"We shall not cease from exploration and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started
and know the place for the first time." (T S Eliot)
"A dark and chanted verse is what I am." (
Forough Farrokhzad)

Sunday, June 28, 2015

LEGACY

On these winter nights the surf does not roar
And I hear rolling thunder nevermore.
But that's because the window's closed up tight
So the carbon dioxide doesn't bite.

And when I breathe the madness
That burns all ways,
Memory seared with sadness
Scorches my days.

So is all that they did worthless?
They repelled the invaders,
Propeller suns that rose in the north.
Wasn't that an achievement?
Would those knights of an emperor's sword
Have remade the land like it was?
Would they have closed the gap
As they reoriented the map?

And then I hear the donkeys
That jeer and bray,
Myopic mules and monkeys
Drinking up their day.

The legacy has all been spent
In thoughtless get rich schemes
That will never pay the rent
And can only wreck the dreams
Of the ones still yet to come,
Waiting where we all waited,
Out there lifeless and numb,
Passports ready to be dated.

And when I fill the bins
How do I know I'm right?
Mistakes are mortal sins
'Cause the climate gets a fright.

Perhaps  I'll stop writing for a while
And read in the sunlight.
Maybe I'll force a smile
And stymie tears in the night.
I'll mutter verses to myself -
Little trifles, cute and trite -
Like biscuits on the top shelf,
Packed with sugar and floured white.

And when I hear you say
You come in peace,
It's blood that blocks the way.
When will your killing cease?

The painting is by Guy Denning, an English artist who founded the Neomodern group.


Wednesday, June 17, 2015

TO GENS X, Y AND Z

Back then I could not quite discern distance,
My eyes saw glitter,
The glowing present,
When all was charmed by chance and circumstance,
Right and wrong were judged by what was pleasant.
It seemed all that was possible was real,
Nothing was permanent,
Nought made to last,
Each day was new,
Another fortune's wheel,
Mistakes were cinders in a burned up past.
Somewhere on time's awkward continuum,
There was a break,
A snap of wish and hope,
Life sacrificed to heat up the humdrum,
Then middle age unravelled like old rope.
You say I lost my mind by growing old,
But you're crazy to think you're in control.


Saturday, June 13, 2015

WORTHLESS STRANGER

Perhaps I'm a stranger,
Lost on this plane,
Foreign,
Never knowing the native way,
Trusting,
Seeking the sun
After the rain,
And thus duped,
A victim of the affray.
I once aspired
To love my work and learn,
Long years spent,
Politic,
An easy tool.
Today I'm valued
At what I can earn,
And so it seems
I am a worthless fool.


Tuesday, June 9, 2015

PLOVERS

I loathe the shrieking cry
That plovers make.
I hate the hacking,
Piercing soar of it.
I love chiming verse
Sons of glovers make
And only wish
I could know more of it.

When I take my walk
On the beach at dusk
I see what really stirs
The people's lust.
TV newscasts blink
Through the open blinds -
They'd see the sea
If they just looked behind.
Yet on the slopes
They build to block the view;
It's all for them,
Not for the likes of you.
For you and I are tenants
Of the dark,
Confined to flats
Where we can leave no mark.

And in daylight
The hateful plovers screech,
While predators and freaks
Teach kids to sell.
The world's rotting,
A cesspool of false speech
That mucks up minds,
And hardens hearts for hell.




Monday, June 8, 2015

THE RECKONING

I sleep then wake
Feverish with fear and dread,
My mind confused
By dreams
That split my head,
Nightmares that come
Repeating but random,
Ghastly grey tales
Of chances abandoned.
I seem to be
A teenager once more;
And yet I'm old,
Washed up on some bleak shore,
Waiting to be graded
And scored again,
Although my brain's too weak
To guide a pen.
I fail to win
First team jersey's glory,
Sidelined as they headlined
The great story.
I'm left behind
As others board the bus
And then I wait
Not knowing whom to trust.
The theme it seems
Is that it all was lost
Back then
When I could not reckon
The cost.