Poetry

Saturday, 10 June 2023

Good things

 Well if you think you're sunk

You are'nt

There are a thousand ships like you 

they can't

And if you think your time time has come

it probably hasn't, you can't read the signs

There are a thousand dragons and a thousand

Maids

And like you

They are all looking to be be saved

So get off your arse

And listen to the grave

It is growin' grass over what you've left


We all are dying in our own way

Don't think yours is special

Just because you say

It's me, I am my, oh me, oh my!

You are another crumb in the fish pie

Get used to it while your'e

living

For tomorrow you may die!


You think because you're twenty

That it won't come to you

Well it will and there are plenty

Of reasons to think it's true


Well it will and soon you'll be sixty

Thinking this good thing has past

Don't try to take from another a thing

That you've already had

The sun is rising over the verandah

and you know that good things don't last

Friday, 9 June 2023

Blackhole love

 The moon loves the Earth

Pure love

Like a silver spoon and the tongue

They are falling in love,

Always falling the moon

Into the Earth's heart

The Earth into the moon's


Then Gravity is love

Love is gravity

And a black hole

Loves himself too much?

Or does she love Everything else too much

Glowing in the wedding ring diamond

Of an event horizon


She will engage you

And if you marry a blackhole

You'll go on honey moon

And lose all control

In his sweet surrender

And as a blackhole

He keeps very clean carpets

Tuesday, 6 June 2023

Mr Winter

 Mr Winter

In the height of summer

Hear the summer crows

Cast off black In white dove flight

The fashion

Of the rainbows

Mr Winter walks on splinters

Are they pressing in your toes?

What with hinter lands

And tomorrows

How does your garden grow?


Cold as is your frosty fridge

Dark as ivy briar

But in the cold the albertine rose

Shows in summer flower


How goes it now Mr Winter

Will you shed your coat of black

Come out into the sunshine

Feel the sun's warmth on your back

Come now, come now Winter

Oh once cosy in sad memory

No body thought

They could love again

When your heart is in the ashes' keys

Search in the charred wreckage

The wood that's blackened and burned

Somewhere there may still be the embers

From which Mr Summer may return

Sunday, 4 June 2023

Like elephants on ice

 The sun goes down over the street

The crepuscular creepers walking

the beat

Light head lice

The head lights are yet to turn on

In the Somerset Town

They call Babylon


The colours so chrome

Oh I wish they were yellow

Magnesium white lights

The glare of the mellow

And stroking the firelight

The RAC fellow

Goes hammer and tongs

and bellows


The sodium sipped at the supper of kings

Of the control of the periodic table of things

And song of the elements

And elephant wings

But who ever saw an elephant

Fly?

 inside she sings

And who knew the tide lines

And the marks that love brings

On Muriel Sparks

Or Ann summer's stings

And filing for divorce at the court of Great Kings

The Queen has been fought

But she has lost what he brings

Oh take me, elephant, thick of skin

To be your lawfully anointed wife

Oh Mouse husband I do, I do, I do

Now where shall we live?

This house is not big enough for two

I being an elephant I could fill a room

And you being a mouse could barely squeeze in

We must invest in a super saver sofa

And super soaker cheeses

And supper saving goffers

And Puppet waving breezes

And suffer saviours and their sabres

Suffer saboteurs and wheezes

Who would hold their noses

At supermarket freezes

But Jesus, please us and means us, beans us

And holy communion crumbs of busted breeze-block kinesis

Come on commoners come on please

Shake a leg at the foreigners who go between the fleas

And suck up your carpet hairs of all your finger nails

And sneezing snares at the market wares

Coralled, cajolled over controlled by forces

Of Minsk, and rinks of ice, and risks that slip on rice

And dice are rolled down to the bone of hip, skip and suffice


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

Monday, 29 May 2023

Looking back

Hanging around on the pavement
The tarmac, the weeds in the road
Walking up the lane to meet my old friends
Playing games riding skateboards
Chasing about in the estate park
The boy Matthew Bennette telling tales about his bike
That it had special balance handle bars
So that when he tipped his bike
We could hear something rolling down the metal tube
But we all knew that he was a liar
And he had rolled up mud balls to put inside
So it sounded like he had some inbuilt technology
When all he had were his lies
It was funny anyway to hear him say it

There were hawthorn trees with black sloe berries
That grew in late summer and autumn
And elderberries that grew on Tom's farm
When you squashed them they looked like blood
And sometimes we fought the high stinging nettles like soldiers
Cutting them down with bamboo canes
And sometimes we climbed inside haybarns
And made dens inside the bales
Until they all tumbled down on Tom one day and a scaffold pole
Hit him on the head
And he ran out to his mum and dad with blood running down
And he never cried

Then in the fields around Meare out past Down house
We went walking for miles with Matthew wood
And we came back and watched western movies
And stayed over night in his outhouse
And he ate pork pies with so much ketchup
I could never believe or understand why
We played for hours on computer games, pinball wizards
Or Samurai
Cannon fodder and his brother Ben Wood
Was the best at many things
And he had a really good bike

And Stephen who lived on the levels
We used to get on in school
We laughed so hard about vampires
When we had to make a haunted house game
Then when I visited his house
It was full of Star Wars toys
I'd never seen so many in my entire life
And we played with them for hours
But really I never liked Star Wars
But the funniest thing about Stephen were his lies
We used to tell eachother stories
So many that we made up
Each more fantastic than the one before
So that when we told of what we saw
Neither could have believed their eyes
It ended one time with a story of what animals we had seen
Recently, maybe a deer he said
Maybe I had seen a hedgehog
He had seen a badger
And then suddenly he told me
He had seen a Gorilla in the ditch nearby his house
And possibly a vampire as well

Then there was Millbatch where nobody went
From Downs Orchard - the better class estate
Millbatch was the rough end
Where the older kids lived
And Matthew Lambert who was very tough
And his brother Roger who used to pull the legs
Off Daddy Long Legs in School
And now he is carer for Somerset County Council
Working with people with Learning Disabilities
Go figure

Then down on church road, where the water reservoir was
The plastic coated chicken wire mesh that you could reach inside
And that lane was were the bully kids played and made
Their dens there
And we watched out for them while making our own
But there were rumours and whispers around
That she blew somebody somewhere
That he beat someone else up
And little pieces of knowledge fill your brain
Like into a water cup
and it makes up your world as a child
It tells of the big towns out there
And of the boys and girls you thought were so wild
Who now all have grey in their hair