The juggernauts are coming, oh my gosh!

I should have bought you flowers
But I gave them to another woman
It would be nice to talk for hours
But I prefer a nice soft bossom

If you asked of what am I made
I would say the salt
That drove the slave trade
Because a slave is what I feel I am
To the idea of being a man
I am fed up
With these anachronistic hubris
Of the unplanned
The self entitled being
That loves
Then loses feeling
Quicker than quick sand
And I am falling
I do not deny it into a deep dark hole
Where my future's wishes don't match up
To what will make me whole

But I see it is only excess hubris
That has disillusioned me so far
When I knew really
It was under another use of 'Us'
That they named a falling star

Only the kettle kept boiling over and the river over spilt
The kittens in the bags were no well man's pursuit

A Celtic Blessing

May the road rise up to meet you
May the wedding bells ring true
May the scarves of the well wishers
Fly down the wishing well to you
May the halves that were divided
Be placed back in the seal
May the swords of our fathers
Be put in heat to melt the steel

Perhaps I deserved it - you know I tried 
the volunteering it was ok,

I tried not working but I became a slave. 

I tried giving over all power into another's hands

But it left them like a desert wind blowing away dry sands. 

You know I tried the course of least resistance

I tried the fool's road

I tried the path where her insistence

Would have brought me relief from the load

But the only luggage was in my heart

The only real thing I possess

I cannot let go

Of what I start

Even if ends up a mess

The only season I know is joy

The reason I have to destroy

All that I can't second guess

Is the residue of what I confess

Poem for teachers

Teachers, teachers don’t be preachers

You don’t know what the students may teach us

You don’t know the truth of all things

Power in the class room ends when the bell rings

Outside

Only respect rings true

But it rings hollow

When activity staff look at you

They have venom, and bitter jealousy

It is wrapped up in their modicums

Of daily pleasantries

It is barely hid

By the failures of their day’s pursuits

But hey everyone needs a scape goat

When a leader they can’t shoot

Power to the powerless

Power to their heads

Run around a young circus

Who have no frame for the nervous-dead

Some incognito tribal rallying drum

Beats their rather void like lives

For to borrow the gun

Aim it like a coward at someone else

But them

Then justify their actions

In the guise of men

Nothing can excuse them

Not even being young

Just the misuse of wisdom

Borrowed from someone

Just the stupid actions

Of some young guns

When eighteen meant dying for country

Now it means dying for fun

Well go and die for your gods

For your false idols

I had my dreams in education

Of the ranks of chivalry or bone-idle

And I see that it has failed if a pupil

Can turn out like you

That a few glasses of the strong stuff

Can reveal your true colours to be

A faded hue

Nothing but the shades of racism

In a classes war

Nothing but the bitter rivalries

Between rich and poor

Nothing but the dumb distinctions

On a playing field

Where if you paid attention in school

You’d remember

all men were created equal

And deserve such dignity

Despite the way your insecurities

May make you feel

English Oak

Old tree stump

What do you know?

The corn has been cut

Now only corn storks grow

Where are the dancers

Who with their right hand

Lead you in the dance

Across an ancient land?

Plush are the hay bales

Rolled up to sleep

Lying in their yellow beds

Yellow blankets at their feet

Somewhere salty death

Is wrapping her fingers

Around the candle stick oak trunks

And waxing its leaves

It’s bleeding in the heart wood

It’s rotten to the core

But it stands upright in the night

And shines on all the more

It shines on in its dying

And in its finest hour

It shines until the sunlight

Has burnt out all its power

And in the death of the English oak

Grows something more

Not as strong as once was known

Its mantlepiece not made of stone

But a force to hold a door

Less in its redistribution

among the rising ranks

But in its ten thousand multitude

For its own strength we still give thanks

Cloud Watching

Once I did see jellyfish

Swimming above in the sky

And then a tiger’s stripes became

The image in my eye

Sudden flames of grey hue

Change to lakes of sacred dark blue

As the fires which rise in heavens

Part from their earthly curfew

And the firmament of stars

Turn in pin prick turns

The saddle of the space cowboy

Cradles the knowledge he learns

And from the tentacles of grey grew

The leaf veins of life

The lung like bronchiole tendrils

Breathing in space dust

I stayed out upon the hill

Feeling that familiar chill

When the sun has lost its grip

And the moon’s power is yet to slip

Its hand to take the reins of control

That twilight- dusk

Where do cross the souls

From one side to another

To my left the sad dark forest

Green in all its envy

Yet to the right, chasing the light

The creatures like me

Flee to keep up with the sun

A cheesy line

A pleasant scene

So nice and green - a riparian garden

Through the hills

The winding rills

Twist gentle then they harden

The Summer spring in elysian fountain

Coy carp rest easily in reflected black

The lilies float

In moon mountain craters

Elephant footprints smack

A trinket for a cat

A piece of reed

She swallows flat

The tiger and the mouse

Both escape near Martin’s House

For the followed, swallowed fog

Has escaped the abandoned dog

And the buzzing dragon fly

Beneath the cat’s claw does lie

Out upon the frosted moor

Where grass snakes knock on the door

To the anima enlightened

Just the wolf don’t be frightened

Firing Squad

She said that time
went upwards
And I said I thought that was spiders
No memories, she claimed
Were washed down the drain
When the single sun shines in the sky

I got the feeling of abbreviation
In the annulment clause
That somebody was not
Connecting what I was feeling
Like a draft coming in from outdoors

The house was sacred yet shattered
It had been, but would be for no more
The type on the computer mattered
But it was tattered prit-prattled
and poor
By the evening of the atomic bomb
A large shark was thrown through the roof
And the oceans boiled
As with turtles and whales
Who suddenly knew their own truth

You she said in closing
Have been acquitted of the true crime
There was dust on the shelves
Of your library of selves
The further back you looked in time

A candle was burning the evening
A thought conspired to form
But extinguished it was
By the hot winds flush
From the salty fleshed
Women of the storm

I slugged my way to the carpet
And left with a terrible head
The dawn came up on the parapet
And in the morning we counted the dead