I Have Never Had a Discount for Love

I have never had a discount for love; love is never at half price. If it dies, it dies whole; if it lives it lives whole. Love detests coupons; love detests a price. You can’t capture love with a penny or a pound and many before me have said the same thing.

If I could cram my whole life into this room and lock the door. It will disappear like a lift into the bowels of the earth; it will become the smallest atom passing through a black hole in space and back again, then it will jump into song. But if love is inside that atom, the atom will not be able to contain it, it will stretch and strain and squeak and scream but it will never hold love in. Love is not in the atom; love is elsewhere, in the memory of life. Love picks you up like you’re a three legged fly and says poor fly, and when love gets the order to march, love will give you back your legs.

Upon the night of Halloween the voices came again telling me that their way is the only way. Lies, I said, your tricks do not deceive me and then I awake. And there I was, in a room, and in that room is my whole life, and I must pay the re

An Avenue of Blackbirds.

The earth has been financed, every square inch of it. Everyone is in debt, the big debt is here. It puts a seal of debt on every human being. Stocks for guns are up, human beings are down*, so why not keep shooting them?

The financial world says of love, it’s no good, get a job. So you get a job and then the financial world sees you as a useful item, you are on their radar. Should you stay off radar? Would you be poorer? The poor can live happily – until they have to pay their taxes. I don’t mind dirt roads with holes in them so long as the sea is blue and the birds sing, but the mess of finance makes the sea and the air polluted and our wildlife numbers grows fewer.

It was a great experience to hear the blackbirds on that one summer Sunday, last century. I still remember walking down Burdett Road, listening to the blackbirds, they were singing in every tree I passed, and on both sides of the street. I ran the gauntlet of blackbirds, until I got to the traffic lights in Limehouse. They had maybe quarreled with each other, they had probably smoothed out the wrinkled cloth of their territories for the privilege of  their own tree to sing in; nesting season was over and now it was their singing time. There was no war of extermination, there was no hierarchy. Each blackbird could sing with exuberance and love.

Then came big human political decisions and the world of blackbirds collapsed into the empty purse of mankind; their numbers collapsed as human debt rose; they collapsed because humanity has no love; except for money, and their greatest skill is war.

And each winter humanity has the privilege of helping them to survive; instead the reality is humanity – will do what it does best.

*Erica Jung, Fear of Flying, I think

The Colours of Life

The Colours of Life

There is a thick fat yellow that glows more warmly than gold
There is an unconscious dark blue so dense that it supports your weight as you walk
There is a deep dark blue-green that oozes like a swamp of essential life
If I could drown the world with these colours, all governments would cease and eyes would see

The Cupboard under the Stairs

drawing cupboard under the stairs

They hated him for suddenly growing up like a target spriging up on the firing range.

With the drowning mother falling into the whirling sea of rejection; with the bad tempered father having to face a self truth reflected in a sons eyes.

Mother had not foreseen this day of his growing up, but she became reconciled to loosing him and that one day he would run away and leave home. Her life seemed to hold no promise, no happiness. She’d found comfort in a loveless marriage in her only son even though they were never close. She was a doll in an unearthly joke shop. But her belief in the marriage vows and the way she honoured them was her glory.

Father hated him for his passive love; for his shiny reflective surface where his abuse came to nothing. At every opportunity he tested him out, searching for the violence that he felt in himself and that he fostered in him and he ended up punching at clouds. The son had built a defense of childlike love, not a wall of anger towards him.

But the son was angry none the less; he began to hate the world for what it had done to people like them – for how the echoes of war deafen with loud ringing bells down the generations of the poorest families. The branding that passes on down through the generations like an unlit fuse.

Since My Hurt Went Wrong

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We don’t seem to talk anymore
We don’t seem to meet every day
We never make plans for a trip
It hurts in every way
Since this change in our friendship
I wonder where I belong
Since this lull in relations
Since my hurt went wrong

You’re more preoccupied than ever
I never know who you are
You told me all your history
You really are a star
Since you told me all your worries
You seem not to belong
And all your pain and suffering
Has made my hurt go wrong

If you wonder where this is going
You see I wonder too
It always seems to be snowing
Will the sun ever come shining through?
I’m trying to be your best friend
But I’m not so very strong
I can’t say the things that I’m thinking
Since my hurt went wrong

The honey melts down

virgin mary and kitchen.jpg

The honey melts down and reveals the wire grill.
An old love is a faceless icon of the Virgin Mary;
I hear a tremolo as the voice demands obedience.

Who am I to be cared about? I am nothing but a grain of sand in your life;
A bit of grit on your tongue, but you are the full orchestration in the lung playing.

As the honey melts the cold steel mesh is seen, gone is the dream.
The skeleton walks onto a film, birds drop cluster bombs,
And then run and tell their moms.

How hard it is to answer questions in your sleep:
To be confined from the help of family and friends,
To stand there in the thundering darkness as meaningless as a shadow,
To have your memory challenged by a caster of spells.

Peace in the East

Please click on the link to hear an impression of the song

The remembrance of the end of the great war, a war to end all wars, except the politicians lost the point of with the treaty of Versailles. A documentary on TV showed how the Allied politicians wanted to punish the German people and cause them pain with sanctions that caused the new generation humiliation and resentment.

It was the alliances and the treaties between the different nations of Europe that brought each nation into conflict after the assasination of the archduke that grew into a world war. Nation rising against nation and kingdom against kingdom.

Can present day world politics cause another collision of interests .

This November month is the centenary of the end of the War To End All Wars. This song I wrote fifteen years ago around the time of the mid-east “conflict”.

Peace in the East, lyrics

chorus

Peace in the east, peace in the west
Peace for the poor, peace for the oppressed.

bridge

These could be such happy days
These could be our best
Talking peace from north
Talking peace from east to west

Peace in the east, peace in the west
Peace for the poor, peace for the oppressed

verses

If you were cast adrit my friend
Upon the open seas
Could you steer the boat my friend
And make all people free

Peace in the east, peace in the west
Peace for the poor, peace for the oppressed

If you were a farmer
Whose ground was very tough
Could you reap a harvest
To feed the world with love

Peace in the East, peace in the west
Peace on the right, peace on the left