Thursday, 23 November 2017

A note from Ulysses












My laughter is in shadow
the oars are folded and my sea bag
lies with spiders in the hall.
Why did I want to be a hero?

On days bright with promise
The water was so blue
The future was ahead of us
You watched as the sun hit the prow.

My laugher is in shadow now.
The boxes and ropes that coil
are all that is left from my adventure.
Why did I want to be a hero?

Friday, 6 October 2017

The rubbish dragon














In those days, climbing into the loft
I rose vengefully to do battle.
I was up that ladder like a monkey.
To the rubbish dragon I was Parsifal.
I smote him but he never went away.
Like coral in a subterranean sea
each day he grew, glowing faintly.
The beast was feeding on my energy!
Eventually, the cunning creature won
a final and overwhelming victory
like the Panzers in the Ardennes.
His cloak of darkness folded over me
and I fell victim to his necromancy
in the final conquest of gravity.

Wednesday, 13 September 2017

Hayes Street Farm



Is it nostalgia or memory
that guides me to the stables and sheds
rusting machines, the mountains of manure?

At the city’s edge is an informal economy
where chickens can wander freely.
Once, everywhere was like here.

Maybe it’s the stories of my father
that I remember. But I often feel
that I have been here before

fixing up an old tractor
or bailing hay with a pitchfork
hustling a living from metal and straw.

I follow a crude sign to the car boot
through the stubbled repurposed fields
and hedgerows yielding their autumn fruit.

They say to us obligingly, ‘help yourselves’.
There is no air con in this shopping mall.
Once, they were our supermarket shelves.

Fringed by hawthorn and elder
the rutted track is leading me
to the farm pond; its hidden treasure

strangers brought from some icy wilderness
bright fish, like fragments of sky
lending the dusk their silver brilliance.



Thursday, 17 August 2017

Clown and doll


Once there lived an orange clown
in a white house on a hill.
The puppet man who ruled the world
spied his foe, the china doll.

‘They’re going after Jefferson
one day they will get me too.’
He shouted at at the hapless toy
‘And so you Goddam freak: fuck you!’

The doll’s skin was like porcelain
his pursed lips like a cupid’s bow.
He liked to taunt the harlequin
on who would rule the puppet show

‘Your words don’t mean shit to me
or your fucking rodeo.
Fuck your white supremacy
I’m gonna fucking kill you bro.’

The angry clown snarled back in pain.
‘Now I’m getting mad,’ said he.
‘Your word are very threatening.
It’s me who who runs this nursery!

‘I’m gonna make it bad for you
hotter than Kardashian
meaner than a rattlesnake
with fire like you’ve never seen!’

The harlequin laughed maniacally.
‘Whose the fucking loser now?
Come on boys, let’s lock and load.
Seriously, we’re good to go.’

The china doll was calm and still
despite the wailing sirens' sound
heaping morsels on his plate
hidden safely underground.

He did not fear the puppet man
or his weird orange glow.
He listened as a city burned
in a bunker far below.

Thursday, 10 August 2017

Gravity

Please do not blame me for being old.
My life just happened, like gravity.
The apple that falls from the tree
slowly loses its brilliance.
Each moment should be savoured and yet
it is good for us to remember
that the past is actually still there –
the mind chooses what to neglect
How we feel now is how we felt.
Wet fur, the scent of lavender
the leather and dust of an old car
are offered on time’s conveyor belt
unburdening us from mere chronology.
The present lives in our memory.

Friday, 14 July 2017

Please do not blame me for being old

Please do not blame me for being old.
The apple falls from the tree.
It just happened. It was like gravity.

Once, spinning in euphoria
I rode on everything.
The horizon did not interest me.

My years are like your seconds.
Decades passed. It was not meant.

You rise, slowly, to the top
of the Big Dipper. And then ... the descent.

While I was not looking
my life seemed to fall away.

The sounds and colours that are strange to you
once were a novelty

Please do not blame me for being old.
It just happened. It was like gravity.

Thursday, 22 June 2017

The cheaper sort

At the moment things are hot
They’ve made me lose my job: what rot

Oh the rank indignity
Sajid Javid who is he?

How dare he dish the dirt on me
I said to him just wait and see

The plebs’ attention span is short
All they want is fags and sport

Give it a week, or maybe two
And they’ll have over things to do

But no, he wouldn’t wait a bit
He’s stitched me up that little git

I said to him, what’s all this for?
We’ve heard this bolshie talk before

All that ghastly tenant power
We tarted up their sodding tower

Sprinklers and a fire test!
They’ll be wanting gold bars next!

Designer labels, super cars
Fine cuisine and cocktail bars

They are plebs, why should they be
Living in royal K and C?

Lazy beggars on the lam
Send them up to Birmingham!

I was at the Treasury
And Cambridge University

You don’t get to the PM’s door
By wasting money on the poor

So why all the sodding fuss?
More for them means less for us

I need my rural liberty
And life in Surrey don’t come free

Fox hunting is my favourite sport
The shares this year are falling short

That’s why I did it with no thought
The cladding? Use the cheaper sort