SO
cotton
burns
is inflammable
set fire
to North and
the South
of
North America
blue men
grey men
black people
on a flaming merry-
go round
harum-scarum
sins
of the fathers
shadows
cast forever
as you sow
so reap
as you sew
leave it to posterity
to unstitch
CEMETERY ROAD
“may not mean to/
but they do”
I’ve read that
this be the Larkin poem
by any metric
it’s a real shocker
give it its due
painfully spot on
must have
begun somewhere
with Adam and Eve
tragic trace elements
springing out
of the big
bang
catastrophic for
the happiness of our species
and so me
not yet teenage
about to be whisked, nay,
catapulted to Africa
and apartheid
South Africa
at that
far from this little British
cul-de-sac
joy there in the sweet
English place of
pastoral they
call
a pastoral
where my father dutifully
taught me how
to ride
a bicycle
not much interest in my
life
this broken life
after which
my father’s little dream
of upping
roots, defining
his Empire
somehow not
translating
finding purchase, believers,
means of manufacture
will not
let this poem end as
dead at
point blank range
as Larkin’s does
HITHER
I wandered through poetry
thought I knew
this place
well
looking for wisdom
looking for humanity
my outlook by
no means negative
though by no means
expecting
wonders
miracles, transformation,
soul-shaping
life-
defining metaphors
and sadly I must add
conceding
no possible hope
for love
which is exactly where I found you
chatting to my Muse
(why is
Muse never lover?)
man
most well-measured
not a syllable out if place
but your
voice
your voice
I do not hear
perhaps it is just too
comfort-zone, risk
averse
agrophobic
when it comes to
to the beyond, the boundless,
our freedom
in a nutshell
shattering it to smithereens
with the force of
poetic pressure
and perhaps
the poet too
perhaps
we should stay contained
work like
jewellers do
in miniature
for this is a dangerous age
bad time
for words
and I, for my sins and
pretensions of
truly sinning
have wandered so far
of course, too
far away thus
with
grace
let me leave
you here
for who
would now come hither?
LUCKY MAN
lucky you were
to survive
terrible things
you did not bomb Dresden
or Hamburg
or all the towns
and bridges
in Japan
prelude to
that most terrible
of all
invasions
in avoidance of which
they removed two
whole
cities off the map
writing me into life
and thd whole of history
a bit differently
and you
not plunging to Earth
fear and panic-striken
in a crippled Lancaster
symbol of war’s
terrible fall from grace
the Icarus
in us all
the suns, twin suns
they dropped
casting
such a shadow
lucky you were
lucky your life in
regard to terrible things
COMMUNION TIME RHYME
The God we share
like food and wine
as we do bond
and bind
and indeed commune
spirit,
soul
and life
now finds himself
under lock and key
(remember keys?)
thing
least like to hoard
and
privatize
yet
here we are
what could be more
pleasing than
to pray
for abundant
store
he who closest to
the Father, Son and
Holy Spirit
rich thrice over
in his
prosperity gospel.
ENCYCLOPEDIA
I spent a lifetime
maybe more
than a lifetime
compiling an encyclopedia
of things that
do not exist
and then
as I left this task
this world
to the future
wondered if now
it would not contain itself
might not
contain me.
SO LET ME
so let me
try to understand this
you write stuff
different form and
better than
anything better than
what I could write
more valuable to
the human race
than anything that I
could
or might write
more truthful
to our
human
condition
than, you are sure,
as a principle of faith,
anything my ilk
could
ever have written
when, truth is,
this stuff is incidental,
peripheral to who
we are
of absolutely no consequence
except where
in its excess, in
its call to arms, plea
for
essential truth and
species transfoemation
a huge threat and danger
an evil setting itself
against my and
all other’s
way
of life
for which we must not
neglect our dury
to destroy
you and your kind completely
no place in this world
for so insane a practice
and.
pernicious conspiracy
BATHE
want to bathe
in you
feel your
ripples
your undertow
and the power
of your crashing waves
HAPPY FAMILIES
we were playing
happy families
in the darkness
buried, bleeding
starving
to show that we are
humsn
do what humans do
get bombed to bits
buried alive
by other humans
who contest our right
to be like them
to think
and bleed and love
and feel
trying to do
what humans do
buried alive in
a flattened town
thankful at least that
unlike
so many we
may yet survive
if and when
they dig us
out
playing the cards that
we have been dealt
to win
the gsme you need a set
death and judgement and
the devil and
the falling down
.
cough the thick debris
dust out your lungs
and shout out what we all
do not, should not ever doubt
we are
all one family
QUARK QUARK
I was fishing for quarks
in my mind
whilst playing chess
sometimes the serendipity
of the game
appeals
but not today where
every move is
wrong and
I am getting
battered to Hell
feudal and hierarchical
totally unforgiving on the surface
and in its depth
yet as gorgeous Gary,
incomparable attacker knew
it is all
metaphor, life
lesson
this
from the outset
as he rotates his way at
the table
through every conceivable
variation of every conceivable defence
exuding Russian intensity
and Russian charm
(test and you will see
in exactly
equal meaaure)
meanwhile the quaeks in my
brain are less like
sharks
in the ocean than
Koi in a pond
all flash
but no dash
my game in its death throes
thinking of the
great wizard of
Reykjavik
his brilliance so
beyond me
beyond anything I am
I scan, I plan
only the odd good move
bobbing up
to greet me only when
could not be more obvious
quark
quark
nothing moving
from my side of the board
not now
not ever
poems 2 die for