Category: Poetry

I began writing poetry as a teenager and never stopped. I read poetry, my all-time favourites, are Marina Tsvetaeva from Russia and well, dozens of others.

Black and White

You are not black

You are not black
You are not black all the way through
Our hearts if put side by side
Would be like two flames from a fire

You are not black
You are not black all the way through
I see the white of the bone
I see the red of the blood

I for one will not call you black
You are not black all the way through
Like the sky is not blue all the way through
Like the sea is not blue all the way through

And like a painted canvas
There are many colour to view

I’m tired of the America

I’m tired of the America
That made men black and white
It’s so useful for the advertisers
It’s so useful for the politicians

I’m tired of the America
That made men black and white
In her mind there are no others
Why did she settle for that?

In all the colours of the rainbow
There is no colour black
So if black is not a colour
What do you say about that?

Is there any other country
That has labelled us black and white
Even the bible does not
Not even Adam and Noah

What’s so bad about it
That it digs up so much evil
I’m so tired of America
Of how she puts herself on trial

I’m so tired of America
Of how she puts us all on trial

She does not wish to be seen

She does not wish to be seen
She hides her face
She turns into the shadows

In her heart she keep a beast
A beast in chains
That she shows me

In the darkness of her face
A light come on
Like the light from a half closed door

She sits apart
Like a circus owner
Rehearsing her act for the show

Perfume is so absent

Perfume is so absent
It has few believers
It’s taken to a dark hall
A date or a wedding

The streets don’t give off perfume
The shadows will destroy it
The windows don’t let it in
The doors don’t let it out

The grave don’t smell of perfume
The moon does not ear pearl
And the gravestones dying flowers
Smell of other world

Perfume is so absent
Life is dead without it
The streets are lined with mourners
The bedrooms taste of harpic

A grain of scent is nothing
It’ a minute as the dust
Its not produced in sack-fulls
It’s overpowered by lust

The clouds are not perfumed
With rose or other thing
And rainfall smells of damp air
And the river of broken wings

I just can’t lose this child

I just can’t lose this child
He follows me everywhere
Out into the garden
Up and down the stair
I hide inside the wardrobe
I catch the fastest train
I travel thru the desert
With a camel train

I just can’t lose this child
Daddy he call out
Ith hi ringlet jingling
With his sorry out
I hide behind the curtain
I lock myself away
I hang from a meteorite
I try to fly away

I just can’t lose this child
He’s everywhere I go
Summer at the seaside
Inter in the no
I dress up in disguise
So that he won’t recognise me
I walk the lonesome highway
Hoping to be free
Hoping to be free

Look preaches the wind

Look preaches the wind
To the woman on the doorstep
He is sending you the rain
He is sending you the river
Look up to the mountain
Already there is thunder
Do you hear the crashing water?
Cascading down the valley

Look preaches the wind
To the woman on the doorstep
He is sending you flock of birds
To sing inside your forest
See off into the distance
At how the sky is darkened
Birds in their millions
Are flying to your rooftop

Look preaches the wind
To the woman on the doorstep
As soon as the work is done
The sun is taking over

The leaves are in their houses

The leaves are in their house
Working in the kitchen
Soft green, filled with summer heat
They sit down to ret and sleep

The glossy leaves are working
In tall office buildings
Loud and imposing
Fighting for office spaces

The spikey leaves are in their barracks
Or marching in parade grounds
With their little red berries
Exploding under traffic

The palm leaves are swaying
Out of range of autumn
High up in glass palaces
They sway in summer breezes

The dying leaves are changing
They wear their autumn clothing
Orange reds and yellows
They fall into the valleys

In the ground of winter
The evergreens stand waiting
For their little cousins
Their playfulness and laughter

Outer inner worlds

The way the ear drum connects between two worlds
Between reality and the grey universe of the brain
Out of the empty air outside into the fleshy world of the nerves
Out of the colours of nature into the blindness of inner space
Outside where a million voices are heard
Inside where just one voice is heard – thought

Another day further back

Another day further back
Further than the sheets of sand
Further than the folds of mud
Back into the tangled reeds
Whose arms reach out
To grab the shipwrecked slaves
Tripping in their chains
Onto the reedy floor

Pushed back by the waves
Left in the folds of its footprints
Between the wrinkles of sand
Between the tidemarks of time
The strata of damp folds of mud
Pushed back against the sea wall
Those who cannot swim
Those escaping from the terrors of the sea

Pushed back by the sea
The sea of love
Into the old age of mud
Mud that buries the mud
Waves that lift mud to fall on mud
Waves that slowly bury
Flotsam and jetsam
In blankets and sheets of new mud

The heart tortured by storms
The heart cut by winds
The heart, a sea going heart
Shipwrecked on a wild shore
Stuck into the sand
Pushed back by the waves
Back into the mud
Back into the reedy marshes

Do I walk the beach alone
Do I see the bleeding sunset
Do I hear the call of the wild wind
Screaming on the wet red horizon
Does my heart melt
Its blood dripping into the sand
To be like the birds screeching
Flying above the murdered sea

Beyond the darkening sea
The daylight falls into the earth’s face
The sky is blue the sea is green
In a distant day the other side from here
Where I walk on the red stained sand
Chains of reeds clinging to my ankles
Where I try to drink the red stained sea
Through hands and fingers made of sand
1996