Cats they like to see you cry

Cats they like to see you cry
But beneath their fur a great big grin
They look at you with two big eyes
And break your heart with sad meows

And when they see you sit and cry
They come and purr upon your lap
“I didn’t mean it”, they seem to say
And then they run outdoors to play

I’ve never seen a reporter hug a loser

It’s peculiar how people starved of affection seem to group together like bumping cars in a fairground.

If something affects one of them they all suffer – in silence. Have you seen them walking along the street. If one walks slowly they all walk slowly in a sympathetic empathy. They hate to walk too fast with such a weight of unburdened tears in case they spill some and a stiff upper-lipper reprimand them.

Soldiers on poppy day selling plastic poppies for lapels. Their brotherhood. Their grief, their pide. They are the most well trained, fittest, intelligent soldiers the world has ever seen. As a group, they try to control their feelings, from each other, from the world. and they do fine until they don’t do fine.

Animals might group together for the same reasons. They share a common fear, a common trauma, a common need for affection, for self-expression, for self-defence.

Children grouped together in the playground make their beautiful noise, oblivious of thought or feeling. Instant spirits. When one starts to shout they all start to shout. A healing bond group that new arrivals soon belong to. But yes, if a child has a problem that is too big for its head it withdraws and gets isolated and stays isolated – like I was many times. Because emotion is a language that is not used by their parents and professional help comes in the shape of mental health officers and social workers who separate, coldly, their experiences into documents.

I look into my brain with my mind. I have done so since I was born. At first, there was nothing in my brain and now there’s too much. But my brain works overtime at storing information; preparing, cleaning and storing.

Mental health professionals seem to think that the brain is the soul and also that to drug the brain will calm traumatic feelings. Humpty Dumpty because he felt grumpy was sedated and put to bed. Then came a white spider that sat down beside him and filled his brain with Med.

There’s a group of footballers who just lost a game. Like an ambulance full of analysts the reporters dump serious, accusative questions on them.

I’ve never seen a loser embraced by a reporter.

Never Steal The Eggs Of An Eagle

Never steal the eggs of an eagle
Never steal the eggs of a golden eagle
For the eggs are precious and very rare
and the parents don’t forget you
They follow you from the clouds
and they wait until the night
To repay you an eye for an eye

So never steal the eggs of an eagle
Never steal the eggs of a golden eagle
For they fly to you in the night
and they repay you an eye for an eye
They watch you in the night
and they watch you where you lay
Then they come in the night
and they take your baby away

What did they pay their taxes for

What did they pay their taxes for?
They wanted peace
You gave them war, they needed healthcare, education
Instead you raped near all the nation

What did they pay their taxes for?
You gave them war
They wanted peace
You threw their fathers into gaols
You threw their mothers
Onto the street

What did they pay their taxes for?
Just so that you’d have more and more
To get more money, to get more fame
You washed your nation down the drain

Hurricane 1997

In the year of the hurricane
I was ill, I was bruised, I was broke
I dragged myself down Mile End Road
As thin as a bicycle wheel spoke

I flapped in the wind like a moth-eaten curtain from a tree
That stood at the end of the street in the hurricane that freed itself
from my own disquiet soul
from my own empty heart

in the year of the hurricane
It was as if my own life escaped from me
Had wound itself up like a spring
And was released across the country
And flew into a rage across a sick world

Three short poems

Tonight

My dreams will reproach me
For running backwards
Into the stream of infinity

They will hang me
From a high tower
Then make me descend
Into a cellar of confinement

They will chase me
Up a dark steep hill
With a sharp hatchet
I’ll hide behind a wall of nightmare

They will show me
The secrets of my heart
Disguised as spiders
Then daylight will fall like a hole

The Missing Link

I’m the missing link
The monkey that can think
I had no mother, had no father
I had no food, had no drink

I’m the missing link
I’ve been dead for a long time
I’ve had no love, had no hate
..
I’m the missing link

I’m waiting to fill my place
I’m waiting to unite you
There’s a gap in the human race
Left by the blues

First Words

The place that language came from was lost;
That well at the beginning of the world, its water;
That wet the dry throat of man, with words
Newly formed like soft fruit on dusky trees.

That source of inspiration for words;
Words that were formed by thoughts;
Thoughts that produced words
And named the eye, the nose, the mouth.

Words that first described the heartbeat,
The red colour of the heart;
The passion, the tempest within
That rocked furiously until it beat.

The place where language first was heard;
The first echo of the first word;
That first warm word, its breath of air;
The breath now cold, and mingled where?

Millions more have breathed and prayed,
That air, that filled all lungs since then,
Now non can feel and no-one know
That place that language came from.

Ring Dove

Every day, every time I see you, you’ve changed, getting
older, turning into a Ring Dove. There’s one in my garden
now, a complete Ring Dove, round, fat and feathered.

Every time I see you, I notice the changes. Once you were a
shapely young girl, but now, I see your figure going; a ring
around your neck appearing; soon you will turn grey, you’re
legs will shrivel and grow claws; your bustle will grow big
enough to support wings; then you will find yourself in the
garden, scratching around for food.