Homelessness Is a Black Feeling

Homelessness is a black feeling
And written on its black page
Are memories so incomprehensible
That they twist you up inside

The letter to move out came
At a time when you were comfortable
You had managed some feeling of security
But now that letter had destroyed all that

Against the thoughtless demons from your youth
From whom you tried to escape –
“This is my home, isn’t it,” you yelled
As if reliving a former crisis of long ago

Next, I saw you attacking your room
As if, you had no right to your own things
Things that brought you pleasure
Things that represented love

You had packed them into bin bags
You were going to throw them all out
Such was your rage against your insecurity

Then you felt angry at your friends
Out of desperation and in pain
You told them you didn’t want to see them anymore

Yes, all your life you’ve lived as if falling
As if falling through the air without wings
If only you could learn to fly above it all
But it’s not easy, I know, I’ve tried

1999

The dangerous baby

As soon as he was born
They put him in handcuffs
He was a dangerous, a dangerous baby

They took him down for his mugshot call
He smiled and giggled at them one and all
The dangerous, dangerous baby

He didn’t mind giving his fingerprints
They covered over the whole cell wall
He was a dangerous, a dangerous baby

His DNA profile came dribbling easy
It made the staff sergeant feel very queasy
Of the dangerous, the dangerous baby

They took him into the interview room
Where he would wobble about and fall
his mother didn’t understand him at all
So they tried to placate him with a bouncy ball
The guards went and lost him when he began to crawl
He was a dangerous, a dangerous baby

The baby had no chance at all
In and out of the prison door
He was the dangerous, dangerous baby

October 2020

The opposition:

More of those days
Like paving slabs
That lead to execution
Of government plans

To the shutdown
Of government country
Of everything they lay claim to
Man and beast

The virus is king
It is in control of its own fate

All the ministry can do
Is to hold hands
And form a ring
And sing the hymns of state

It won’t be over till the fat lady sings
To the white cliffs of Dover
The shipwrecked will cling
And Britannia will mourn her lover

The leader:

We will mourn for our friends
And our family
before this is over

then we will get back to work
and carry on as ever

we will rebuild new Jerusalem
where the feet of Jesus once trod
reinstall the world in the wood
insurance claims will blame God

Ever since the light bulb went digital

Ever since the light bulb went digital
I have started seeing things

My glasses have caught on fire
And the world began to change for the worst

Homer appears in my living room
Asking for directions home

Fuseli’s horse stands in a dark corner
Like Edward Munch’s scream

And old newsreels of the queen’s coronation
Appear at midnight like a hologram

We Live Without Love

We live without love
Live without love
We live without love
Live without love

Like barbed wire
In cotton wool
To love without love
Makes our lives dull
We live all alone
And wake up from sleep
To forget who we are

And the whole world turns
For one more day
And the sun and rain are the same
In every way
Except for those
Left out of the play
With those faces that grin
In a masquerade

1999

You’ll Understand

I visit you with the frame of this knowledge.
I saw an opportunity to fly like a bird along the hem of your skirt.
As madrigals in the syrup were disconnected from the green lovebirds
By a bolt cutter’s eye of love.

I see an opportunity to develop the plum that encompasses this chase of fairies in a domino box used as a fire grate
I see this opportunity to pierce into the world of closeness and fire-cloud kisses in the transferred oceans of outer space.
I see this opportunity to express the love-fear to be close where these feelings will suddenly exist in the real world and cause things to happen I had not contemplated.

But what – The satisfaction of being joined be zebras in a gallon of potash
Where the burning smothering flames of a zookeeper’s baby faced elephantitus blue tit
Stands face to face with me and tells me
the hard shocking truth about
responsibility to the two claws
around the kitchen table
every Monday morning
before I go to school
with the face I had then
in an iron mask of a love-hens pencil
in a snow filled satchel of chemical confusion
stuck down with the life of afterthoughts and baboon balloons

Did I say I loved you or did this command line connect to the internet where a million of you are reflected in a mirror or did this command line bring up the window of absolute rejection I see prepared for the gravestone for living friar’s fast food chain of jet planes docks with the dandelions of absolution in the giant candlelight of the universe.

1999

The hippie’s house

The hippie’s house
Unfurnished
Linked to the sunlight
Thru big windows

Where space
Was loved
And bodies
Left secret messages

On the edge
Of a park

Being
So used to second hand furniture
Being
So used to rent books
Being
So used to
Bad imitation society

A genesis house
A place for dreamers

Empty
Unaffected by clutter
I appeared
In this house
I was empty
As this house
I was free
Of what society offered
I was free
Of superstores

And in the big empty room
With the large window
There were things
To be discovered

Society
Perfected by regulations
With ergonomic kitchens
With basic sizes
With safety measures

That all fit in
With society
With manufacturing
With advertising

Like the seat
In a cockpit of a plane
That we sit down in
Everything set before us
We can fly
Into the society
That makes everything

Every corner we turn
Is fitted by society
Every road we cross
Is standardized by society

By societies that keep
Amalgamating
Filtering out the dross
Until it becomes
Set solid in its own image
A thing
Unchangeable

Every thing
Is designed
For a space man

For ease of use
For space
For bodily function

Everything
Is designed for
A spaceman

So that
He doesn’t hurt himself
So that
He can’t hurt himself
So that
He is protected
From hurt

Everything
Is planned
For a spacemen
So that
When they return to earth
They have
Safe streets to walk in
Safe supermarkets
To shop in
Safe houses
to live in

I’ll wake up one day
I’ll look down the main road
Into the city
And a gleaming white figure
Will be approaching
In the distance
Pure and fresh from space
A spaceman
He will come walking
Down the middle of the road
Like a warrior god

If you put me on the stage

If you put me on the stage
Would a bouquet of flowers
Appear out of my head
Would I open my big mouth to sing
And swallow the first row
Would I get into a fight
With a disapproving policeman

If you put me on the stage
In an oversize suit
Before the curtain comes down
Would I run off with the chorus girl
Would I be as drunk as a wet dog?
Would I pull the wrong lever
And the audience start revolving

Would I be on the apex
Of a troupe of acrobats
Or trapped in a melee of hoola-hoops
Or preaching about the coming apocalypse
Or interviewing a glamorous scarlet starlet
About her latest blockbuster

Well here I am
But I’m in a field somewhere
And a couple of rabbits have stopped to stare
And a butterfly has landed on my nose

I study you everyday

I study you everyday
Like someone
Would study Mozart

The simple melody
Of your existence
Mundane as the sun
In drainpipes
Or a hover fly
Looking for sweet dew

I copy the chords
From your daily routine
Chords I’ve never seen
From places I’ve never been
from times ‘ve been without
From arpeggios of your breakfast
That you’ll never forget
Like the gold shiny railings
Around your memories
That brace you everyday
In your spiritual hospital
Of neglect and fear
Of leading a bear
To a tea party
Which is something
All girls
Should learn to do

I study you every day
Like someone
Would study Mozart
And the more I look
The more I learn
Of ho the modes
Affect you more
Tan your minor tone
And shift you
Off from the stage
Into the wings

Then suddenly
It begins to fit
I learn to play
The accompaniment
To your life
To your melody
Using pattern four

As you roll along
In your private coach f dreams
With all your livery
Straight for the sun

I like to look into dark corners

I like to look into dark corners
Where you scrape away the dust
And find a paper clip
Where you shine a torch
And a white starving spider
Clambers away to safety

I like to look into dark corners
Where the broom cannot go
Is something living there
Hiding in a shadow
Where a dead hollow fly
Spins around on its back
And a small dice from a Ludo game
Turns up

I would like to find
Something special
But there never is
There’s a farthing
That my granddad lost
A hairclip
From my mother’s perm
A receipt from a shop till

Then you dream that you wake up
In that same dusty corner
And you crawl like a baby
Into a valley made for children
Or you spin in the dust
And when you come to a stop
You are pointing at a door