Town and out

 Hurt no more

Don't let it

Hurt anymore

We live in cities I wish that I

lived in one

But I live in the countryside

And I'm almost a bum

So in the countryside

Nothing happens at all

Except sheep get shagged

And people break all the rules

Stones fall down

From the top of the wall

And cats make friends

But then they never will call

And we live in our virtual worlds

But no one really cares

Because in effect

We've already died anyway

In our real lives

Outside the box 

Or the laptop screen

There is a nuclear winter in our dreams

Kaleidoscope visions

 Free Dominican

Franco Ghanaian Haribo state

Forge, Forgot Ten, eleven, twelve

Indignance for victory

Vicars voweling fouls at vocal clubs

And bowling greens wear spreads of tea leaves

Predict Octopus edicts and Suliman tribes Derisive of Goalies'

Shadows

Linking shallows in epic waterways of galois glories

Versai versisimilitudes, look in longitudes

Of space nuns distracted tractor drivers collide

Headlong into herds

Whose echoes echo up Ravines

And look this green and pleasant land is ours

But what but how

What boundaries now

Dictate

The freedom of the classes?

The lower drink

And stink in pubs with grubs, and play their records loud in the

Street

And party

In their private public spaces

That suit their boundaries when it favours

Same as the gentlemen farmers

Who protect their borders with shot guns

And Retrievers, revolvers

Sheep dog scotties

Yet for one land is green and rolling

For the other it is grey and folding

All enveloping like

And envelope around them

In the concertina town

Whose

accordion breathing, heaving heavy concrete sounds

Play double in the street

Then in their beds

As they try to sleep

The farmer with his sheep and cows

Makes nightly vows in dreams

To Noah

Who will save them all

On his ark

Yet he drives them to slaughter one and all

The next morn

Showing no quarter

Just in dreams

as green and pleasant as the land he owns

As perfect down to the bone

Its marrow and its fat

Is sucked

Yet replenishes after all that

Every Springtime season

After he has sprayed it with pesticides

or coated with his pledge

He gives it rest in fallow shallow

Hedge

Where he bets his future years

In weight and balances

Pounds and ounces

And giving and receiving

Goes to town his own

The animals are fed

And another day will

dawn

In the Cow shed

Another calf is born

As in the closed quarters of the sacred cloistered halls

Of the town the mighty ministrels

Sing of bread and circuses

Like they were tangible items

For sale in Sainsbury's

But no not the retro fitted garbage these days

Blame your uncle for your parents

Don't care

The city of fire

 The city is on fire

From the city of fire

To the land of desire

To the cool waters of the dead

Where the living rise up from the bog beneath

Our feet

And the water is a home and a bed

But from the city of fire

Where the streets are aflame

And the people like matchsticks burn

And they cry out the name 

Of the city they claim

Oh the city, the city's on fire

To the land of the green trees

Where the water runs sweet

And it runs in the rivers

and quenches the flames and the heat

And I left the city of fire

To return to the land of the dead

Where the dead are living

And living dead walk

And they rise up from the bog

Oh the men of chalk

The men and the women of chalk

Cities of gold

 Well I went to the city

The city of orphans

And I looked up to the heavens

And saw Angels of light

And they danced on the tower blocks

Like so many dolphins

Chasing

Fluorescent algae in the oceans of night

And I went to the city where love was a Dauphine

And he ruled like a despot The streets of might

And the colours of flags

Drained into the gutters

And the streamers of politics

Laid down by my side

And I saw without eyes

All the blind men were leading

And I drank from the well

With the horses of flight

And they ran down the rivers

The rivers of ancients

Inside the mouth of the mind

Of delight

And seasons of stones

They shrouded their faces

On the pavements alone

Where the crooked do fight

And the call of the country

It echoed down the empty street

And I called back the anarchy

To patrol the midnight

The town was so golden

So rich and so stolen

And it gleamed in the dazzling

Blood of the moon

And all the men lusted

After what they'd beholden

And all the women wept

And then they did swoon

And the city of gold

Stood above the horizon

Like in cloud castles

That roll down in the night

And though the people were hungry

And their bellies were swollen

They kept craving the gold

That was out of reach but not sight

Country boy, city girl

 You're a city girl and I'm a country boy

Why don't we give it a whirl and see if we can't enjoy

Each other's company like a pearl enjoys a clam

You can live in my world, girl I know that you can

You won't change your colours like a leopard changes spots

And I won't change my temperature or run from cold to hot

And if we can come together and agree on each other's terms

Well I can see through your eyes and we can both just learn

We can come together like a city and a park

Never mind the weather when the sun turns to dark

There are many of us out there too many to compare

But if you can live in my world we can live right there

Here we are together through the summer and the rain

All the crops grow so brightly, greens are not in vain

Sometimes I get envious of the world I left behind

Well if I could live in your world why then you could live in mine

Streets of gold

 These streets are dark and dirty

and the heat fights with the cold

Oh some streets are made of china

But these streets are paved with gold

And the hills they are on fire

With the sun burning in sky of sapphire

And all the clouds have silver linings

Where the streets are paved with gold

And the rivers are jade dragons

They are green like money I'm told

But the buildings are like red lions

Whose feet stand on streets of gold

Some streets are white with marble

Some statues stand for slaves sold

Some streets are cobbled where old men hobbled

But these streets are paved with gold

And all this is no mystery

Asia minor or ghost history

When cork screws turned on the thumbs of the world

Where the streets are paved with gold

The light is on

 She is out there living it large

Painting the town pink

Downing some drinks

Before hitting the road

They are all fired up

Each other they goad

But she's not the same

Although I think I can claim

Felt she was a more sensitive soul

Well I can cajole

And keep on parole

Her flame

But I wouldn't wish to

Be

The dark wizard in his tower

Casting magic spells

To control her

I am no bar roller

They are out in the city streets

Where the light meets

The pavement in excitement

And rain puddles splash under feet

And voices go crashing like

waves in the deep

Somewhere out there

As I am somewhere in here

In my room

Though it is no great gloom

It is a lighthouse of news

That shines on and off

As the world's news is like doom

There is some hope at the end of the tunnel

Some flash of light

I can catch in my funnel

Like a spider

Like a web through out the house

With little bells that tinkle

Jingle and jangle

When she walks back in

And my light goes on

In the loft

And her care is so soft

But tough

And I haven't had enough

yet of love

Monday

 There's that time in the city, when it all stops

When the fury of the hour is over

When it looks like the day will relinquish

Its headlock hold, and the penny drops

Then the wind stirs in the trees

The hammer blows continue

Deep rumblings of trucks

Are heard again

Engines start

And drills brrrr into walls

And voices continue to chatter

Like a thread in the stitching of the universe is dropped

And we all stare at the dark matter

Has the creator a synaptic gap

That's a little too far to leap?

Or has he or she simply taken a nap

Had 40 winks or a sleep?

Whatever the answer it's Monday today

And here comes that start the week feeling

I should have washed the sheets over the weekend

I should dusted the walls or ironed the ceiling

But it is a loss I'm afraid my good friend

Time has crept up on us again

There's more to be done under the sun

More of interest that this start the week squealing

Burning the Bridges in Budapest

They're burning the Bridges of Budapest
Watch as they all fall down
They're burning them slowly
Like a fire vest, you wear
Then jump in the river and drown

They're burning them slowly, they're burning them fast
all of those bridges not only, bridges to the past
Bridges to the future
Hopes and dreams
They're all falling into
The Danube streams

They're forgetting the town
Forgetting people too
They're burning the bridges down
That means you
Its time to get out before its all lost
Once the bridges are all burnt
You won't get across
There are tongues that are tied
Speaking languages many
There are beggars on the ground
Saving every penny
But its running around
Rolling down the hill
And the mob is in town
On a bridge burning bill

Don't ask me for a reason
I have none to confess
Just time and the season
Of restlessness
Spring is coming
I can feel it on the tides
They must be turning
Because their burning bridges and brides
They're holding up the stick men to the flame
They are setting light their heads
In confusion and blame
And we're all done for
In the final name game
Nobody gets out alive
But their burning bridges just the same

For Marguerite

All the places I travel to
Time is free at no cost
Ashton - from ashes to ashes
To the poet's wood (Audenshaw)
Where Auden talked with Bernard Shaw
Even the weavers wove their web
In Droylsden where waters ebb
Then flow into the miller's dough
of Milnrow
Thrashing at the fresh hay of Newhey
A deer stalker passed by the way of Derker
And a freeman took his land in Freehold
Who knows why you'd risk your success in Failsworth?
Newton Heath and Moston are the best towns to get lost in
In Monsall, they sell moon rock on a Sunday morning
In Crumpsall they can buy it back again out of season

Of course you can get your arrows fletched
And your bowstring stretched
in Bowker vale
And some pom-pom girls will make you bouquets
In Pomona
If you feel the need to rest a while
Drop anchor in Anchorage
Its a strong foothold for a gentleman suitor
On his way to Ladywell
Where the finest dames are known by name
To wash their hair
And chambermaids collect their buckets of water

Be careful of the Vikings who invaded long ago
We paid their levees like their toll
When we travelled on the Dane Road
And the wives of Stretford are hoiking up their britches
As they cross the waters
Tip-toeing to Timperley

The summer birds are nesting in the eves of Martinscroft
Because the green leaves grow in the withies of Wythenshaw

And everybody knows a rolling stone
Gathers no moss
It only feels its loss
When it stops
In the shade of shadow moss

The falling stars

The stars are falling down
In the city, in the town
They're falling from the steeples
Like jewels from a crown
They're falling from the tower
From the lapels of those in power
The stars are falling down

They're falling from the Christmas trees
The stars are falling in the cities
They're falling off the flags
Like antlers off the stags
The stars of the city are falling down

You look up from the gutter
And see them glitter in the sky
You think of all the utter
Business of truth telling over lie
And try to reach beyond to pluck them
For your piece of pie
But they fall between your fingers
Like tears fall when you cry

The stars are falling down this Christmas time
They're falling like the fairy dust
On twinkle town
They're falling from the tree
The stars of the bold and free
Falling down on you and me
In our prime

Ghost Town

Ghost Town

This town, this town

Like a carousel turns around

Faces in the circus

Each a kind of clown

Painted skin and staircases

Draped in Adam’s Ale

All will turn to Ice Castles

Come the Wind and Hail

Fortress, stronghold, bearer of the monk

Shed loads of lotteries

Every Murder investigation sunk

All because you don’t belong

They say under hushed tones

Concealing garments of Arab beans

Around necklaces of crushed bones

All escalators jar on the snow peppered Mountain tops

They heave their sighs

In heave hoes

Between the goes

And stops

Even the Avalanche will eventually lose control

And then all the helpless victims

Will be released from frozen snow

Here is where the clock ticks

But nobody counts the days

Each are blended today in tomorrow

As billiards knock, kick and part in sorrow

This Haunted place of Ghosts

No wonder Clansmen die

From the painted Motherwell

To the long lost spear of Mackie

Shaken are the frigid hands

That turn to write the page

All are white who can call fright

Back to the Scottish Stage

Macbeth is in is Torpor

The Lady runs blood down the drain

The Wind windmills the wheelie Bins

And it never ceases to rain

The figures in this Chrysalis

The Winter Queen has stilled

Are as the knaves whom at Fairies hands

Will find their life bloods chilled

Some say ghosts are breeding

Some say darkness walks

Hand in hand with feeding

As the Stag’s Head talks

Too many deaths have bleached the ground

Too much blood has soaked its moss

And in these Clan destined days

The wedding sounds drowned out

By the voices of loss

Who here was a Cameron?

Who there a Jacobite who rose?

Who Frames the accursed James

Now lays himself where the thistle grows

Fort William, this town, Onich and Corpach

Bring out your dead

Lay out their bodies

But their souls to here come back

Give them six feet to lay in

Give them a horse’s span

Leave them hands to hold them

They will hold them if they can

Each a living member

Each a tie to Earth

The Mountain Glen

Does remember what its men

In death are truly worth

Living life must cling here

Enter and hang in the air

Each torpid wind-blown vapour

Remembers each wisp of hair

Heavy is the fog now

Heavy on the Pine

Heavy the heave ho, the tug-o-war

And heavy on the Mountain line

Train tracks through the hollow

Deer tracks on the snow

Under the earthen grave so shallow

In the rivers wake they tow

Remember this Fort’s fighting

Remember Romans, English, Danes and Picts

Celts fought in the Mountain Belts

All fought over land

With hands or sticks

Remember said the Winter King

To the Summer Wren

The Season’s change,

But, I remain

Ruler over Men

The Robin flies off from the Holly

The boys beat the bounds sounding jolly

And Winter skins the leafless trees

As the lone figure stands in the folly

Remember when,

The voices ken,

Resound, resound

Within the Glen

Remember me when the Ghosts are Gone

From this Ghost Town

Fort William