likes of you

OR the fool in this article? eh? 


–Yr Honour. yr Worship West Yorks UK,

Weren't you the lucky one?, most jobs that students used to have are now in the hand of Europeans.

Don't you see that the kids of tomorrow who will pay yours and my pensions but now will be slaves

to the government as they will be indebted for 30 years, look further at this please.

I know what he did wrong but it is a harsh sentence.

How will he deal with being in prison with low life thugs.

Have any of you making these comments never done something you shouldn't have.

It did not hurt anyone so why is he given a sentence on the assumption that it could have killed someone,

it did not? His life is now ruined by that one moment of stupidity. 

Law Abiding of

–-Yr Honour. yr Worship, madame. I drive my large Trojan armour engineering vehicle from Ringwood,

near Bagnam Forest Corner with my 16 Air Assault Brigade.

It looks like a giant metal lobster. & here Wollard’s England’s sun.

into love through piercing laughter & what chokes on Woolton pie.

Not me. Under England's sun. in a Young Offenders’ Institution,

a baby faced long haired yob, most likely want to study some useless degree, 

I bet he will get an education on life in one of H.M’s HOTELS. 

I stand here forever with my Church Of England prayerbook, 

kissing tightly for myself entirely, & you Almighty God 

touch my bursting heart, my Head of State! 

–It's why I attended Army Command & Staff College in Camberley

& NATO Defense College, I’m finishing my last stint

as Chief of Staff of Forces Pension Society a feeling pickering, 

my adjutant 10 para, my signaller, my Masher,,,.. my kindred flame.

I promised Masher, dear dear Masher…

that if I died before you, Masher. That I would come & tell you, 

that I love my country & I sank to the bottom of it once

but you were there, my dearest most tenderest 

Masher. Your lovebite continues with me inside. 

This type can be dispensed into the Soul Politic.

This type can be dispersed into personal morality.

This type can be poured into your neck Geoffrey Rivlin QC. 

With or without whipping Woollard’s

in red blood rain – this type requires specialist disposal

this type can be dispensed into a sewage drain 

this type can be dispersed into the air 

this type can be poured into your neck tie.

And now in numbers our morality was so upside down 

that what many knew in their hearts as correct, dignified

was held publicly to be wrong! Hard work. Thrift. Risk taking.  


Slacking at work. Living off the state. Union mob rule. 


The police have responded. 

Their morale & their morals are improving. 

Just as well an accelerating factor sweet and gentle 

The state, though still far too large and still, 

alas taking far too great a share of the national cake, 

is beginning to respond to the will of the government

The national debate,, into the shape  unreturned

Woollard’s the will of the government

around the house as it lifted the national cake, 

the thin walls 

the complex, breaking furniture & windows & outnumbered 

& as you dry out in the rain, the cascade & its motorcade 

in the tiny pip the idyll of freezing mud

is six silhouetted storied separations:

'i am your, gurgle gaggle of dead beads tight to night

short-lived, very swiftly repented the lives of those loved

jeopardised a spark & injured. I am a loving, caring, gentle man.’

 to be a kind of wall that has a little hole in it, 

& through that hole,, its glassed wastlings fingerhooked 

in a fugue state with which a body 

becomes separated from another body 

in order to bemutter,,

                ing what to tungsten 

or floats opaque when pushed remembering

status cues against the walls, hole


Woollard’s as if over feet &hands 

haloed with or without whipping.


Commander Bob Broadhurst of Trooping the Colour, 

a dying breed. 

At the National Siege Management Gala, his speech:  

–I felt a suppressed inner pain 

a pickering feeling mutter, ing 

to keep the City open for business! 

outside the Stock Exchange slumped in an alley 

on Threadneedle Street,, 

a number of missiles die thrown,, 

a little bird told me down a deer track, 

or was it through a tough thicket of waist-high ferns? 

Nevermind! that we had discovered…… a pretty precious peaceful protest.  

A clearing of sweetly scented camomile 

everything around us was so bursting with life!

Pheasant cocks scurrying through the undergrowth

resin dripping from clefts of the evergreens 

it truly represented brightness itself. 


A snap to life in a gene break down my cenotaph 

its benzene under frosted light 

the petrochemical sheen of feathers bright 

in definite areas removed his shoulder number 

covered the bottom of his face with his balaclava

weeping at the most unexpected things

Woollard’s spectrally be hurt.

Human kindness. Human vulnerability. 

Ringpulls lost pennies gentle patiences. 

Now under your teeth hates 

thumbscrewed intact O demerits,,ss 

logistic regression was used to analyse the measure of verdict 

−a dichotomous variable. 

Results from logit models are presented both in odds-ratio form

& as percentage differences

from the baseline condition.

The percentage differences reported

are those derived from the logit models, i.e.,

they take account of other variables in the model.

Odds-ratios are the most commonly presented measures of effect size.

bits that stick about or twist 

to what is cut along an axis 

to reveal the interior structure,, 

cutlosses as they sunbrighten your lumbar spine

its cascading to crashing illuminated castors 

a body pumps through the footring.    The room,, inclined  

to the Wall  inclined to the Floor 

a dead relation peels away 

rubbing the mudguard Seat Pan its crawling epicures space. 


A worksong for you,, gets horrible yet lightly worsening

under silvered reverses 

under Veolia birch lyrics, as I lay writing this 

an autopsy of my dead relation, 

alone, unrevolts  to a half version having been closed 

in splitting re--appearances

nightscrapped on all fours 

moults a non-rigid exit 

to goetia spells,, a broached paw…verdict. 

would you shop your own child?

In my heart of hearts,

if I had known what would happen

the day I shopped my son to the police -

and that he’d never forgive me or talk to me again -

I don’t think I’d have done it.

Probably like Tania Garwood, I thought Oliver would get a slap on the wrist,

a few nights behind bars at the local police station

that would teach him a lesson.

I didn’t realise he would go to prison,

and I certainly didn’t realise he would go down for so long.

It’s a terrible ­situation for any mother to find herself in,

and I live with my decision every day.

Oliver’s father and I split up when he was four,

but we tried to give our son the perfect upbringing.

He went to £25,000-a-year public school -

St Bede’s in Hailsham, East Sussex - but started dabbling with cannabis aged 14.

By the time he was 21, he was mixing with a bad crowd and clubbing all the time.

His behaviour had become erratic,

and when I found a wrap of brown powder on the kitchen table

I knew I had to do something decisive.

Oliver was asleep on the sofa when the officers arrived.

They searched him and found another wrap of brown powder -

which turned out to be ecstasy.

Then they took him outside and searched his car.

What they found in the boot shocked me to the core -

£10,000 worth of ecstasy.

Oliver was in much deeper than I could ever have ­imagined.

Instead of a slap on the wrist,

he was charged with possession with intent to supply

and in April 2009 was given an 18-month prison ­sentence.

The sentence could have been much longer,

but the judge accepted Oliver was a ­runner for a drugs gang

and not a ring leader.

I was devastated. It was the last thing I’d wanted to happen.

Oliver hasn’t spoken to me since.

He refused to let me visit him in prison

and never replied to my many letters.

My biggest fear was that prison would make him even worse.

Oliver was released after five months and went to live with his father,

who gave him a job.

He’s 24 now and has started his own ­property ­developing business.

At least he’s got his life back on track,

but it’s heartbreaking for me not being involved in his life any more.

I dread the future.

One day he’ll get married and have children,

and it will be even more painful.

My younger son Jonathan, 22,

who still lives at home with me in Haywards Heath,

tells me bits about Oliver’s life, but not much.

He’s very loyal to his brother.

It’s a strain on my relationship with Oliver’s father,

but I think he understands why I did it.

In one respect, I still think I did the right thing.

Oliver could have got even more involved with drugs

and ended up dead or serving a much longer prison sentence.

I know what an agonising decision Tania Garwood had to make.

As a parent, you have to teach your children that their actions

have consequences. I know exactly what she is going through right now.

It’s something I have to live with everyday.
People stop me in the street and say:

‘You did the right thing.’ But most days it doesn’t feel like it.

Officer pushed him. He went forward.

Thought he had hit his head. Expected blood beneath the surface

of the skin or dead tissue above the surface hair is an attribute  

part of the human body it breaks into an arrangement 

the category of a weapon elegised to class a pricket 

gathering at the base of emergency situations 

constricted gardens with just enough hope 

that glow filled blood 

on moonbeams is yours,           

                                                         QC Rivlin 

a cruel vector of birchen pens 

PC Harwood a redoubtable wielding roflcopter

of justice drugged glassed-in to your children's hopes or open,

so I bend plea-filled &

to taskforce sink an earglow,,  

of burnt out missives, commercial leases 

the courtyard apex tribunal extinguisher 

                                                                                     hangs the CPS 

                                                                                     hangs the DPP 

& be hurt Human kindness