POEMS OF PRAISE

praise

GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD


That he gave his sun to sprinkle light

To gently bathe and brighten night

Yet even more soft rains to pour

As sheets of freshness spreading clean

Enlighten life and brighten scene

So when it rains upon ourselves

We should with joy jump off our shelves

Springing down to splash and sing

Where virgin raindrops dance in Spring

I DON’T REMEMBER SINGING


I don’t remember singing
Never knew if I could, or I should
Never had much to sing about
But things could often make me shout
If in my mind, they would annoy
But I never ever felt that joy
That blossomed forth into song
But if I felt I did belong
I’d sometimes hum amidst the throng

But I don’t remember singing
Never knew if I could, or I should
In dark streets I’d wander home
And sometimes whistle when alone
But even when I heard a song
I’d puzzle where it did belong
And I would pause along the street
To wonder why they felt so tweet
Was it only me who felt so sad
Or were those singers all quite mad

But once I came across a church
As on a hill I saw it perch
And thru the speckled stainéd glass
Voices strong rose deep in mass
They made me venture to the sound
And once inside, indeed I found
A peace and blessing in their song
And found in time I could belong
Conjoined with them in fervent praise
As now in song my voice I raise
My spirit soars, to my amaze

WHEN THE SAINTS GO MARCHING IN


In life we all have a right to be wrong

But rarely possess a right to belong

Or reap forgiveness for our will

Or force repentance for some ill

But souls in brokenness repent

When sorrow swallows sins consent

Then cleansed and clean we do not drown

But live again, to wear the crown

Redeemed, forgiven, free of guilt

With no conscience left to wilt

While miracles may fade with faith

Truth will survive in God’s own Wraith

But while drunks and addicts crave

Will all the saints survive the grave?

THE AGE OF REASON

I felt it one of Gods days

I felt His touch in many ways

I watched the sun rise high to heat

As nature woke from slumber deep

As shadows stalked between the trees

To echo with the gentle breeze

To me a rustling peace they weaved

Yet thinking back my heart was grieved

I sensed that day my youth had passed

For as the dusk came drifting fast

Dark distant bells sang out relief

To sing the sadness of my grief

I SEE YOU


I hear you move amongst the trees

As you rustle with the leaves

I see you in the wind and rain

I even feel you in my pain

I hear your whisper in the grave

I watch you on an ocean wave

I smell you thru a fragrant flower

I touch you in a summer shower

I watch you where the swallow flies

As you put colour in the skies

I feel your shadows drift the night

Your grace bestows the stars their light

So surely you will fill my days

With the wonder of your ways

EVIL IN—EVIL OUT

As evil out the shadowed sun

Is drawn from Heavens good to come

Like despair that drugs and dulls

Into indifference love it lulls

For the man who evil feels

Though he revolve within the wheels

Of justice grinding out a shout

To God the evil still will out

And yet the man, the Devil’s claimed

Though with stigma may be maimed

If good he feels within his ways

A God on high will bless his ways

SHOW ME, LORD

I am blinded Lord, I cannot see

Let me see peace that I may see love

Let me see pity, where I see only pain

Grant me the freedom, Lord, to listen

In silence, and seek in the shadows for light

Then show me Lord, your greatness

That I might build a wall of wisdom

Where I might find You, my God

In all forms, of all things, in all men

Then teach me Lord to forgive

All forms of all things in all men

So show me Lord, the good

Show me, Lord, the miracle

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

The usual crowd in the usual place

A cold Sunday morning, and no parking space

Nothing seemed special about church today

’Til I forced myself to pray

I paid due homage and said amen

But knew something different was happening when

God’s spirit touched me in some special way

And I felt true peace, like a small child at play

Powerful feelings like this I never had

And feeling such joy I was no longer sad

I had always loved God in my simple way

But now felt ecstatic on that special day

Thou I always could feel His love for me

It was now with a shock I really could see

This feeling I felt for the great God above

Meant clearly to me I was simply in love

AN ALIEN GOD

Is there an Easter or Christmas on Mars

Or on some distant planet out in the stars

Where a tall bearded wonder preached to a crowd

’Neath the gassy mass of a chlorine cloud

Did twelve faithful followers write what he said

As masses of monsters with manna were fed

When the lame and the halt lost a trunk or a feeler

Did he graft them back on as a miracle healer

Was he then stapled down with relish and glee

To a plastic shroud on a luminous tree

Did he heal beaks and claws just to suffer their scorn

Or did some of them sense that a God had been born

BLESS THIS DAY

Bless this day Lord, to my body and my mind

Thank you for what I have, and for what I have not

Lord, grant me a day free of injury and insult

But bless me with the courage of my convictions

And teach me Lord, to control my body and my mind

Give me the strength to forgive others

And the wisdom, oh God, to forgive myself

Keep me safe and sane within your will

But give me the grace, to suffer in silence

That I might live this day, in dignity and peace

Bless the day Lord, until the dark of night

Bless the day Lord, that I might see the light

POEMS OF DEATH

death07

DANCE OF DEATH


His wheezing throat sang a mournful note

As his rasping lungs played a tune with his gums

His mechanical chin made a frightful din

As he shut his eyes and shuddered sighs

He muttered the tune like a fluttered balloon

His pulse did race and his sweat-soaked face

Strained his veins like horses reins

This dance of death made him fight for breath

But I saw in his face the end of the race

It grew slack with relief as he ended his grief

His heaving chest was now at rest

And he just passed away, like the night from the day

NORWOOD HOUSE OLD FOLKS HOME, LONDON


DESIGNER DEATH

Nothing new, in Nature, nor
A bargain at the price

Lacking reason, season, space
Drowning every trace of grace

Cloaking shock in disbelief
Less to accept, this sudden grief

But devious and cunning raw
He extends a tempting claw

To cast afar his loving net
Stretched with pain and sorrow yet

Tensioned by the promised morrow
Some vestige of remorse to borrow

Virgin guilt so sparkling fresh
That calls again to conscious flesh

Those bygone lives that surface fast
Where memories in the pool are cast

As meaning reasons slowly silt
To fill this world so full of guilt

THE ACCIDENT

I waken slow, what is my fate

I’ve overslept, I must be late

But now my eyes look round to see

Large pools of blood surrounding me

And now I see lying in the street

Shattered remnants round my feet

And now this blood so fresh and red

Screams out at me, I’ll soon be dead

DEDICATED TO TRIUMPH MOTORCYCLES 1975


THE LIFT

She entered slowly with a sigh
The shuttered concrete building high
The lift she found not far away
To be closed in, on such a day
It sensed just when she was inside
And closed it’s jaws to start the ride
But she felt so lonesome there
For humming deep within it’s lair
The motor whirred with easy grace
The lift to raise at constant pace
Just four cold walls to touch and see
But she felt she’d soon be free
For when at last she reached the roof
Looking down felt so aloof
Spotting people in the street
Could they see her down beneath?
She walked up to the buildings edge
Her fingers stroked the concrete ledge
She found the ride down slightly quicker
The leering crowd left, slightly sicker

TO JEANETTE 1979


FOR THEM


WRITTEN AT BEACHY HEAD, SUSSEX, THE MOST NOTORIOUS SUICIDE VENUE IN ENGLAND, WHERE ON AVERAGE TWENTY PEOPLE PERISH EVERY YEAR.

For them
The ones,
Who end it all
In last brave acts
The martyred few
Who stand and wait
And hesitate
To shake and shudder
But, do sometimes
Fall, or drown
As the case may be
But why, for what, for us
They do not save themselves
Or any thing or being
But let us kindly hope
In their long last drop
Of no return
As final curtains fall
That they might somehow see
In that fleeting moment
True Peace
Hurtling towards them
From out the tunnel of despair

MY E-TYPE JAG

Oh, I do feel a wag
In my E-type Jag
It can do one-fifty
And that is pretty nifty
But if I crash at that speed
Of my remains take no heed
For if I sneeze in the breeze
Or just so much as blink
I shall be dead in a wink
All sprawled on the road
Like a spotted toad
My car will be flat
Like a cricket bat
There’ll be nothing left
Of my bowler hat
The people will look
And say, ‘fancy that’
But he did feel a wag,
In his E-type Jag

THE TREE OF LIFE

Sister saw the tall tree fall

Saw the soul that would not die

Saw the sap of life run dry

And felt the restless breezes fly

She sat and held an arm at length

She slowly mopped a fevered brow

She sensed a slowly fading strength

And felt the weakness in the bough

She held out helping hands to cushion

Branches bending to the Earth

The breeze now sees no leaf to loosen

The soul now seeks another birth

ON THE DEATH OF MY MOTHER


TYBURN TREE


Round Tyburn Tree, impatiently
Awaited the multitude, and me
The star of the show
To appear was slow
But we who had been
There often before
Drank steadily on
Thirsting for more
Then they dragged him forth
To entertain
And hoisted him slow
Screaming with pain
He wriggled and squirmed
And we squealed with delight
When two of his friends
To his legs clung tight
But they quickened the end
For soon he was dead
Later on, one of them
Shot the Judge, so they said
The other paid a visit
To the hangman’s wife
And the only thing spared
Was the poor lady’s life
His brother, I heard
Cut his wrists apart
When their mother died
From a broken heart
Now his wife walks the streets
Turned into a whore
And the children don’t talk
At all, anymore

COMPOSED UNDER TYBURN TREE , HYDE PARK CORNER LONDON


THE WATCHER

I’ve been around for eighty years
I’ve stood and watched in cold and heat
I’ve seen so many hopes and fears
Cross my path, my roots run deep
So I perch upon this cliff and gaze
At ships far out at sea

While tides flow fast, to my amaze
All sorts of people flock to me
Some shelter from a foreign foe
For I give them warmth and heat
As they scour the beach below
For the enemy they hope to meet

But as seasons came and seasons went
I saw small babes grow into men
Then off to war they would be sent
To be never ever seen again
And near my foot a tattered grave
Of an old friend I had known

When famine came, for food he’d crave
And harvest from the crops he’d sown
But now in truth it must be told
There was a time I hanged a man
He had a choice, this fellow bold
But to my very feet he ran

So they cornered him and hung him high
But I did sigh, as they cut him down
To a whispered cry, from the branch so dry
’Twas a silent sound, as he fell to ground
For my many leaves, now drunk with sorrow
Fell with him, to grace the morrow


TRILOGY TO A FOETUS


A MOTHERS LOVE


I wonder what it is they feel

Within the womb that is their seal

Where they float in sacred space

As this warm and precious place

Reverts into an evil tomb

When metal demons probe the womb

To tear apart and rip and rent

As eyes are pierced and skulls are bent

I wonder what it is they feel

As some pervert from above

Their innocence doth steal

I wonder what it is they feel

Could it be a mother’s love

THE CHOSEN FEW


To them, the chosen few

The dedicated few

The ones that rub and scrub

To operate and slice in pieces

Or even take out whole, the foetus

Not body, mind or flesh

But to them, a bloody mess

Their talent and their skill

Being directed with a will

To mercenary extortions

When they execute abortions

TONIGHT


Tonight my thoughts I save

Not simply for the brave

Or even the insane

Tonight my thoughts

My pity and my pain

All fall to you

Those conceived few

So full of hope

And loving mirth

Who must return

Unto this Earth

Before they earn

Their rightful birth

DEDICATED TO THE 934,733,000 REGISTERED WORLDWIDE ABORTIONS
THIS IS EQUAL TO ONE ABORTION FOR EVERY WOMAN ON THE PLANET.
(IN TWO WORLD WARS ONLY 70 MILLION PERISHED)

POEMS OF PAIN

DSCpain00401

POVERTY


Poverty stalks my dreams in the night
As he walks on the beach, ’tween tides of time
He shelters in shadows, away from the light
And thou I can’t see him, he follows my line
And nothing I do will make him take flight

But as he circles, sheltered in shade
I wander along to his old Devil song
And hear him and fear him and feel so afraid
For I wonder to whom my soul will belong
As he lurches along the trail I have made

Dragging Demons for me out the sack on his back
While I just need to sleep in dark dunes of sand
But he waits ’til I stagger to start his attack
Then seizes me tight in the grip of his hand
As the seams of my dreams all fade into black

So we wander along, shackled together
To shuffle the shore, at a slovenly pace
With Conscience in tow, whatever the weather
For she’s in no hurry to finish the race
With a hold of my soul, her song is forever

But stumbling on stones thrown up by the sea
My nemesis Death is heading this way
He digs up old wounds to hurl them at me
As stalking beneath this sky of slate-grey
He callously casts them with vigour and glee

Now I spot his companions Illness and Fear
Who are lurking close by, waiting to show
Their slow recognition, as we grow near
But now I do fear, they will deal me a blow
So I fight against Fate, to escape and get clear

But they come within reach, so we sit on the beach
In a hollow called Hope, where we celebrate Hate
A faithful old friend, who seems to be late
But the party has started, and will go on ’til dawn
When they all will decide, just to whom I belong

THE RUNAWAY

This thing that perched upon the edge

And waited on the pavement ledge

Stared out blankly at a world

Where the callous rush of life unfurled

A youth whose callow innocence lay tousled in the wind

To float amidst the dust, where like a dream it spinned

An echo in the street, a slow and strangled call

That tightened in his throat, as it beat against the wall

A sound that gave me guilt to sense its quiet embrace

As he stalked along the street and I saw his frightened face

When he entered slow this city, devoid of love or pity

And realised existing, or surviving in this place

Would stop his soul reviving, faith in the human race

DEDICATED TO THE THOUSANDS OF TEENAGERS, SLEEEPING ROUGH


ON HIS OWN

With the drift of the snow came the night closing fast

And full well he knew, that his fire would not last

So he wrapped in his rags and left the dying heat

Little thinking that night, his death he would meet

He had lived by himself, preferred being alone

And never spoke much, except just to moan

But that’s why he died, not of cold, on it’s own

But more of the fact that he stayed so alone

They found him that night, by the street lamp above

He had died from the lack of something called love

CARDBOARD CITY WATERLOO 2003


UNEMPLOYED

Sleeping late, eating less
Today, tomorrow, just a guess
Unemployed, on the dole
One of millions, playing a role
An interview at the crack of dawn
Hope to God it won’t take long
For another job would go down fine
Being out of work is such a crime
So looking smart, but feeling a fool
I turn up on time and try to look cool
Please take a seat, just wait a minute
Don’t worry, I say, a minute’s not in it
This year, the minutes, the worry, the fear
Of living alone without any money
Isn’t so funny, a minutes not in it
Hope to God I’ll be working soon
Go in now, it’s the first on the right
A roomful of losers, washed in the light
Filling in forms, on what’s wrong and what’s right
But after a while, in we all file
Tightening our tie and flashing our smile
You must understand, the tribunal say
The Job Centre sent you all here today
For the wages are low and the hours really long
And we only want people with brains and with brawn
For with hundreds of people willing to work
We have to make sure you’re not going to shirk
There’s a short list, you see, of workers to be
So run along, you lucky man
Run from the system while you still can
Just look for our letter, tomorrow at noon
And we do hope you find what you’re looking for soon

THE IMMIGRANT

Pity the poor immigrant,
With no uncle, with no aunt
And no family he can see
All alone now he will be
With so few jobs that he can take
Will poverty be hard to shake
Will he ever end up rich
No, only with a lottery glitch
And will a life of pain and drink
Drive him to the very brink
Or will this time so full of grime
Drive him to a life of crime
And will he ever find a wife
Or will his life be full of strife
Will gentle hands smooth out his hair
Or is his fate the barbers’ chair
No soothing voice for an aching head
Just a bottle of booze and a lonely bed
No hospital visits whenever he’s ill
Just nurses with needles and pill after pill
No loving caress, that to him meant so much
Now just an old memory he never can touch
No welcoming arms or children’s glees
Just a tired old dog all covered in fleas
No breakfast in bed with the Sunday news
Just four empty walls to echo his views
No family Mass with the choir in full song
Just a drink in the pub and a sad sing-a-long
No visits from sons or daughters today
Just a friendly drunk to usher away
No cosy fire with logs all alight
Just a one-bar heater to lighten the night
At Christmas, no crackers or brandy pudd
Just a T.V. dinner that looks rather rude
No green Christmas tree lit up with lights
Just the echoes of neighbours having their fights
No walks in the wood or romps in the snow
With no-one around there’s no-where to go
So to live in this place and not drown in despair
He will need to pursue a life full of prayer
For left on his own in this awful land
He surely will need some guiding hand

HER USUAL SELF


TO THE MEMORY OF BEVERLY LEWIS, WHO DIED AT THE AGE OF TWENTY-THREE, ON THE SEVENTEENTH OF FEBRUARY, NINETEEN EIGHTY-NINE. SHE WAS A BLIND AND DEAF SPASTIC WOMAN WHO LIVED IN A BACK ROOM, SLEEPING ON AN OLD SETTEE COVERED WITH NEWSPAPERS; WHEN SOCIAL SERVICES VISITED THE HOUSE MR. KIETH PARRY, OF GLOUCHESTERSHIRE COUNTY COUNCIL, SAID BEVERLY HAD BEEN IN THAT CONDITION FOR SO LONG SHE SHOULD BE USED TO IT, BECAUSE THE HOUSE WAS LITTERED WITH OLD NEWSPAPERS AND ROTTING FOOD. BEVERLY WAS GENERALLY LEFT NAKED BUT WAS OCCASIONALLY CLOTHED IN A BLANKET, OR A BUNDLE OF OLD MATERIALS. WHEN FOUND SHE WEIGHED LESS THAN FOUR STONE.


I never saw her again
But, when I went there last
She was her usual self
And all that was needed
Was merely to move her
From the settee to a mattress
We did try, the Doctor and I
But it was difficult to breathe
With death and decay
Eating up the air
Besides we had to peel away
So gently off her back
A filthy rotting sack
Which served to keep her warm
For she was blind and deaf, of course
Which did help to explain
Why she never felt the pain
Of being welded by her waste
Itself a sticky paste
That sucked her down
With every breath
Into an evil pit of death
Now the sound of her shame
As she gently froze in pain
Will never ever leave
But now I dare not think of her
Except when I see snow or rain
Slide gently down my window pane

THE BABY SMILES

In the wind and rain
The baby smiles
The rain
Coats her smile
With tears
I wonder
Will the tent
Hold out the cold
For with hunger
The little ones
Cry such a lot
But the baby is good
She does not cry
For now I see
She cannot feel
The wind or rain
Or the hunger
Or my love
The rain
Coats her smile
With tears

BANGLADESH OCTOBER 1988


DEATH OF A FRIEND

Strong of hand, fleet of feet
For guys like us, all life was sweet
We’d dance and drink ’til the early hours
Then sleep in the park after picking the flowers
Of women and wine, we had our fill
But time pushed us both, right over the hill
Booze got the better of Bob, there’s no doubt
For his family and friends soon wanted out
He wound up in a hostel for addicts and drunks
I went to an Abbey and lived with the monks
Bob slept on his shoes, as a pillow at night
As bugs drained his strength, by the moon’s misty light
His bed lay in a row, in a big hollow room
Where at night naked men would all pee in the gloom
Now his comrades in dreams were armies of mice
And they shared this great feast with scabies and lice
To escape from this world Bob then turned to drugs
Which we both had agreed were only for mugs
Yet one night he drowned, in their tender caress
But grateful I was, that he died without stress

IN MEMORY OF MY DEAR FRIEND ROBERT COLEMAN


THE PHONE BOX BOY


They called me that, for I had been found
Wrapped in a blanket, lying on the ground
In a red phone box, in the dead of the night
As the moon and my mum slid out of sight
Barnardoes turned up and gave me a home
But as I grew up I just wanted to roam
Here life was too noisy, I was never alone
So I left there, with nothing to carry but pride
And a strong sense of ethics, deep down inside
With no family or friends I would sleep in a ditch
But on all village greens, my tent I could pitch
For I’d found a friend, as I travelled round
Relating my tales to folks that I found
My friend was a donkey, and he pulled a cart
And for many long years he lived in my heart
We would travel the land, sleeping under the stars
Local by-laws allowed me to build little fires
On all village greens, so we could rest up
To cook us a meal, and sit there and sup
And then tell our stories, as folk filled our cup
With pennies and pity, and wishes of luck
’Til one night we camped by Blewbury Green
And I told my tales ’neath a frozen moon-beam
When three little lads, barely teens, I am told
Cornered old Merlin, as he lay tired and cold
With hands ever gentle, they stroked his long tail
But with evil intent for they made Merlin wail
When they tied on fire-crackers, and giggled in glee
As they then lit them up, when no-one could see
Merlin frothed at the mouth, just gasping for air
And panicked in fear, to run here and run there
But got hit by a truck, that fast homeward bound
Crushed poor old Merlin, right into the ground-
I still haunt the highways, telling my tale
And I will not stop, and I will not fail
To find those three lads, some cold moonlit night
When I’ll teach them all, the real meaning of fright

FOR PETER (KULGAN) CAIRNS, AND MERLIN, HIS FAITHFUL FRIEND FOR 17 YEARS, AND OF COURSE, THE GOOD FOLK OF BLEWBURY.


THE WORLD PASSED BY

Stretched out on his bed of papers and wood
The old man lay quietly sighing
He ached at the thought of warmth and food
But the world passed him by and he heard it sigh
Oh dear, what a shame, who’s to blame
I’d help if only I could, I would
I’d help for I feel that I should
His legs grew cold as the wind grew bold
For his clothes were all falling apart
He had wanted to go, for it looked like snow
But he hadn’t the strength to start
The world passed him by and he heard it sigh
I’d help if only I could, I would
I’d help for I feel that I should
It started to snow as night came on
But the old man was quiet, his hunger had gone
Now he was alone in a world of his own
He’d ended his fast at last
The night passed him by, and it did sigh
I helped for I knew if I could I would
I helped for I felt that I should

THAMES EMBANKMMENT 2004

POEMS OF POVERTY

poverty

POVERTY

Poverty stalks my dreams in the night
As he walks on the beach, ’tween tides of time
He shelters in shadows, away from the light
And thou I can’t see him, he follows my line
And nothing I do will make him take flight

But as he circles, sheltered in shade
I wander along to his old Devil song
And hear him and fear him and feel so afraid
For I wonder to whom my soul will belong
As he lurches along the trail I have made

Dragging Demons for me out the sack on his back
While I just need to sleep in dark dunes of sand
But he waits ’til I stagger to start his attack
Then seizes me tight in the grip of his hand
As the seams of my dreams all fade into black

So we wander along, shackled together
To shuffle the shore, at a slovenly pace
With Conscience in tow, whatever the weather
For she’s in no hurry to finish the race
With a hold of my soul, her song is forever

But stumbling on stones thrown up by the sea
My nemesis Death is heading this way
He digs up old wounds to hurl them at me
As stalking beneath this sky of slate-grey
He callously casts them with vigour and glee

Now I spot his companions Illness and Fear
Who are lurking close by, waiting to show
Their slow recognition, as we grow near
But now I do fear, they will deal me a blow
So I fight against Fate, to escape and get clear

But they come within reach, so we sit on the beach
In a hollow called Hope, where we celebrate Hate
A faithful old friend, who seems to be late
But the party has started, and will go on ’til dawn
When they all will decide, just to whom I belong

THE RUNAWAY

This thing that perched upon the edge

And waited on the pavement ledge

Stared out blankly at a world

Where the callous rush of life unfurled

A youth whose callow innocence lay tousled in the wind

To float amidst the dust, where like a dream it spinned

An echo in the street, a slow and strangled call

That tightened in his throat, as it beat against the wall

A sound that gave me guilt to sense its quiet embrace

As he stalked along the street and I saw his frightened face

When he entered slow this city, devoid of love or pity

And realised existing, or surviving in this place

Would stop his soul reviving, faith in the human race

DEDICATED TO THE THOUSANDS OF TEENAGERS, SLEEEPING ROUGH

ON HIS OWN

With the drift of the snow came the night closing fast

And full well he knew, that his fire would not last

So he wrapped in his rags and left the dying heat

Little thinking that night, his death he would meet

He had lived by himself, preferred being alone

And never spoke much, except just to moan

But that’s why he died, not of cold, on it’s own

But more of the fact that he stayed so alone

They found him that night, by the street lamp above

He had died from the lack of something called love

CARDBOARD CITY WATERLOO 2003

UNEMPLOYED

Sleeping late, eating less
Today, tomorrow, just a guess
Unemployed, on the dole
One of millions, playing a role
An interview at the crack of dawn
Hope to God it won’t take long
For another job would go down fine
Being out of work is such a crime
So looking smart, but feeling a fool
I turn up on time and try to look cool
Please take a seat, just wait a minute
Don’t worry, I say, a minute’s not in it
This year, the minutes, the worry, the fear
Of living alone without any money
Isn’t so funny, a minutes not in it
Hope to God I’ll be working soon
Go in now, it’s the first on the right
A roomful of losers, washed in the light
Filling in forms, on what’s wrong and what’s right
But after a while, in we all file
Tightening our tie and flashing our smile
You must understand, the tribunal say
The Job Centre sent you all here today
For the wages are low and the hours really long
And we only want people with brains and with brawn
For with hundreds of people willing to work
We have to make sure you’re not going to shirk
There’s a short list, you see, of workers to be
So run along, you lucky man
Run from the system while you still can
Just look for our letter, tomorrow at noon
And we do hope you find what you’re looking for soon

THE IMMIGRANT

Pity the poor immigrant,
With no uncle, with no aunt
And no family he can see
All alone now he will be
With so few jobs that he can take
Will poverty be hard to shake
Will he ever end up rich
No, only with a lottery glitch
And will a life of pain and drink
Drive him to the very brink
Or will this time so full of grime
Drive him to a life of crime
And will he ever find a wife
Or will his life be full of strife
Will gentle hands smooth out his hair
Or is his fate the barbers’ chair
No soothing voice for an aching head
Just a bottle of booze and a lonely bed
No hospital visits whenever he’s ill
Just nurses with needles and pill after pill
No loving caress, that to him meant so much
Now just an old memory he never can touch
No welcoming arms or children’s glees
Just a tired old dog all covered in fleas
No breakfast in bed with the Sunday news
Just four empty walls to echo his views
No family Mass with the choir in full song
Just a drink in the pub and a sad sing-a-long
No visits from sons or daughters today
Just a friendly drunk to usher away
No cosy fire with logs all alight
Just a one-bar heater to lighten the night
At Christmas, no crackers or brandy pudd
Just a T.V. dinner that looks rather rude
No green Christmas tree lit up with lights
Just the echoes of neighbours having their fights
No walks in the wood or romps in the snow
With no-one around there’s no-where to go
So to live in this place and not drown in despair
He will need to pursue a life full of prayer
For left on his own in this awful land
He surely will need some guiding hand

HER USUAL SELF

TO THE MEMORY OF BEVERLY LEWIS, WHO DIED AT THE AGE OF TWENTY-THREE, ON THE SEVENTEENTH OF FEBRUARY, NINETEEN EIGHTY-NINE. SHE WAS A BLIND AND DEAF SPASTIC WOMAN WHO LIVED IN A BACK ROOM, SLEEPING ON AN OLD SETTEE COVERED WITH NEWSPAPERS; WHEN SOCIAL SERVICES VISITED THE HOUSE MR. KIETH PARRY, OF GLOUCHESTERSHIRE COUNTY COUNCIL, SAID BEVERLY HAD BEEN IN THAT CONDITION FOR SO LONG SHE SHOULD BE USED TO IT, BECAUSE THE HOUSE WAS LITTERED WITH OLD NEWSPAPERS AND ROTTING FOOD. BEVERLY WAS GENERALLY LEFT NAKED BUT WAS OCCASIONALLY CLOTHED IN A BLANKET, OR A BUNDLE OF OLD MATERIALS. WHEN FOUND SHE WEIGHED LESS THAN FOUR STONE.

I never saw her again
But, when I went there last
She was her usual self
And all that was needed
Was merely to move her
From the settee to a mattress
We did try, the Doctor and I
But it was difficult to breathe
With death and decay
Eating up the air
Besides we had to peel away
So gently off her back
A filthy rotting sack
Which served to keep her warm
For she was blind and deaf, of course
Which did help to explain
Why she never felt the pain
Of being welded by her waste
Itself a sticky paste
That sucked her down
With every breath
Into an evil pit of death
Now the sound of her shame
As she gently froze in pain
Will never ever leave me
But now I dare not think of her
Except when I see snow or rain
Slide gently down my window pane

THE BABY SMILES

In the wind and rain
The baby smiles
The rain
Coats her smile
With tears
I wonder
Will the tent
Hold out the cold
For with hunger
The little ones
Cry such a lot
But the baby is good
She does not cry
For now I see
She cannot feel
The wind or rain
Or the hunger
Or my love
The rain
Coats her smile
With tears

BANGLADESH OCTOBER 1988

DEATH OF A FRIEND

Strong of hand, fleet of feet
For guys like us, all life was sweet
We’d dance and drink ’til the early hours
Then sleep in the park after picking the flowers
Of women and wine, we had our fill
But time pushed us both, right over the hill
Booze got the better of Bob, there’s no doubt
For his family and friends soon wanted out
He wound up in a hostel for addicts and drunks
I went to an Abbey and lived with the monks
Bob slept on his shoes, as a pillow at night
As bugs drained his strength, by the moon’s misty light
His bed lay in a row, in a big hollow room
Where at night naked men would all pee in the gloom
Now his comrades in dreams were armies of mice
And they shared this great feast with scabies and lice
To escape from this world Bob then turned to drugs
Which we both had agreed were only for mugs
Yet one night he drowned, in their tender caress
But grateful I was, that he died without stress

IN MEMORY OF MY DEAR FRIEND ROBERT COLEMAN

THE PHONE BOX BOY

They called me that, for I had been found
Wrapped in a blanket, lying on the ground
In a red phone box, in the dead of the night
As the moon and my mum slid out of sight
Barnardoes turned up and gave me a home
But as I grew up I just wanted to roam
Here life was too noisy, I was never alone
So I left there, with nothing to carry but pride
And a strong sense of ethics, deep down inside
With no family or friends I would sleep in a ditch
But on all village greens, my tent I could pitch
For I’d found a friend, as I travelled round
Relating my tales to folks that I found
My friend was a donkey, and he pulled a cart
And for many long years he lived in my heart
We would travel the land, sleeping under the stars
Local by-laws allowed me to build little fires
On all village greens, so we could rest up
To cook us a meal, and sit there and sup
And then tell our stories, as folk filled our cup
With pennies and pity, and wishes of luck
’Til one night we camped by Blewbury Green
And I told my tales ’neath a frozen moon-beam
When three little lads, barely teens, I am told
Cornered old Merlin, as he lay tired and cold
With hands ever gentle, they stroked his long tail
But with evil intent for they made Merlin wail
When they tied on fire-crackers, and giggled in glee
As they then lit them up, when no-one could see
Merlin frothed at the mouth, just gasping for air
And panicked in fear, to run here and run there
But got hit by a truck, that fast homeward bound
Crushed poor old Merlin, right into the ground-
I still haunt the highways, telling my tale
And I will not stop, and I will not fail
To find those three lads, some cold moonlit night
When I’ll teach them all, the real meaning of fright

FOR PETER (KULGAN) CAIRNS, AND MERLIN, HIS FAITHFUL FRIEND FOR 17 YEARS, AND OF COURSE, THE GOOD FOLK OF BLEWBURY.

THE WORLD PASSED BY

Stretched out on his bed of papers and wood
The old man lay quietly sighing
He ached at the thought of warmth and food
But the world passed him by and he heard it sigh
Oh dear, what a shame, who’s to blame
I’d help if only I could, I would
I’d help for I feel that I should
His legs grew cold as the wind grew bold
For his clothes were all falling apart
He had wanted to go, for it looked like snow
But he hadn’t the strength to start
The world passed him by and he heard it sigh
I’d help if only I could, I would
I’d help for I feel that I should
It started to snow as night came on
But the old man was quiet, his hunger had gone
Now he was alone in a world of his own
He’d ended his fast at last
The night passed him by, and it did sigh
I helped for I knew if I could I would
I helped for I felt that I should

THAMES EMBANKMMENT 2004

POEMS OF WAR

war

HIROSHIMA


I remember it well, that first day in Hell

So long ago, I know

As the sirens sounded our Yankee foe

Decided that now, his power we would know

So dropped his Atomic Bomb from the sky

That caused those below to melt and to fry

We all saw the flash and then felt the blast

That blew infernos around us, to eerily cast

A different light on a different world

As blackened bodies lay unfurled

In corners and gutters clinging together

Welded and wedded where no man could sever

Yet skinless souls still shuffled by

In silent circles they would try

To see the sun, to see the sky

I remember it well, that first day in Hell

So long ago, I know

When God let man his fate create

And Genius fell to earth, as hate

As dependant on a Compass whim

Determined how much blackened skin

Would flap around, about your heel

Or even how much pain you’d feel

As you dragged around your cloak of death

Blinded, deafened, sucking breath

Those with huge bloated heads just staggered around

’Til their eyeballs popped out, to explode on the ground

The Mushroom cloud now rose on high

As snow-like ashes fell to lie

On those below who searched the sky

I remember it well, that first day in Hell

So long ago, I know

I watched where tender lips did lie

To see dark holes vent silent cry

I saw the shape of a horse, in the Sun

As he stood in God’s warmth, ’til a hotter one

Burnt him so perfect, against a white wall

In an instant heat, that left no time to fall

I saw shadows on steps, where bodies had curled

As vaporized souls left their mark on this world

Now black dollops of rain fell out of the mist

From that curse`d sky in one final twist

But the deaf and the blind who looked up to God

Found these cascades of rain were naught but a fraud

For they fell with the splash of hot nuclear ash

I remember it well, that first day in Hell

So long ago, I know

Then we dug in the rubble, the debris to hurl

And managed to find a frail little girl

It dampened our glee, when she just couldn’t see

But still managed to cry, thru one squid-like eye

Whose last look at life was facing the Sun

That once gave her birth, but then fell to Earth

So feeling her pain on that lonely day

I stroked her long hair, ’til I felt her sway

As it fell out in clumps, and looked really bad

For although she was blind, she felt really sad

Then our saviours arrived with water and food

But no victims of burns should drink, if they could

So they gasped and gave up, and dropped where they stood

I remember it well, that first day in Hell

So long ago, I know

This child that we found needed blood, so my friend

Decided to give, being so close to the end

So he gave what he could though feeling so feeble

But couldn’t stop bleeding when they took out the needle

He had just drunk too much of that evil black rain

So we stood by in shame, as he gave up his pain.

In the centre of town stood a fountain and pond

Thirsty circles clung there, ’til Death waved her wand

Now they sit in my mind, but at night circle round

Like those in the fires, who dug into the ground

The firestorm had started to eat up the air

Yet many stood still, for they just didn’t care

But most panicked in fear, and ran here and ran there

I remember it well, that first day in Hell

So long ago, I know

So we ran to the river but the river ran red

As thousands jumped in, as they burned and they bled

But they drowned in the scrum, and ended up dead

As corpses and bodies to the surface were fed

Our nails and our teeth and our hair then fell out

While those trapped in the fires screamed shout after shout

The day that huge plane dropped a gift with regret

A gift to remember, a gift to forget

When it placed Hell on Earth, and our City ceased

With a toast from the skies, and a boast from the beast

DEDICATED TO LITTLE TAEKAKO YOSHIMOTO, ONE OF THREE THOUSAND SCHOOLCHILDREN WHO PERISHED THAT FIRST DAY IN HELL

AUSCHWITZ

As I shuffle, as I shift

The tons of ashes slowly drift

As tens of thousands daily dead

To the pit are quickly fed

In flaming fires where pain is passed

And love alone survives the fast

As barbed wire beckons sleep

So shaven ladies leap

To where electric fences reap

Burnt rewards for fleet of feet

Now freed from tolling life’s grim bell

Now freed from out this living hell

To where their souls delivered free

Can seek some bleak eternity

They wander in a blackened cave

They wallow in an empty grave

They sadly sink in freedoms womb

To gladly walk into the tomb

Where furnace chimneys smoke above

And clouds of life drift off like love

DEDICATED TO THE ONE MILLION JEWS WHO PERISHED IN THIS CAMP ALONE.

THE TRUTH OF THE TRUCE

DEDICATED TO PRIVATE FRANK RICHARDS

Buried in mud, deep down in our trench

We dream of our bed and wish we were dead

For we hear all the wails as we chew on our nails

And munch our plum puddings as hard as a brick

While we fight in this war, feeling so sick

For the innocent men who must die every day

So General Haig can have his own way

But we’re not the ones, to even ask why

Just run for the Hun, and hope not to die

But suddenly Christmas comes marching along

And some of the Germans burst into song

A candlelit tree near our front line they carried

As they sang Silent Night, around us they scurried

But they staggered along, for they just couldn’t see

Thru the flurries of snow where the trenches should be

But then Private Richards dug deep in the mud

And flung them a pudding all covered in blood

But when they returned with cases of beer

We lost all our anger and drowned out our fear

The officers all then agreed a reprieve

So the men could rejoice on this cold Christmas Eve

Then we laid down our dead, in bleak no-mans land

To the mournful tune of a lone Piper Band

As gifts were exchanged simple logic explained

Why this truce should not end with the gifts we did send

But General Haig then panicked in fright

When he found half his Army just wouldn’t fight

So out in the snow in the dead of the night

To slaughter some soldier, a sniper he sent

Who soon found a target, for the truce now was rent

As big guns erupted and peace slowly passed

The top brass corrupted to make the war last

But what did they gain, no one will know

As hordes of our heroes dropped down like the snow

Why this carnage continued just isn’t clear

For they slaughtered a million, year after year

But we who survived will never forget

That fateful day when two armies met

We all will remember that cold Christmas Eve

When late one December, in God we believed.

SAD AND INSANE

I’m not sad or insane

I’m just Saddam Hussein

But I hate all those Kurds

Who float round like turds

For they live in a marsh

And although it sounds harsh

I will dose ’em with gas

’Til their nerves all wither

Then laugh as they drop

To slurp and to slither

I’ll choke off their lungs

And poison their blood

And then grind their children

All into the mud

I will bomb them and napalm them

Then bury and embalm them

For to me it seems right

To slaughter them all

By day, or by night

DEDICATED TO SADDAM’S COUSIN ALI HASSAN AL-MAJID, ALSO KNOWN AS CHEMICAL ALI, RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CHEMICAL GASSING OF FIVE THOUSAND MEN, WOMEN AND CHILDREN IN THE KURDISH CITY OF HALABJAH

THE WEDDING AT PORT HARCOURT

DURING THE CIVIL WAR IN NIGERIA, COMMANDER ALBERT DIETE SPIFF CELEBRATED HIS WEDDING IN PORT HARCOURT ONLY TWO MILES FROM WHERE THOUSANDS OF IBO CHILDREN WERE STARVING TO DEATH. A REPRESENTATIVE OF THE BRITISH GOVERNMENT, LORD HUNT, SENT THERE TO REVIEW THE FAMINE, CLAIMED THE SITUATION WAS ‘NOT TOO BAD’. IT IS NOT KNOWN IF HE WAS ONE OF THE TWO HUNDRED DIGNITARIES AT THE WEDDING, BUT PERHAPS THE LAVISH EXPENSE OF THE PROCEEDINGS INFLUENCED HIM INTO THINKING THE CRISIS WAS NOT AS BAD AS THE PRESS CLAIMED.

It was

A lovely little wedding

Not white, black, but

With all the local dignitaries

But no Lords, and Albert

So wanted a Lord

I had to tell him

Not many left. Expensive

There were

Lots of Pigs and Goats

But not many Lords;

Especially British Lords

Albert burped and drank

Another Scotch; he should have

Stuck to Champagne, but

Those turkeys, barbecued

That is

Were excelled only by

The roasted piglets, and

The salads, oh those salads

That crisped and crunched

As we sat in circles sipping

We did not stop, not once, we

Could have, but we did not, once

Then we

All decided to go, wanted

To see, but Albert said that

Two miles is two, too far

Besides, if we stopped

And listened, we could hear

Them starve; not that

They made much noise

But on

The wind, we heard

Above the humming flies

The funny cries, the sighs

They carried well like

Smells of food, Albert said

We did not stop, not once, we

Could have, but we did not, once

FIRESTORM OVER DRESDEN

In old Dresden City, where the girls were so pretty

We were running in fear because we could hear

Many planes in the night, and the terrible sight

Of thousands of bombs, as they sang out their songs

To fall just like rain, as we screamed out in pain

When tons of pure phosphor dropped down like snow

On the people below with nowhere to go

Then they circled us all in a huge ring of fire

Which started to spiral, as it grew even higher

Our lungs just drained dry, as the fire soared on high

People burst into flames, and soon joined the dead

For into the firestorm their bodies were fed

As children and babies were just sucked away

When Hell fell on Earth, turning night into day

Pregnant women in shock, gave birth in the street

Induced by the noise, and the terrible heat

Horses were charcoaled, where they stood on their feet

So we jumped in canals, and started to pray

But the water boiled up, and baked us like clay

Bomber Harris had claimed his magnificent plan

Would destroy this fine city, down to a man

But some did survive to relate this great tale

Of the day human nature just seemed to fail

And total destruction was then made the aim

When wholescale war was the name of the game

DEDICATED TO THE 35,000 WHO DIED ON 13th FEBRUARY 1945 BY THE HAND OF BUTCHER HARRIS OF BOMBER COMMAND

ARMAGEDDON

A still wind rustles fate

As mushrooms naked blaze

Where skies of conscience trail

Tall spirals in the haze

Now distant fireballs spawn

On cold and callous shores

Where raging suns have split the dawn

In nuclear heat that bores

Into red flesh a deadly ray

To conjure silent screams

And man that toys with life this day

Must now live life in dreams

(Israeli Defence Force)

PART ONE

IN 2004 A SUICIDE BOMBER SLAUGHTERED TWO INNOCENT CHILDREN IN JERUSALEM. ISRAEL SWORE RETRIBUTION, AND BEGAN TO TARGET CHILDREN IN THE OCCUPIED TERRITORIES, FORGETTING THAT ONE ATROCITY DOES NOT EXCUSE ANOTHER. DEDICATED TO THE PLATOON COMMANDER OF THE GIVATI BRIGADE, WHO EMPTIED HIS MACHINE-GUN INTO THIRTEEN-YEAR-OLD IYMAN AL– HAMS, AS SHE LAY DYING IN THE STREET AND TO THE YOUNG ISRAELI SNIPER WHO SHOT AND KILLED ELEVEN-YEAR-OLD GHADIR MOKHEIMER AS SHE INNOCENTLY SAT AT HER SCHOOL-DESK IN A REFUGEE CAMP IN GAZA CITY.

Feeling brave and feeling pretty

As we carve up Gaza City

We’re heroes of the I.D.F.

Killing kids and dishing death

When we blow up a tenement block

It’s women and children who die in the shock

And we don’t feel bad when we gun down a kid

For of suicide bombers we got to be rid

But these practice targets are running out fast

So we have to resort to shooting through glass

Into classroom windows, where the kids learn to read

But the rate that we kill ’em, there’ll be few left to breed

For we’ve polished off thirty, in a matter of days

And just bagged a beauty on her way up to class

As we shot her just once, when she came up to pass

The heroes of the IDF

Feeling brave and feeling pretty

On their way through Gaza City

Her rucksack, we felt, could have been a bomb

But her shattered face sang a different song

For when she got up she panicked in fear

And ran straight for us; her heroes were near

So we shot her again, as she screamed out in pain

Twenty bullets of lead, made sure she was dead

But in truth most of us shot her straight thru the head

Still, great target practice, this innocent death

For the butchers of the IDF

Feeling brave and feeling pretty

Like rats in a sewer, as we ravage the City.

DEDICATED TO THE PLATOON COMMANDER OF THE GIVATI BRIGADE

SPONSORED BY SAMUEL LEONARD MYERS. J.F.J.F.P

(JEWS FOR JUSTICE FOR PALESTINIANS)

TRILOGY TO THE I..D.F.

(Israeli Defence Force)

PART TWO

IN MARCH 2003 A YOUNG AMERICAN PEACE ACTIVIST, RACHEL CORRIE, WENT TO THE GAZA STRIP TO HELP THE PALESTINIANS AS THE I.D.F. WERE DEMOLISHING 5000 HOMES IN THE PALESTINIAN TERRITORIES THEY WERE ILLEGALLY OCCUPYING. THE I.D.F. WERE USING AMERICAN SUPPLIED CATERPILLAR BULLDOZERS THAT WERE SPECIALLY ARMOURED BY THE AMERICAN COMPANY WHO SUPPLIED THEM; ALTHOUGH WITNESSES SWORE THE DRIVER OF THE GIANT MACHINE THAT CRUSHED RACHEL TO DEATH WAS VERY AWARE OF HER PRESENCE WHEN SHE GOT TRAPPED, HE IGNORED ALL THE SCREAMS AND CRUSHED HER TO DEATH. HE WAS NEVER TRIED AND ESCAPED ALL PUNISHMENT. RACHEL’S PARENTS SUED THE AMERICAN CATERPILLAR COMPANY FOR SUPPLYING WEAPONS OF WAR.

Feeling brave and feeling pretty

On my way thru Gaza City

Killing kids and dishing death

As a Dozer Driver for the I.D.F.

Carving carnage all around

Perched on high and looking down

As Arab peasants run to ground

I mow down houses, people too

If they dare oppose the chosen few

When I speed up and plough them under

My hearty blade rips them asunder

But I’m so sad when I hear no screams

Over the roar of the monster machines

But a Dozer Driver of the I.D.F.

Can slaughter kids and dish out death

On his way thru Gaza City

Feeling brave and feeling pretty

For we live in a land of milk and honey

That floats on a sea of American money

But we trespass into a stricken land

With tanks and planes at our command

But my favourite toy is my giant bulldozer

And my greatest joy is to knock kids over

As a hero of the I.D.F.

Killing kids and dishing death

Feeling brave and feeling pretty

On my way thru Gaza City

DEDICATED TO THE BUTCHER WITH THE BULLDOZER

TRILOGY TO THE I..D.F.

(Israeli Defence Force)

PART THREE

IN APRIL 2003 AN ISRAELI SNIPER WITH THE I.D.F. SHOT 22 YEAR OLD THOMAS HURNDALL WITH HIS HIGH-POWERED TELESCOPIC RIFLE. TOM WAS IN GAZA AS A PEACE VOLUNTEER AND DIED TRYING TO DRAG THREE YOUNG PALESTINIAN CHILDREN AWAY FROM THE LINE OF FIRE. THEY WERE PINNED DOWN BY THE SAME UNIT, IN THE SAME PLACE, WHERE BRITISH CAMERAMAN, JAMES MILLER, 34 WAS SHOT THROUGH THE NECK, THREE WEEKS LATER. BRITISH COURTS LATER DECLARED THESE INCIDENTS TO BE ILLEGAL KILLINGS, AS WAS THE SHELLING OF A BEACH IN GAZA, IN MARCH, WHEN EIGHT MEMBERS OF A PALESTINIAN FAMILY WERE WIPED OUT AT THE SAME TIME AS DOZENS OF OTHERS WERE BADLY INJURED. THE ORGANISATION, HUMAN RIGHTS WATCH, WHO MONITORED THE INVESTIGATION, DECLARED IT A TOTAL WHITEWASH, AS WAS THE BOMBING OF RED CROSS AMBULANCES, REFUGEE CAMPS AND THE U.N. COMPOUND IN LEBANON, IN 2006.

Feeling brave and feeling pretty

On our way through Gaza City

We’re heroes of the I.D.F.

Killing kids and dishing death

With telescopic sights I never ever miss

I greet those Arab kids with my supersonic kiss

It was in the Gaza Strip that I became a killer

And my buddy in the unit later killed a Mr. Miller

I was shooting at some kids and nearly got a hit

When some stupid Englishman did his noble bit

Dragging them away from me, out my line of sight

So I simply shot him down, and much to my delight

He fell upon the ground, with a slightly hollow sound

This callow youth of 22, my rifle had brought down

So for little Tommy Hurndall it didn’t take a lot

For a medal-winning marksman, just a single shot

Then English Courts declared these were all war-crimes

But murder here is nothing, just a sign of modern times

As the U.S. always claims, we’re always in the right

So they give us planes and bombs, that we drop in the night

On crowded refugee camps, and on the Red Cross too

And on the U.N. forces for there’s nothing they will do

’Cos we ride on the back of a Holy Holocaust

And for war-crimes like ours, no-one counts the cost

So if you take your family, for a day-out at the beach

You still won’t be safe, you’ll still be in our reach

And our long range guns will blow you all to bits

For heroes of the I.D.F. have to keep their wits

Feeling brave and feeling pretty

On our way thru Gaza City

We’re heroes of the I.D.F.

Killing kids and dishing death

DEDICATED TO SGT. TAYSIR HAYB, HERO OF THE I.D.F.

TIDES OF TIME


As changing tides of time

Wash pebbles from the mind

Let them carve a warning sign

Like some secret valentine

For as the wheels of life run dry

Only memories do not die

As grinding on they slowly spin

The threads of life they weave within

Like silken shadows hanging still

Life’s illusions hide at will

But hollow hopes can never be

At peace with truth, and never free

’Til peoples of the Earth are one

Like clouds adrift, beneath the Sun

SO LUCKY

In bandit country, this looks bad

A milk churn rests on concrete slab

So driving by, we cruise so slow

Fingers on triggers, ready to go

But the blast erupts a yard away

To change our lives that fateful day

My face gets smashed against the truck

But I am told I have great luck

With lungs all pierced with shrapnel hits

And bones that are all smashed to bits

I am so lucky, so they say

To just survive that fateful day

With rib-cage collapsed, and ribs all broke

From shrapnel clots I got a stroke

With a broken neck I got last rites

The doctors rarely saw such sights

Blind and deaf, my ears hung down

But I was lucky, not to drown

In my own blood, so they say

So lucky, on that fateful day

TO MICHEAL KELLY, YORKSHIRE LIGHT INFANTRY, BLOWN UP IN SOUTH ARMAGH 1971

POEMS OF WONDER

wonder

AUTUMN LEAVES

As drops of dew to leaves are lent

They sparkle in the autumn scent

As round these trees like voices calling

Leaves blow slow in silence falling

THE FINAL HARVEST

When you just cannot see, for the tears in your eyes

And all of your friends ignore all of your cries

When you feel that of troubles the burden you bear

Weighs more than it should, much more than your share

Look round you and think, if we all had romance

If we all had equal share and all had equal chance

Our ultimate rewards would all be equal too

And there’d be no point of life for me or for you

Therefore our reward depends, on what luck we get

The way that we use it, and the way that we let

Our little lives slip by, so please do not forget

That if you don’t reap rewards on this earth, my friend

You’ll be well compensated in the harvest at the end

THE KEY OF THE DOOR

There are many keys to the doorway of fame

Not carved or engraved with any one name

But we all have a few in the gifts we possess

And one of those keys should give us success

But to find the right key is the secret of life

To find peace amidst worry and flurry and strife

For though we grow old and time stands to mock

We may still have the key that will open that lock

For the very thing that may open the door

May be the key that we’ve tried out before

I AM CHANGE, I AM LIFE

I am all things, to all men

I am the spring of youth

Hope awaiting help

And the singer in the song

I am the leper leaving life

A cancer cutting clean

And a writer carving thought

I am the draw of the crowd

The madness in the soul

And the child that knows no name

I am a maiden after beauty

A harlot into innocence

And a virgin waiting lovers

I am music teasing silence

Where lovers test their oneness

And a drunk without power

I am the redness in the blood

Of a lady looking lovely

And a woman wearing weals

I am the pressure in the weight

The aching in the brain

And the shadow in the light

I am the good within

And the evil without

Every saint and every sinner

I am every hammock hanging

Every hangman grieving

And everyman, alone

I am all things, to all men

I am change, I am life

RAINBOWS END

Where falls this misty rain to show

Long ribboned rays where rainbows glow

Through silken clouds where shadows flow

In golden beams they slowly grow

To light my life with colours free

Leaving signs of peace for me

This memory of Gods love will be

A golden message all should see

THE LEAVES IN MY FIRE

That cried as they died in the wind, made the mask of my mind unwind

To fall afresh from off my face, as like the fire my senses roared

So the smoke in spirals soared, in dark defences drifting down

Around the winding winds it wound, the shafts of sunlight that it found

To pierce and penetrate in parts, this rhythm as a rainbow raw

Which waxed and waned within, the sudden shadows that it shifted

In and out the shapes it sifted, and as I watched and wondered

In skies above I did perceive, a plane did on the ether freeze

Itself a sudden space in time, to slice inside the thinning skies

A shinning silver soft surprise, but sliding silent those up there

Could only guess at all this splendour, they were soaked in thoughts elsewhere

Just then I spied a frightened face, attracted by my fire, I feared

A fox that felt, just like me forced, into this hungry city, sensed

To keep on scratching all the more, just meant the greater grew the sore

I FAIL TO UNDERSTAND

I fail to understand, oh Lord

Why your world has grown in many places

So blasé and complicated

Like the science of shoes or the enigma of laces

Which seem to get so intricated

I fail to understand, oh Lord

The arrogance that makes men think

They never will destroy this world

Even when it’s on the brink

As all the cars and chimneys spout

And all the ozone oozes out

As ice caps start to melt

And rising heat is felt

I fail to understand, oh Lord

Why in the skies above

I simply cannot love

Or even for a moment, be

The creature that is simply, me

THE PLAYGROUND

Drifting near this winters eve

I faintly hear some children weave

A serenade, a song they sing

That floats upon the wind to bring

A lilting tune that drifts and falls

As gliding round it faintly calls

The fading echo of a name

As memory plays a children’s game

REVELATION

Each one of us is born

Quite without care

So beautiful, so perfect

So sinfully aware

But as we grow

The blossom fades

And as we go

We sense the shades

Of distant memory

In the caves

Of religion and belief

But in the murky mists of time

As loving memories we recall

Within the past there lives a sign

Of self awareness as we fall

To where the God within us all

Lies dormant, waiting for our call

THE ROSE

Her heart with fragrant beauty shows

The womb her silken hands enclose

But curling fingers edged with gold

Must wither soon as they grow old

And as her petals curl with age

To gently fall like turning page

They will in memory oft’ repeat

To us a scent that lingers sweet

POEMS OF TRAGEDY

911

THE KINGS CROSS TUBE

IN DECEMBER 1987 THIS POEM WAS INSCRIBED ONTO PARCHMENT AND MOUNTED BEHIND A LARGE GLASS SCREEN TO BE DISPLAYED FOR MANY MONTHS, WITH THE COUNTLESS OTHER TRIBUTES OUTSIDE KINGS CROSS STATION. IT WAS LATER READ ON SOUTHERN SOUND RADIO, AND ON SEEING THE POEM, H.R.H. PRINCE CHARLES COMMENTED FAVOURABLY.

For the people, starting another day
The Kings Cross Tube clanked on its way
Six hundred souls crushed together
A silent six hundred rushed together
As doors clamped shut, their eyes grew slack
They gazed at the lights but the bulbs stared back

They crinkled their papers and buried their heads
And smelt the stale air and thought of their beds
But then the six hundred slowed to a stop
For deep in the earth at an unknown spot
The Kings Cross Tube ground to a halt
Not a word was heard as they all held their breath
Were the silent six hundred waiting for death

Like leeches they clung, as one by one
On metal springs their bodies hung
They raised their heads but the silence bit deep
It clawed at their souls as they shuffled their feet
Then the brakes gave a sigh and the motors hummed
The Kings Cross Tube clanked on its way
For the people starting another day

It thundered on to arrive at the station
Where they all rushed out of this metal creation
To push up the platform and squeeze round the bend
Where they stood on a staircase without any end
Habit had trained them to stand on the right
So each stood on a step and gazed at the sight

Of billowing smoke from the staircase well
That ushered them into a living hell
Where they fought for life beneath the street
A battle blind, in the fumes and the heat
That stole them away, their Maker to meet

TITANIC

This sad story I was told
By an ancient shipwright, old and bold
Who built a boat, in Belfast town
That saw some thousand people drown
We showed our skill, we had such pride
As we gazed upon her cliff-like side
By painting on the hull below
Where strangers eyes would never go
Immortal words that touched the lip
“Even God can’t sink this ship”
For in our skill we put such trust
Not knowing that the Earth’s crust
As it formed the ore, the ship to mould
Gathered snowflakes in the cold
To form the iceberg, that in time
Would be drawn, as thou by line
To dark caress, as cold and still
These lovers echoed cries so shrill
That their caress, in dead of night
Did break their backs, despite their might
But when in pride, we wrote such things
We found that God, all sorrow brings
So be warned when wielding skill
You do submit to Gods own will

THE CULLING OF A CHILD

IN RIO-DE-JANEIRO A MILLION CHILDREN LIVE ROUGH ON THE STREETS. THEY SURVIVE BY BEGGING AND STEALING AND THIS HAS PROMPTED THE RICH SHOP-OWNERS TO EMPLOY DEATH SQUADS, TO PROTECT THEIR LAVISH LIFE-STYLE, WHO SLAUGHTER HUNDREDS OF CHILDREN A MONTH, BY POURING PETROL DOWN THE SEWERS, WHERE THEY SLEEP, OR GUNNING THEM DOWN WHERE THEY FIND THEM BY DAY, LIVING ON WASTELAND.


Do not fear, and do not weep
For us, the children of the street
Who flourish in this no-mans land

Where poverty and riches meet
We are one people, you and me
Your future lives in us
But as you kill you cannot see
The beauty you destroy
For when you slaughter children
With natures wrath you toy
For as innocents are culled
And pavements warm their breath
The tourists then are lulled
To sponsor sudden death
In sewers and alleys, look around
We live and die on wasted ground
For killers placed in tinsel town

By the devils of desire
Send Godless slaves to shoot us down
In a blaze of rich mans fire

SHIPS IN THE NIGHT

ON SUNDAY 27TH MARCH 1977 TWO JUMBO JETS COLLIDED, IN BLINDING SNOW AT TENERIFE AIRPORT. SIX HUNDRED PERISHED IN THE WORST AIR DISASTER EVER RECORDED


Suzie and the captain cried

When they heard six hundred died

In silver ships that did not pass

As in the night they met, alas

With no-one left to shoulder guilt

This sorrow will not ever wilt

All blame was hidden in the snow

Whose fault it was, no one will know

But even though the pain is past

Reality and death outlast

Those secrets buried ’neath the snow

Where love has died and guilt will grow

TO SUZIE, A BRITISH CALEDONIAN STEWARDESS


IN THE COCKTAIL BAR

They looked, with dark glasses and shades
As the boss said, a couple of right tasty blades
Pete, the Para and Lee, of the old R.U.C
Were getting blind drunk, quite literally
For being blown up, in Ireland, left a sad memory
And Pete who taught Judo now, said ‘never mind’
The only ones I can’t teach, these days, are the blind
So we all laughed out loud, ’til Lee turned and said
Now I can’t watch T.V., I just listen instead
But I remember the time we were blown to the floor
And the bloke down the road heard this thump on his door
So he ran round and found, in the rain and the sleet
The head of my mate, lying right at his feet
Well, I think we were lucky, said Pete, butting in
That we didn’t end up dead meat, in the bin
So they clung to the bar, swaying around in the heat
Their faithful old guide dogs asleep at their feet

WITH APOLOGIES AND AFFECTION TO LEE AND MARTIN OF ST.DUNSTANS HOME FOR THE BLIND, SUSSEX, ENGLAND.


ABERFAN


IN 1989 THE NATIONAL COAL BOARD CLOSED THE COAL-PIT AT ABERFAN. THE VILLAGE SLOWLY DIED AND WITH IT THE MEMORY OF A WHOLE GENERATION OF CHILDREN WHO PERISHED, WHEN THE GIGANTIC SLAGHEAP OF THE COAL-TIP SLID DOWN IN HEAVY RAIN UPON THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. THE ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTEEN CHILDREN WERE ALL AGED BETWEEN EIGHT AND TEN YEARS OLD.


By the black heaps of slag

Were they born

From the coal-tip black

Were they carved

Out the desecrated land

Were they reared

Side the smouldering slime

Were they shamed

And ’neath the landscape raped

Were they buried

THE HELL OF HEYSEL

IN 1985 IN THE HEYSEL STADIUM, IN ITALY, ON THE 29TH MAY, THIRTY-NINE PEOPLE PERISHED AT THE HANDS OF MINDLESS FOOTBALL FANATICS WHEN A CONTINGENT OF LIVERPOOL FANS DELIBERATELY STAMPEDED TOWARDS THE OPPOSING SUPPORTERS. EVEN THE SCALE OF THE DISASTER DID NOT MEAN THE MATCH WOULD BE POSTPONED; AUTHORITIES DECIDED AGAINST THIS BECAUSE THEY FEARED EVEN MORE DISRUPTION IF THE EVENT WAS CANCELLED.


’Ere we go, ’ere we go, ’ere we go
We tell ’em all where to go, where to go

Pubs all shut, and traffic stops
Strength of numbers halts the cops

We’re off to kill and crush and maim
It’s what we call the football game

We shove and spit and bottle folks
We’re full of fun, full of jokes

We got no tickets, never mind
With push and shove we all find
The gates’ll open, ain’t they kind

But kiddies, children, women too
End up screaming, turning blue
Against the fence, with no way through

But as we push on with our mates
We spot some blokes resuscitate
So we stand back and urinate

But they carry on, to play the game
With punters down there, dying in shame

So we laugh, and live up to our name
It’s just another football game

THE DISAPPEARED

No eyes were dry in the street that day
When a lone sniper shot for the I.R.A.
A teenage soldier who cried for his mum
As he bled to his death, in the morning sun
Jean McConville gently cradled his head
As he called for his mum until he lay dead
Jean knew what it was to be so alone
She’d brought up ten children all on her own
Catholic women should just lure soldiers to death
Not give them comfort, in their dying breath
Gerry Adams gave orders, Jean must disappear
So the Turf-Lodge Gang shot her right in the ear
Then stuck her in sand, down by the water
If no-one could find her, he could deny slaughter
But Bill said to Gerry, “you’ve got bad exposure
Ten orphans want a body back, so they can have closure
So dig her up, send her back, then you won’t get such flack”
“But the kids are all in foster homes,” Gerry said at last
“And if we leave her in the sand, the tide will rot her fast
But I don’t really care, nor need a reason why
For my Kangaroo Court had sentenced her to die
Now I know she wasn’t there, and didn’t stand a prayer
But when this scandal goes away, we can kill another day.”

DEDICATED TO THE THREE YOUNG CATHOLIC WOMEN WHO LURED THREE SOLDIERS TO THEIR DEATH, AND OF COURSE, GERRY ADAMS AND BILL CLINTON.


THE UNSUNG STRANGER


DEDICATED TO THE UNSUNG STRANGER, FOUND IN THE BOOKING HALL, AFTER THE KINGS CROSS UNDERGROUND DISASTER WHO, EVEN WITH A SURGICAL PLATE IN HIS SKULL AND STENCILLED TEETH, TO THIS DAY STILL DEFIES IDENTIFICATION.

No marker for my grave
No wreaths, no relatives
Only my old friend, pain
But I too was there, I too burned
I too, watched the great ball of fire
As it spawned and swirled
Around this evil hall of death
I too, saw it bounce off wall and ceiling
As it roared around the room
Eating up the innocent

I too, smelt the stench of burning flesh
I too, held out melting hands for its embrace
I too, heard the prayers and screams, all cease
And I too, died that night, in Hell
But my ghost, my un-named ghost
Lies waiting for the guilty to unite
And taste the taste of Hell
As they dwell with us this night

NINE ELEVEN

I was stunned as I gazed at the clear blue sky
For I sat there amazed, just wondering why
A plane did appear to suddenly fly
Straight toward me, as I stared out on high
I watched it glide in so low and so fast
And fear gripped my soul to see it fly past
To pierce like an arrow the opposite tower
And explode in a blast of gigantic power
Immersing itself in a molten maze
And covering all with a massive blaze
But as we watched on in sheer disbelief
We sank into shame, inside all our grief
Watching those human fireballs fall
Hearing no scream, hearing no call
’Til a second plane flew into sight
And our shock and our shame reverted to fright
As death cloaked us all on that fateful day
In a strange, surreal and selfish way
We stood and we watched as the other tower collapsed
And any hope we had left then suddenly lapsed
As we all seemed to sense we were now on our own
And rushed round in panic, to find a free phone
To utter our love, to our friends one and all
We surrendered our souls, in that last final call
As we spoke of the things that we just could not say
In the cold and the callous light of the day
We pledged all our love, and then said goodbye
We fell to our knees, and we waited to die
But even then, as our world just fell apart
We turned to our God, with love in our heart

DEDICATED TO THE THREE THOUSAND

POEMS OF LIFE

16-10-2008_New-York-Dolpins__0063

RELICS OF THE PAST

The last time I found peace
Was in the Children’s Ward
Awake at night with my frozen foot
Back in the old country
Where the good old days
Saw steam trains journey slow
Into an age of Diesel
And it was there
Where I would lie awake at night
And listen hard to those fiery dragons
Perched impatiently, on distant tracks
Snorting mournful at the moon
Or sadly at some signal box
Reclining in another world
A coloured world, of light and glass
And I would hear these monsters gallop
Through the dark and rain, their metal hooves
Beating out my pain, as they whistled
Full of sorrow for their lovers
Lost and lonely in the night
But come the dawn and light
Their song was always lost to me
In the muffled call of pigeons
Cradling a new day, in gurgles of sympathy
For the old iron pipes that warmed the ward
And through the whitened stained glass
Of our little world, I too would raise
Mine eyes to the roof
And cry with envy, for their life
In a rooftop gutter, filled with snow
For I sensed that they were happy
With frozen feet, and little food
Whilst the trains and I, alas
Being relics of the past, were not


THRU FACTORY GATES

So much older, wiser too
Those hidden martyrs now are few
For lifeblood spilled , by tooth and claw
Did slowly drain, as thru a straw
And yet by stealth, I had to stay
My weekly wealth spent, day by day
To make me still a servile slave
As I too swung that creaking door
And stalked that same familiar floor
To the tuneless tick of time
Drawing fettered feet that did not shine
Thru factory gates, that still corrode
The souls that slave in her abode
But they now cage a different breed
Whose hopes of freedom fall as seed
To drift upon the wind of chance
All souls now sold without a glance
They find no offer of escape
As memory fades in routine rape
For other mouths must feed, and other shoes
Must fit, on other feet, to spread the news
That wheels with arms, unlike their own
Can always be replaced, or sown
As endless orders, drifting down
Do streams of sweat their bodies crown
While faceless strangers in some tower
Wield their wands of ruthless power
Now twilight fades the workers hopes
As homeward bound down concrete slopes
They hear the songs of Gods afar
Come laughing thru those gates ajar

3

THE TRAIN

Here I rest, a rusting hulk
Alone, aloof, within my bulk
The hiss of steam within my veins
The pistons pulling at the reins
Mere memories now of a loyal life
Now round my rivets rust is rife
No clank of coal, no whistle shout
No churning wheels, no water spout
Now rust flakes fast to line my grave
Where only leaves and litter pave
This epitaph to a faithful slave
And don’t deny I served you well
Yet now condemned within my cell
Of rusted rails that bind me fast
Those guiding hands of days long past
When smells of grease and hissing steam
Echoed gleams and children’s screams
As stones and steel rushed past my head
Now tears of rain make up this bed
A burial cloak for a servant laid
To rest and rust in romance dead

4

WITH WATER IN MY EYES

I moved to town, and the people came
And stole from me
They took the brightness from my life
And the colour from my skies
They stole the pity from my eyes
And the fur from off my cat
They killed my pride and crippled my beliefs
Then buried my love and planted seeds of lust
They used my body to poison my mind
And then they took my soul
And slowly crushed it dry
Now my skin grows thicker by the hour
My heart lies coated with envy
And I have learnt the power of hate
Now they own my body and my mind
Yet I feel so very strange
For my hungry hollow shell
That wanders home at night
Sometimes sees the stars
And I must lean against the wall
For I do not see so very well
With water in my eyes

5

THE NORM

If you’ve got a hare-lip or a squint in your eye
Every day of your life you may just wish to die
For your brothers and sisters will offer you scorn
And you may even wish that you’d never been born
If you’re a bit of a rebel and don’t do what you’re told
You’ll need to be brave and you’ll need to be bold
Or you’ll be cast aside by the young and the old
And soon find yourself left out in the cold
But if you really do want to be part of the game
Make sure when you’re born that you look just the same
As your brothers and sisters, then they’ll call you by name

6

THE WRINKLED YOUNG

Youth is wasted on the young
They should be born with bodies hung
Of heaving lung, and stiff arthritis
And wrinkled ears, that sport tinnitus
But as they grow up, day by day
They should mature in every way
Learning wisdom and compassion
As they reap life’s painful ration
To suffer fools then, they would learn
That others they must never spurn
And as they grow up day by day
They’d get wiser as they play
Their bodies would recover vigour
As they learnt to handle rigour
Infirmities would fade, hearing would improve
As vision sharpened up, their wrinkles now would smooth
Their hair would lose its grey and age would have its day
We’d see a world of wisdom, where lasting strength would pave
A just and patient world, from birth unto the grave

7

THE METAPHYSICAL TRAVELLER

As my emotions hide in dreams
Masked enigmas probe the seams
Winding round like tears of death
Losing hope with fading breath
But their potent piercing passes
As fatalistic evil masses
Weave their timeless images
In tilting towers of thought
And as my longing lingers
Some sad serene and weary dream
Left uncloaked in hollow smoke
Paints portraits of my soul
On barren rocks so cold
The oracle doth call
To mask those waiting dreams
It shrieks and screams to fall
In sloping groping shadows
Where the prodigal voice of hate
Beckons home like fate
Those riding by to feed
The frozen statue that is greed
That turns my way, to slowly bleed

8

THE IRONY OF LIFE

How in life may one man spy
Where drifting dust on each may lie
Fickle fate alone may tell
Where by design that dust may dwell
Fast casting spells like flaking lead
Unfailing favour for each head
So timeless pains must fall on each
Soft shadowed soul within its reach
As grinding on this wheel of fate
Spins tears of joy to tears of hate
And yet unheeding to its call
We end up victims as we fall
And stumble into ashes deep
To kindle them in hope of sleep
Yet some remain who standing still
Find wonder in the will of Him
Who sprinkles dust in careless whim

9

THE RASTA – FERRY MAN

I’m a Rasta man, I ain’t no thug
I smoke a little weed, but it ain’t no drug
Don’t want no hassle, don’t want no aid
Ain’t got no job, so me don’t get paid
But a like a little sound and a like a little smoke
A like a little girl and a like a little joke
I’ll drink when I’m dry and I’ll eat when I need
A don’t need no grief, a don’t need no speed
Am stuck in this place which is all wet and cold
A can’t escape England, for me soul she is sold

10

MONKEY BUSINESS

She was a real artist in true classic form
Spending many a day making colours conform
Painting sunsets and seas that took many hours
And even old trees, or vases of flowers
With news these fine efforts would simply not pay
She accepted the muse of the modern art way
Having loved all Picassos she dillied with Dali
But found those in the know around her would rally
Stating simply she wandered alone in a void
They stayed vexed and perplexed and even annoyed
In her stance, that pure art should be simply perceived
But these vultures of culture would not be deceived
They rejected all sense of her talent and skill
And claimed a true artist must destiny fill
A blank canvas, with splodges of dabbles and dots
And splurges of colour, that gave them the hots
Not arcane or archaic but simply obtuse
So lickspittle morons could have no excuse
Than to drool and to fawn as they all got their kicks
Seeing dirty old knicks on dirty old bricks
Your quintessential essence must not cloud the air
So swallow up your ego, she heard them all declare
For status and for power, display a blinding effluence
So we can see your taste, decay away with affluence
I mean, Congo the Chimp sells for over ten grand
He may be a monkey, but he’s gathered a band
Of faithful old fauvists, all trying to look smart
As they burp and they fart to this primal art
So these prophets of doom made her paint on in hell
Now their own troubled minds could suffer as well
Like old dogs in heat they would ogle and claw
To view any old spawn from this prostitutes paw
Standing drinking, round her painting, in reflected glory
Gleaning meaning, so bizarre, it verged upon the gory
But kindergarten sprawls offered psueds a-sunder
All a chance to sense pretence, and float in naive wonder
Upon this vulgar altar where she offered up contention
As anointed cognoscenti waved away convention
So her new renaissance could make its presentation
Making monied monkey-art, in utter ostentation

POEMS OF LOVE

rsz_sealscropped

LOVES RETURN

Where goes my love, for as she wanders
Minutes, seconds, hours she squanders
Yet this goddess carved in flesh
Must soon be caught within my mesh
As echoed footsteps, brisk and fast
Cast mottled shadows on the glass
Flitting figures of mere mortals
Fleeting shadows on my portals
Would that she could grace my door
As to her touch my soul would soar
To mould again this beauty fair
To sense the sacred vision there
Yet now my heart grows cold with fear
Without her healing presence here
This hunger she has carved so deep
Dares not grant my spirit sleep
For this fire that slowly burns
Must consume lest she returns


FOR THE LOVE OF DOG

How noble is this humble dog
As he sleeps here, like the log
Beside the fire, beside the grate
Devoid of guilt, devoid of hate
He earns respect and not neglect
But as he sleeps at my feet, curled
I sense the anger of a world
Where wretches there
Who’d hurt and harm
A single hair upon his head
Need lead a life of prayer and charm
Else they should wish that they be dead
For I’d not rest, put to the test
But now, he hovers in his sleep
Perfection, in his breathing deep
His little chest seems so at rest
But could it be, he may not wake
Why then, my very soul would quake
And I should drown in misery
So surely now, asleep he be
And yet I know that day will come
So slowly, like the setting sun
But now he stirs, to lick my face
And condescends to join the race
As to my talk of winter walk
Decides to join the merry throng
As bounding round he sings his song
But in this life I never knew
Such trust and love could be so true
Such lust of life that must consume
Like innocence within the womb

TO LITTLE BRUCE

3

AS ONE

Could you cast your net above me
Would you let its love enfold me
Could it bring me, oh so gently
All the charms sweet nature lent thee
Would we in soul and spirit too
Then as one share love so true
Where single loves we lived as two
As one my love would live in you

4

PROGENY

This day in your life you created another
From this day on, they will know you as mother
In years to come there will always be one
To tell the world that you bore a son
He’ll tell them all that you gave him birth
By him will they know, you too lived on earth
And when you have gone you’ll leave something behind
For you still will live on in somebody’s mind
They will survive you, all won’t be in vain
They’ll be there at your grave, in sunshine or rain

5

IN DREAMS

That silken gaze within your eyes
Doth lure me deep, in soft surprise
As silken lips give voice so tender
Silence cries for loves surrender
To sink into your golden tresses
And whisper slowly soft caresses
To this song of lullabies
My spirit soars in loving sighs
Let hearts enfold and souls entwine
In precious dreams I’ll make you mine

6

TO HIM WHO WAITS

Shadows of the past, while whispering recall
The way he always sought escape, from people one and all
But the silence of his stillness stirs the freshness in her tears
As she wanders, waiting wonders, sounder of saviours, no one hears
So solace seeking, softly searching, she wanders by the mill
To hear its song of sadness, while it slowly turned
Calling her to join him, where love is never spurned
So to the spinning of the wheel, she whispers as it turns
If only she could see and feel, this love for which she yearns
She struggles not, she feels no fear, she knows her fate is cast
When his voice, so clear and calm, cries out she’s his at last

7

INFATUATION

Infatuation, when it ripens, unrequited love
Is like the lily, in the valley, washed away with rain
But blossoms fair fall again, in those hills above
As sweet flowers wane, to grow again, as the dream of love
Ripens roots, buried deep, where buds of life still grow
In gentle sleep, but pain will wane, for carried from above
Streams of hope will surely grow, from this dream of love

8

FORGOTTEN LOVE

Some loving voice within me cries
As to my soul a song it sighs
My thoughts revolve around romancing
In my mind a maiden fair
The rustic leaves of autumn dancing
Weave the beauty in her hair

This mystic love can touch the skies
For aloft on wings it flies
As my spirit soars like silken dove
Bearing thoughts of sacred love
But now I grieve, for in my mind
Dark sorrow chokes me,  love is blind

Yet in death is there life
And in blindness a light
As my soul bears a love that burning bright
Sheds tears of joy to the stars of night
Some children laugh, an old man cries
A baby sleeps and a young boy dies

But my spirit warms with memories dear
As I find again her presence is near
For I sense that day when love has gone
In the mists of time that linger on
Our very souls will search out love
When our candles burn in the wind above

9

FIRST BORN

Not in the wildest dreams above
Could I dream such mystic love
As this love I shed for you
A love of pride, and pity too
For not until you were created
Could I feel at all elated
No, not till you were given birth
Could I love you on this earth

10

LET ME PAINT

A sky with your smile
A world with your wonder
My heart with your hope
And my life with your love

POEMS OF ANIMALS

seagulls

1

DOMINION OF THE BEAST


I’ve been around a million years
Of other creatures I’ve no fears
I fear no Gods, or powers that be
I bear contempt for land and sea
I’m devious and cunning raw
And just ignore all moral law
I crush all creatures in my way
Or just abuse them, day by day
No animal can match my strength
Which lets me roam this land at length
But I scar the earth and drain it dry
And if it bleeds ignore its cry
No creature now can match my speed
But in fact they loathe my breed
I’m vicious and I’m full of spite
I kill for pleasure, that’s my right
My name is man, I own this land
And I’ll destroy it, if I can

2.

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