late for the vine

Prisoner on the run

Are you running a very high temperature
Does your heart suddenly miss a rung?
Has your TV a full off-licence
Is your bed properly rung?

Well you might need a Mr. Fix it
He’s asleep in your toy-box now
Have you wiped the floor with ‘infectant
Are you secretly harbouring a cow?

Well I went into your garage
Looking for a bucket and spade
I opened up your toolbox
And I found the marquis de Sade

Have you got your life entitlement?
Does your lawn mower turn green in the sun?
Are you chasing the dwarf that came to life?
After drinking a bottle of rum

Did you make a spectacular announcement?
Did you travel from your lifeboat full of nuns?
Are seagulls in your hair?
Is anyone there?
Only a prisoner on the run

Late for the vine

One night I was hitched up to France
By a hungry heart
Hiking the melodious wood world land
Lit by a satellites car-moon
Late for the vine

Giants pulled up in a campervan
In big woolly claret jumper and picked me up
Out of the bubble of longing to be

Friend of the night
A rare as a rocket ship in teller pace
Appointed by the dark shadowy spirits of travel

They took me back to their hideout
On a October creature night

They were alternative student life
In the university of love and peace
I slept the night like a dormouse
In a den of welcome guest stranger
With unbelief and gratitude
And like a bird
I was on my way in the morning

The girl who sings in her clogs

The girl who sings in her clogs
Lives in the London smog
The buses all wait at the bus stop
Wondering which one she’ll chose

Her name is shanghai Dutch
She noisy when he goes away
When she returns to her place
She sneaks back quiet as a mouse

Shanghai has a boy
He’s as handsome as the eclipse of the moon
He tries to be in control of her
And his name is Frankie the groom

She also has a very best friend
Who knocks on the door- nightingale style
In the light of the hall, they start twittering
For she’s instantly invited inside

Hither and thither they go
To a world I do not know
To the willow pattern whip of the wind
Along the yellow river road

If you love her

If you love her
Go to her
By accident
Or by thoughtfullness

Chose her at her
Most vulnerable

Hum quietly
To keep yourself

Be as
Motherly as a hen
And as fatherly
As a drunken football team

If you feel like it
By borrowing
Her make-up mirror
And hiding behind it

Now is the moment
That the weight of the universe
Sits on you shoulder

Will be

If everything worked
The way it should

There would be love

Love separated
From time and space
Free to move
With grace

Tangled up with plastic bags
Bits of it
Thrown away like rags

This kind of line
Is regrettable
Nut true

And spoils it for me
And spoils it
for you

The news
is blowing across
the land
The news
goes by
from mouth to mouth

it started in the arctic north
it went more north
than south

it’s a dust storm of news
a mile high in the sky
it started as a rumour
now it is a lie

He said the end is coming
the salami has been chopped
the van is stuck in Calais
the ferry man has knocked

He said he saw it coming
I wondered what he means
Preparing meat for market
Bleeding it of dreams

He said he saw it hanging
In the slaughter house
You know he is a tough guy
But it turned him to a mouse

She stood outside the window
She pointed at some meat
The butcher wrapped it up for her
As he dreamed of fields of wheat

The music rose up like a fountain
People laughed and loved
But you turned off the water
And stood in fields of blood

A Goyim child at Passover
Crawled drunk across the ground
The angel of death ignored him
And continued on his round

The music rose like pink sleep
And kissed a heavenly face
But you in your bloodthirstiness
Cut of the human race

A community’s cuts and bruises
Will heal up in time
Taught by music festivals
And Passovers of bread and wine