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This is an old wordpress blog, usng the classic Hemingway template, I used to combine some words and photos.
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This is shattered fragment of a stumbleupon blog, long since now defunct, where I used to store favourite images, and attach poems to them (or vice versa). Just goes to show that for all its claims of ubiquity, the digital domain doesn't give you much of a purchase in permanence.
PeterJukes's revi
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UPDATE: this site might be a bit quiet for the next few months as I act as the Newsweek/DailyBeast correspondent on the Leveson Inquiry and the ongoing News International revelations unfolding in London. I'll try to cross reference as and when I can, but my work can be followed by clicking the pictu
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My CV was probably my first great work of fiction, and I've been constantly inventive trying to keep despair and insignificance from the door by trying to recompose my variegated and frankly unreliable career into some kind of compelling, believable and progressive narrative. I'm not sure it really
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This redesign of my site brings together various different blogs and postings under one banner. I've been writing about how computer technology and the web revolutionises the means of production, distribution and exchange for 20 years or so now. Finally, thanks to Joomla, the software is simple enou
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Inspired both by the digital revolution and the capacity for computers and the internet to 'electrify the word', I first created a website in the mid 90s (at some social space I don't even remember) and then uploaded my own website to demon around 1997. Of course this was genuine mixture of va
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Ancient sound - the inspiration for my website in 2006. See the old version here
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Displaying items by tag: banjo
A Poor Poet
You thought I was a poor poet
The first time that we met,
Upset to discover
The catastrophe of success
As soon as you walked in
You knew there was something wrong
Something has to give here
Someone
A poor poet has to lose it
Sell his soul for a song
Possessed and dispossessed
Before - to long
But what they never told you
Is you would pay the price
Abandoned so I could recover
My voice
For a poet is born
Of things that are not
From losses not from profits
And you were the cost.
You thought I was a poor poet
The first time that we met
Upset to discover
The catastrophe of success
You can't buy truth
You can't buy love
You can't buy this
But maybe you can earn it.