Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category

Civil, war

Friday, June 14th, 2013

XSat high in the hills where love is norm:-
The basis for life, everyday.

Where the absence of love fuels a desire to love,
And love a desire to live.

Over, again, looking down on crater lakes;
On flora vivid in the equatorial sun.

Yet, unseen, deep in the valley, grouped and in convoy;
A void of permanent want.

Of fear, and poison;
Hatred flows and the cities crumble.

Cruel meager lives,
Punctuated only by acts of extreme violence.

The old man dreams of nothing but peace;
But his boys know nothing but war.

Nobody will miss me

Monday, June 10th, 2013

XI can’t got home,
And I can’t stay here;
I have nowhere to hide…
My heart beats faster,
Each day lived in fear.
When the hit-man calls,
You won’t learn what I’ve done.
When the drone strike hits,
Nobody will miss me.

I spilled your secrets,
Put at risk your defence;
The valiant protectors of state,
Don’t like it up ’em;
At great expense,
They will get me;
With a bullet, a toxin,
A false charge or a blast;
I can’t hide.

Though I thought I could,
I can’t lay low;
The worst, worst option:
A nonentity erased.
Nobody will know,
So I’ll tell you myself.
The whole world can’t guard me,
But my guardians may witness,
How they destroy me.

Written by hand

Friday, June 7th, 2013

XSend me a letter written by hand;
Ink won’t betray,
Or misunderstand.

In a land where they watch:-
Watch what you send;
And send what you watch:-
To see what you like.

Watch what you like,
To guess what you think…

Think what you read is their concern;
Concerned what you think, or what you might learn.

What you buy,
What you eat;
How you vote,
Who you meet…

What you spend,
What you earn;
So machines can learn.

Your fate laid out in trillions of dots;
Incomplete logic could cost you your job.

No credit,
No loans;
No access,
No-flying…

Remember this,
As the ink is drying.

The 5th of May

Thursday, May 30th, 2013

XOn the 5th of May I didn’t wake up,

My eyes stayed shut and my kidneys packed up;

My lungs didn’t breathe and my bowels didn’t grind,

My ears heard nothing, and nor did my mind!

 

The broken fence, the creaky gate,

General repairs would have to wait;

I wasn’t about to paint the shed,

I couldn’t buy paint – because I was dead!

 

I’d slipped away, and I never knew;

Nobody told me my time was due!

The things I had planned mattered no more,

And Daisy slept with the angels, cos I didn’t snore!

sycamore sawn

Saturday, May 11th, 2013

You, most roguish of sycamores

shall not escape the fate of your siblings

mown dead with the first spring growth

of the recovering lawn.

The sanctuary of the hedge

no longer available

when you looked above the parapet,

were spotted and now lie sawn.

 

You shall not be remembered.

posters

Saturday, May 4th, 2013

No billboard just coffee table,

mostly words, laid bare,

open or not for interpretation,

initially free of stain, coffee or other.

 

posters

One hundred and twenty two

Monday, April 22nd, 2013

XOne family,
one car;
one family car,
one forty-tonne truck.

One quarter,
of one percent;
of the annual price,
of one freedom.

One careless word,
one silly post;
one early morning knock,
one costly mistake.

One threat: eliminated;
one risk: unmitigated.

You remind me,
you protect me;
from threats,
I do not see.

One hundred and twenty two,
remind you;
of just one,
I do.

no grave but the sea

Saturday, April 6th, 2013

figurehead small
ear shanty, ritual capstan strain

flag-crack sail hoist rope run

settle fair wind thirst atlantic swell

journey, unknown horizon, hope, doubt, trepidation

lead swinging three sheets

colours nailed yardarm awash

line crossed adrift

sun-scorched deck bleach doldrums

pump weathering tack

Eternal Father foaming deep rock tempest

 

No roses on a sailor’s grave

 

On  a sailor’s grave there are no roses

On a seaman’s grave there bloom no Edelweiss

The only ornaments are the white gulls

And the many tears a girl is weeping

 

translation from a German sea shanty

 

…the sea gods will take their toll – Joseph Conrad

smooth writing

Saturday, April 6th, 2013

smooth writing, smooth music

experiments in relaxation

spring arrives

ground soaks up heat

coldest of hearts, melted

hands out palms up, eyes closed

Milk milk glorious milk

Wednesday, March 27th, 2013

Five milk bottles in the fridge door,
Five milk bottles in the fridge door,
And if one milk bottle was consumed with cereal for breakfast
There’d be four milk bottles in the fridge door.

Four milk bottles in the fridge door,
Four milk bottles in the fridge door,
And if one milk bottle was drunk at lunchtime with some cheese sandwiches
There’d be three milk bottles in the fridge door.

Three milk bottles in the fridge door,
Three milk bottles in the fridge door,
And if one milk bottle was used to make milkshakes for the kids (banana)
There’d be two milk bottles in the fridge door.

Two milk bottles in the fridge door,
Two milk bottles in the fridge door,
And if one milk bottle was used for culinary purposes (misc, unspecified)
There’d be one milk bottle in the fridge door.

One milk bottle in the fridge door,
One milk bottle in the fridge door,
And if one milk bottle was used by anyone for any purposes other than to add to my cup of tea then someone had better look out cos
There’d be no milk bottles in the fridge door.

The end – you can pick your own tune if you like but I have set it to the obvious one.

The ten fifty four from Newark Northgate to London Kings Cross

Friday, March 15th, 2013

Karen Duffy,
Head of Performance,
walked the aisle
with a pleasant smile
and then she was gone
to the next carriage
to serve another.

“let spring commence”

Wednesday, February 27th, 2013

The trim hedge,

once out of control, is now tamed,

its gangly tendrils mastered

and canopy forestalled.

 

Clippings lie forlawn, awaiting disposal.

 

Stiff-shoulders, job complete for another year,

the gardener sinks into his armchair and commands:

“let spring commence”.

Lincoln A to Z – G10 the problem seed

Thursday, February 21st, 2013

a stroke of the pen,

global game

empire and politics

arbitrary decisions

divided peoples

straight lines

far off rulers

hewing of nations

fields of Fen Farm

North Kesteven Lincoln – Lincoln North Kesteven

just like that

The frosted trees of Welwyn

Saturday, February 16th, 2013

The rich folk of the gardens of Welwyn

Think much of their festive frost

And the trees in the parks that surround them

Are painted white and to hell with the  cost

Echoes of Madness

Sunday, February 3rd, 2013

The Lawn, early morning silence,

the city had not yet stirred.

Footsteps in the dew

stopped to listen.

The hair blown breeze

danced around a face

focussed on a sound,

a growing whisper, a cry.

Doors slam, heavy boots,

dissident murmurs of the past.

 

The dew lifted and

came the shriek of innocence,

children hide and seek.

“No ball games allowed”

A remnant of old order,

echoes of madness

calming under the palm.