Tear drops for Yesterday, a pasty smells of Summer

I figured you were up with that
The single cream for the cat
The only place I thought I knew
Just a Parker
pen or two
Just a reasonable Policeman's conference
Made up of small faces
In the mugshot gallery
All the toothless wonders of a frightening history
Beamed out under American imperialism
The Chivalry of Donald Trump in the
Space Race
with book ends from Romania
And Nuclear War Heads from Iran
The thought in the head of Spying
From a Russian co-federation
Of Interstellar bar staff

And all those records that lie broken on the moon
The longest long jump
For example
From a standing position
It isn't difficult to win the Olympic medal here
When you are literally in the house of the Gods
But what do I know of the odds?

Yes, Mr Rain man

He is not all I thought he was
There is a certain hole in the head
He gives
Like a stroke
To the weather
The storm clouds fill dark skies
And I am in the hole

A rain doctor came to forecast my health
He gave a dance
Then rewarded himself
By pulling the oceans around the shoulders
Of the land
And comforting the wet sand
Of unknowing universes
Of unkind minds
And the dredge of what
The swallows call spring

He tied a poesy around cider with rosy
And let her be the single
Succulent tree of life

 Because the truth is nobody gives a shit
About the little man
We are the inconsequential stuff of life
That others more powerful
Gauge their own success by
The measure of what it means to be free
By degree
But no-one is truly free
Just the anointed hierarchy
Of a duodenal dawn
That leaves everything tochance
Even the consequences of being born

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