Aurelius Borealis

there is a God who turns
the flames of the sun
into the Aurelius Borealis
over a land so full of miracles

it’s a blue suede shoes land
that puts up with extinction
that puts up with climate change
that fights wars in poor countries
that gives to industrialists
by taking away from nature

how long have they got?
What will be their fatal mistake?

The Aurelius Borealis
Is like a rainbow
It is like a sign
It Is like a promise
Of protection

The news on Sunday morning

  1. Big dry river

Big dry river
Big dry river
Big dry river
In Madagascar

Put your baby on the scales
See how much she weighs
Maybe gain an ounce or two
In a couple of days

He gave his 24 children
Another empty bowl
They crowded round the visitor
Trying to fill the hole

They stopped you on the wayside
Asking for some bills
The shepherds looked like stick men
Come down from the hills

See them in the river bed
Digging for their thirst
The great dried river bed
Is lonely now it hurts

  1. If death were a river

I’ve got death
Banging on my door
There’s nothing here
You see I’m so poor

I think of death
Not of suicide
Death comes much slower
There’s nowhere to hide

As I grow older
The worse it seems to get
If death were a river
I’d be up to my neck

If death were a river
I’d jump right in and drown
No more, anymore
It all just gets me down

  1. forgotten fruit

What a contrast to the news I see
In the lonely empty streets
The funerals behind closed doors
The dead ones trying to speak

The lady on the news again
Dressed in glamourous clothes
People in the food bank
Where she never goes

Peak time TV whitewash
Don’t let us know the truth
Keep it in the closet
Like forgotten fruit

The trackers have no faces
As they crawl about the web
To seek you out and bite you
Now their social structure
Like a wasp’s nest in a tree
Like a cancer full of stings

  1. They roast me on a spit

They roast me on a spit
But the flames are crying
The fire light blinds them
So they cannot see injustice

The devil sends them his photograph
They put it on their wall
How do you tell them it’s a lie?
When they dream of him each night


It’s an aching feeling, like a hernia
That I cannot put a name to
It consumes time, like a burning book
It’s a walk across a pebble beach

Love is like a slice of bacon
Its fat is burning, smoking like a chimney

Love is like a faceless chiming clock
A worthless body run over in the street

The false saints of Christendom
Are like bad screw drivers
Like rust that cover a dog

The policies of lies are driven
Into a pile up on the motorway
That’s how fear flies into a memory

The dream cat and the red eyed mice

Cat lies down on the soft white quilt
That becomes a dream

And in that dreams white clouds
She sees battalions of tom cats

Ready to march on the highest cloud
Like little wooden soldiers with their rifles

On the shoulders
And their tall black hats on their heads

Anchored to the tall white cloud
A white ship filled with jewelry floats

Guarded by the red eyed mice
With lightning in their mouths

Now the battalion’s march
Across the blue sky singing a thunderous song

The red eyed mice throw lightnings
The tom cat soldiers begin to fall

Amongst them is the dream cat’s lover
He falls and breaks apart upon the ground

Dream cat goes over to him
She sniffs his broken body and wails

Her heart is broken, she must wake up
Now she’s awake and looks at the sky

The next time she sleeps
Upon the soft white quilt, she dreams again

She is flying through the sky
Towards the high white cloud

The red eyed mice do not see her
She lands amongst them hissing

She scratches them, she picks them up in her teeth
She throws them here, she throws them there

She reaps death amongst the red eyed mice
They all fall down and expire

The jewels are released from the ship in the clouds
They fall to earth like coloured lights

She gathers them up gently in her mouth
And takes them to safety

As she carefully places them down on the floor
They run around and play like little kittens

Sleeping in a small hole

In a small hole
Where to sleepwalk?
Where to dream?

The touch of a wall
Make of
Flowing hands
That walk in chains
Your raisin mother
In an empty vineyard

A culture squeezed
An economy that lies

It’s everywhere
In the capitol plan
Like a crust of poverty
Around the monuments of humanity

There is an invitation

There is an invitation
From the sky
To throw out
The old year

It’s written in the sunlight
It sticks to you
With a gentle song

Even the sound of the road
Is destined to be a river

As you listen
You hear family voices
Like the slight cracking sound
Of a growing Magnolia tree

Human economy

Human economy
Human culture
It cannot last
Its fruit is made of stone

A flower of knives
A scent of blood
A painfully withered leaf
Crushed by grey death

Throw out your grappling hooks
Into the trees
Save yourself
Out of the circus

Or place yourself
Amongst the desert rocks
That once
Were fruit

The wind on your belly

The wind on your belly
The smell of life

I know that too
I know love

The buds on the Magnolia tree
I shiver with apprehension

A prayer leaves me
An invisible mist from the earth

You – speaking with your eyes
You feel love

You thought love grew straight
That it’s easy to avoid

Then it spirals out of control
A madness in the sun

The removal (a childhood memory)

Sitting in the back of the van
With the tumbling furniture
The blurred road in the early morn
Following the voices through the rapids of shapes
Of slamming doors and vanishing road

Where was I from?
The passing of memory
The traces of a long-lost street in obscurity

No existence there
No existence – dumped in the back of a van
Not worth the trouble of my birth
Not worth a thing

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