Spitalfields Music Festival 1996

TO CATHY, STUDENT OF THE CLARINET.

You have the same voice now
As when you were a girl
You are the same person now
As when you were a girl
Your new found beauty of form and face
Makes you want to search for love
With the urgency of a swelling ocean
As if that vast emptiness
Is the emptiness your heart has found

You see a reflection in the calm sea
You dance sweetly in high heels
Across the glassy waters surface
Joyful in your new maturity
Innocent as gentle snowflakes
Melting in the warm sea
Where armies of fish swim
To the lands of dreams
To war with the surging rivers

Then you fall in love
You grasp at shadows
That weave and fly
You dart like a sea bird
To capture those fish
But who is he
What does he think?
As he swims with armies
To the land of dreams
With young girls following

12 June

TO HONEY THE GUIDEDOG

LOCKED OUT OF HAWKSMOORS CHURCH

The evening was a lantern
Where a weak light let a thousand
Shadows dance, a bodiless dance
To the harpsichords silver tone.

Under the churches portico I sat
Caring for a blindman’s guide dog
Who’d gone through the door
Into the concert inside.

The setting was theatrical
Thistle light burnt through the darkness
The essence of music falling
Into the empty sanctuary.

The churches disrepair
As a million hungry memories
Of Dickens destitute and poor
Filled mahogany gallery

Thirsting for a spiritual drink
The strong smelling breath
Of fallen unrepentant men
Filled the soup rooms in the crypt

Turning their backs upon the scores
Of recital and of cantata
While the blind man’s guide dog whimpered
Waiting for his masters return

The guide-dogs loyal love
Hotter then Hawksmoor’s architecture
More dependable then the human spirit
That let these walls crumble

12 June

YELLOW UNDERWING

What if the moth
Never sees the moon?
It’s not your time
Born in the month of June.
Yellow Underwing
Dead upon the pavement
The moon is due soon
In the summer night sky.
Will it send you spiralling?
Soaked in silver light
Tongue curled like a dragons
Eyes like satellite eyes.
Yellow Underwing
To you the blackbirds sing.
Where did your spirit go?
Where did your spirit drift?
To leave those Yellow Underwings
To startle the street,
Made of tissue paper
Made of talcum powder.

Children much like you
Have been casualties too
Fallen under the scythe
Of rush-hour blindness.
Yellow Underwing
Where does your spirit drift?
Let me open my palm
Let me catch it upon my palm
Let me take it back home
Let it flutter there
Around the light-bulb
With wings all aquiver
Made of coloured silks
Dusted with scented talcum powder
A lover in the night
Sending signals to the moon
Restless for some tender care
Restless for delight.

Yellow Underwing
Pretty Underwing
To you the berry filled blackbird
Sings a song in passing
That saw you born;
That saw you fall
Clumsy from your sleep
Under the scythe
Of rush-hour blindness;
Smaller then a tiny flower
Your spirit circled and went away
To leave your painted body
To fade from natures gallery;
And does your tiny spirit
Fade away like a flower?
Or like a seed is it saved?
To sleep beneath the earth
Yellow Underwing
To sleep beneath the earth.

12/6/96

Evening light was fading

Evening light was fading
Violins played endlessly
Tension grew continuously
Isolation grew a lucid dream

Evening faded, violins played
Tension grew in fading light
In elongated stretched chords
Church vibrated continuously

Violins threw gladiatorial nets
A stampede of tension, rapid of sound
Loneliness blossomed like Bittersweet
Hung in the isles like repentant dead

Violins played continuously
Evening light faded endlessly
Tension grew, a public execution
The lucid dream engulfed the church

Muscles vibrated like steel strings
Flesh quivered like sound boxes
Air was strewn with molecular graffiti
Pins of sound like arrows of battle

Violins played endlessly
Tension grew continuously
Breathless out of control
Then they ended suddenly

June

From the unloved country I came to you

From the unloved country I came to you
From the land of the crushed chrysalis
Where the deformed butterflies cry
At their images in the cool water
Who never could fly and fill the deserts
Crawling from one edge to the other and back again

This unloved country where all of mankind’s hate goes
Where it rains hate from around the world continually
Upon the butterfly people crushed
Like lovers caught in a holocaust
Blackened they emerge like surrealist sculptures
Hollow of anger, hollow of hate

Having had the love sucked out of their bones
I come to you on their behalf just to tell you this

My father’s time

My father’s time
Was tyrannosaurus Rex
That terrorized his earth
Was the empty eye sockets
Of a skull
That he alone saw into

It was an ultra precious
Mercurial metal locked into a box that he alone owned the key to
It was a very special venerated god
That he would never talk about

Time in his eyes
Was a hard thing to own
And a hard thing to give
It was hoarded like Inca gold
In a blood soaked room beneath the altar

His eyes, the eyes of one who was a rebel
A fighters eyes
He fought against time all his life
In a ring surrounded by death clapping and cheering him on

He never won a fight against it
He saved what was not won
As if it were the inanimate object
That broke all the bones in his body
He saved it like the memory of a precious enemy he wanted to conquer
He saved it as if it were arrows and fountain pens standing in the pools of his blood

His eyes, his eyes said
His eyes said of time
His eyes, his ferocious eyes said to me of time
Beware of it and treat it with respect
It is the unconquered enemy
It is nothing

It’s as if his own farther
Were time itself
As if it were the fists of his own father
Beating up on him

It’s as if time itself has replaced love
And was coming for him
From a long distance away
To fight another round with him

But out of all that conflict
Out of the scraps of it left behind
He fashioned a timepiece
Hammered and tooled by experts
And he gave it to me as the only gift

And some days it eludes me
For days on end time eludes me
But, occasionally, I can grab it by the tail
And I will work it like a mule

There is a River to Life

There is a river to life
With many streams.
You should look out for them
Keep their paths clear.

When I open a south facing door
Onto my sunny buzzing garden
I must open a north facing window
Under a shaded balcony.

If there is no through way
The insects get trapped inside the room
They bombard the north facing windows
Like angry suicide pilots.

The direction all things travel in
The flow of the stream
And of how all the rivers of life
Will flow down to a sea.

In the morning

The morning
Seems to be the best time
To throw out your net.

You pull it back in
With one or two
Bloggers trapped inside
Who like you.

The Priests Woman

Love, you hold out your hand to me
Suddenly the world is blanketed in snow
Icicles hang from your fingertips and I feel cold

Love, you hold out your lips to me
Suddenly everywhere is cold and blue
Your long white dress clinks like ice
The wood of your bones creaks in the wind

Love, you look at me with your eyes
Ice frozen cages that capture the past
Eyes as hard as memorial stones
Bright as the blinding sun upon the snowfield

My heart like a tulip bulb aching to flower
Wrapped in the chains of your winter

Love, your body like a pillow of snow and ice
Love, why do you look back into the blizzard

Will you lead the world to the edge of darkness?
With words as bright as torches
When your foot steps into the night
It’s the earth the fire wind scorches

Your face shines like a crusader’s shield
And you think you stand on Mt Sinai
As your chiefs prepare the battle fields
Where eagles circle in the smoky sky

As you drive your knife into madness itself
And you shoot your gun at insanity
Like a shadow it moves with bodiless stealth
A bloodless thing you can’t see

When love is covered in blood and tears
Wrapped up in the shawls of revenge
How will you calm your animal fears?
Or stop its sacrifice at this Stonehenge

I want yesterday

I want yesterday
To happen again
laid out like cling film
across the earth

I know yesterday
where it sleeps
how to tuck it in
how to dream it

I can see its performance
its field of sweat
its goal posts
its overcoats of blood

I can slip my hands into its pockets
I can use its shoes
I know where to find my home there
Between the ruins

Tomorrow I do not know
If history has any say there
If knowledge will be of any help
(Between the wreck of the Belgrano and the ruins of Bagdad)

Tomorrow may be changed beyond recognition
Between the tank tracks and the Euro economy
Between the vandals and the terrorists
Between the rich people and the new technology

Bring back the yesterday
let me stand on its hill of garbage
in contrast to which
I seem to shine like a star

Bullying did not bring curses

Bullying did not bring curses from my lips
I fought to be loved by you
I fought to break through your harness

I did not succeed
I knew I could never fight again for the love I needed from you
It was as black and white as that

Truthfully, even wanting to be loved became a shameful feeling
A pain that hurt
And I cherish that hurt as all I have from you

And when other loves beat me
I feel as mute as the speechless ones

I could not speak to save myself
To free myself
The poison I drank in my youth is still in my system

Nothing could excuse me from the ordeal
Not my health or my age mattered

And I have never believed in the reason
Why one man can treat another with contempt

The Concentration Camp of Poetry

The concentration camp of poetry
Sits in a clearing in the woods
No need for guns; they are only words
And those that escape will starve in a foreign land

The present moment

The present moment is nothing
My relationship with the day is broken
A cracked mirror of the sea with no reflection

I run through the pages of time
Looking for the granite of love
A morsel from the masters table
A drip from the ketchup bottle

London wearies to the marrow
I think blessed are they who live
Far away from here, this city
Is a honey pot covered in flies

A broken golden scaffold

A broken golden scaffold
Diamonds trodden into the mud.

They say that I should depend on God’s love
Instead I find myself mourning human failure

I ask of the square and the isosceles triangle
Why can’t people be as mathematically sound

You can’t put a parallellogram is a prison
But you can put a man in jail

All across the football field the crows are swarming
And the sonnet sang in the wings

The man with the meteorite head said nothing
No love was passed down

Life is like a used tea-bag on a kings throne
Wisdom slips between the cushions

 

First we dance and then we go to heaven

First we dance and then we go to heaven
First we love and then we pass away
We see the sky and then round ‘bout seven
Our hearts feel empty and we dream in grey

First we must dance and then we go to heaven
We somehow forget how hard life can be
We don’t realise how our bodies are like leaven
We only know what’s good and what is free

First we dance and then we go to heaven
And heaven loves the ignorance of a child
Never dreaming death can come between us
The purity of love and all things free and wild

Then we tire and find there are no answers
To questions about love lasting years
Then we cry and end our career as dancers
We feel like stone and then we fill with tears

So first we dance and then we go to heaven
And if we love we’ll live forever more
This is the ideal that life seems to teach us
And if we run we can just get through the door

The reflections that I’ve touched in the mirror of your eyes

Hard as a mirror
Your face reflected
What you see is what you are
What you remember is what you see

Hard as a mirror
Your face reflected only what it could see
Snowflakes in spring
Containing the dust of an unrecognised heart

Hard as the mirror in your eyes
Your secret place of fear
Reflections always reflections of the girl you want to be
O the world you want to change

Hard as the mirror in your eyes
A closed mirrored door that has seen what you see
Long before you see it now
When complete and terrifying it made your heart its home

Hard as the mirror of your tour guides heart
This is where now the once-thing might happen
This is how it became what it will be
Here and there in the mirror of your eyes

And your arteries harden with times made reflection
And here you are as you were then
Dammed up and dammed by times cruelest emotion
To love fear and to fear love and to yearn for magical meanings in your love

Hard as the mirror in your eyes
Your hands clenched the salt but ignored the honey
Beneath the surface of the docks
The fish swam from you in shoals

Beneath the dark cold water as the cormorants huddled on the rafts
Looked at you with eyes like dark mirrored demons
Concealing your wings at their sides, giving you their wings
Flapping their wings in the mirrors of your eyes

As the fish hid in the deep dock waters fearful at the reflections of the tall dark cranes
But your reflection came and went like the reflection in the mirror of your long lost eyes
Where a strip of my flesh is hooked and bleeding like a crumb of bread in the mirror of your soul
Falling deeper into your long forgotten secrets

Falling back deep down into the roots of your reflections
The reflections that I have touched in the mirror of your eyes

2000

The Englishness in Me

I love kicking stones about
Down an empty street
Watching how they curve,
Sometimes changing feet.

I love to kick a stone, alone
Across an empty path
To Sometimes loose it down a drain
Then I have to laugh

I love to kick a stone in my path
Just to see where it goes
There’s no rhyme or reason why
It’s the energy in my toes

Sometimes there’s some kind of goal
A vague one, like a dream
Sometimes I feel happy
Sometimes I feel mean

Sometimes I’m a poorboy
Kicking stones in the street
Sometimes I’m a footballer
With lightning in my feet

But stones are all I kick at
Stones are all I have
I’ve never had a football
I was never one of the lads

In winter my nose was runny
My eyesight’s poor to tell
A big red bus from a goalpost
Or a whistle from a playground bell

But I love to kick a stone
Against some big old tree
And run with it across the road
That’s the Englishness in me

2000

Top 10 of Anything and Everything - The Fun Top Ten Blog

Animals, Gift Ideas, Travel, Books, Recycling Ideas and Many, Many More

La Page @Mélie

Contre le blues, le meilleur remède, c'est le rock...!

Dustus Blog

Poetry, Flash Fiction, and more

Paris-La Rochelle

Le temps du rêve

Reverie in reverse

Phillip writes poetry ... or gets lost in thought

BUTTERFLY EFFECT🌸

Baby steps in the right direction👣

Adeline Wrights Poetry

A place of love, pain, and pondering

Hettie's Reflections

On family history, parenting, education, social issues and more

e-Quips

News and views to inform or amuse

What's Inside a Madman's Hat?

...everything is subject to change.

MARKOVICH LITERARY CAFE

Alex Markovich: author, visual storyteller, theater director

thedrabble.wordpress.com/

Shortness of Breadth

The #1 Itinerary

Inspiring the world's next generation of travelers.

Hopeless fountain

Living moments through words.

zeta tau alpha

samford university | delta psi chapter

luna's on line

Writing and Stuff by Chris Hall - Storyteller and Accidental Blogger

THE POET BY DAY

Poets, Poetry, News, Reviews, Readings, Resources & Opportunities for Poets and Writers

Indians Abroad Desi Videsh Me

Lifestyle - Cooking tips - Travelling in Europe- Emotional support - Integrating with locals -Easy Recipes-Gardening

%d bloggers like this: