Life

A Way With Words

Had a way with words.

Seduced them from the hemispheres,

had them falling at his lips.

Had a way with women.

Breathed life into their shapes,

understood their hidden meanings.

And the words

worked on the women

and the women

formed the words.

He had a way with

women and words,

words and women,

although words never failed him.

 

In My World

In my world

I would write

of golden suns

if it weren't

for the obscuring clouds.

I would write

of the wind-bent grass

but all the fields

are tarmacked

& multistorey.

Instead I'll be

an urban Wordsworth

writing of

reinforced concrete landscapes

& clear brown skies

where

to wander lonely as a cloud

is just not advisable

after dark.

 

Write a Poem About Anything

Write a poem about anything My mind goes blank No film in my projector No fuel in my tank.

I look into the atmosphere Doodle on a page Write my name in capitals Add my class and age.

The more I try to think of things The less I think I think My skull is overheating My brain is on the blink.

Then these words come cranking out Splutter, clink, clank: 'Write a poem about anything My mind goes blank...'

 

The Portrait of the Artist

I was deprived.

I never had the unhappy childhood

necessary for greatness.

The worst things that happened

were shopping at weekends,

unfinished homework,

and the ghost beneath the bed.

My one regret in life:

that I was not born

on the bad side of town.

At fourteen I wanted to be

Heavyweight Champion Of The World

but I was seventy pounds too light

and had no criminal record.

I could've been the next John Lennon

but my parents couldn't misunderstand me.

My first novel dried up

through lack of trauma;

no skeletons in my cupboards;

no ghosts to exorcise.

Now I'm going to be a poet.

I'm looking for the mess

that could be the key,

the chip that could be the spur.

If only things had been different.

If only I could have been like the rest.

All I asked of life was

some poverty to flee from

and a pit to climb out of.

 

Secrets

I wrote a secret message In lines of secret ink So no one could discover The secret words I think.

I took the secret message When no one else was in And secretly I hid it -Inside my secret tin.

I found a secret tree-trunk Which held a secret fold And slipped my secret package Deep in the secret hole.

When I had grown much older I sought the secret tree To see if I could find the tin Which held the secret me.

But all the trees looked taller And changed a lot somehow. They looked at me as if to say, 'Your secret's secret now.'

 

Tongue

The tongue is where the mind comes out into the open.

Lips move so to speak.

The tongue is where the mind comes out into the open.

Mind

what you say.

 

Sticks and Stones

Sticks and stones only break your bones, but words can tear your heart out.

 

Dial-a-Poem is Temporarily Out of Order

All poems have been cancelled today

because of the national poetry strike.

Poets are demanding equal rights

with rock stars and saints.

They want

to be

paid by the

column inch

rather than

the

word.

They want overtime rates for

nocturnal inspiration,

danger money for love affairs that end.

Poets are demanding a closed shop.

Rhymsters and graffiti artists

will not be admitted,

nor any employee of Hallmark Cards.

Poets want pens that don't run in your pocket.

Poets want bigger cigarette packets for epic verse.

Poets want repeat fees for every line memorized.

Poets want better thinking conditions.

All poems have been cancelled today.

Pens and keyboards lie idle.

The general public are advised

to stock up with alternative forms of literature.

All poems have been cancelled.

No one notices the sun rise,

no one hears the wind.

Somewhere a poet falls in love

but he can't put it into words.

 

The Last Word

You always think you're right.

I always think I'm right.

You think I'm wrong

to think I'm right.

I think you're wrong

to think you're right.

We can't both be right.

You want the last word.

I want the last word.

When you say,

'You want the last word,'

you hope that will be the last word.

When I say,

'You say I want the last word

because you want the last word,'

you say,

"There you go again -

you're having the last word.'

'No, no, no,' I say.

"There you are,' you say,

'last word again.'

You think you're right.

I think I'm right,

You think I'm wrong

to think I'm right,

I think you're wrong

to think you're right.

 

Birth

I didn't ask

to be born.

I wasn't even there to ask.

When you are born

you can ask for

anything.

Almost anything.

You cannot ask

to be unborn.

If you do

there is very little

that can be done.

I didn't ask

to be born.

I was under age

at the time.

My parents had

to decide

on my behalf.

I'm glad that

I was born.

You have to be born

to be glad.

 

Who Was I Before I Was Born

You were a song

that had yet to be sung,

You were a word

on the tip of a tongue,

You were a plan

chalked up on a board,

You were a gleam

in the eye of the Lord

 

For Lianne, Aged One

As far as is possible, stay as you are,

with the eye clear and open

and washed clean of fear;

with the skin untracked

by the sad workings of the heart,

lips unskilled in spite.

As far as is possible, stay as you are,

the morning's first light

cause enough for joy,

each passing face

judged only by the colour of its smile.

As far as is possible, stay as you are.

Gaze out at the world

with its mystery and noise,

but refuse all offers to join.

Be backwards in evil,

advanced in love.

As far as is possible, stay as you are,

with the upturned face

and the open palm,

with the stumble of faith

and the shout of hope.

For of such is the Kingdom.

 

As You Learn

Just as you learn to climb,

The ladder snaps its rungs.

Just as you like yourself,

The self you like has gone.

Just as you learn to love,

True love has passed you by.

Just as you learn to live,

You have lo learn

 

Blood, Sweat and Tears

My blood knows where to go, perspiration knows when to begin, tears fall on cue.

If I were my blood I'd take time off every now and then, take wrong turnings, misinterpret instructions.

If I were perspiration I'd arrive too soon, hang around too long and disappear when needed.

And if I were my tears I'd forget to stock up, I'd get low on salt and leave without asking.

My body's in good shape. It's upstanding and reliable. We have so little in common.

 

Nothing

What are you doing? Nothing.

And this time the answer is true.

I sit here doing nothing because there is nothing to do.

I hold my head in my hands

I stare very hard into space

I swing my legs to and fro

and pick at a spot on my face.

How wonderful is nothing,

a subject that has no exam,

a time when, instead of 'I do',

I can simply say that 'I am'.

TONIGHT WE WILL FAKE LOVE

Tonight,we will
Fake love together.
You my love, possess
All the essential qualities
As listed by Playboy.
You will last me for
As long as two weeks
Or until such a time
As your face & figure
Go out of fashion
I will hold you close
To my Hollywood-standard body,
The smell of which has been approved
By my ten best friends
And a representative
Of Calvin Klein
I will prop my paperback
Kama Sutra
On the dressing table
&like human beings
we will grow tired
of our artificially sweetened
diluted & ready to drink
love affairs
Tonight, we will fake love.
Tonight we will both
Quick & silent, our time limited,
measured out in distances
between fingers
& pushbuttons

THE CONCLUSION

My love
she said
that when all’s
considered
we’er only
machines.

I chained
her to my
bedroom wall
for future use
and she cried.

CREED

We believe in Marxfreudanddarwin.
We believe everything is OK
as long as you don’t hurt anyone,
to the best of your definition of hurt
and to the best of your knowledge.

We believe in sex before during
and after marriage.
We believe in the therapy of sin.
We believe that adultery is fun.
We believe that sodomy’s OK
We believe that taboos are taboo.

We believe that everything’s getting better
despite evidence to the contrary.
The evidence must be investigated.
You must prove anything with evidence.

We believe there’s something in horoscopes,
UFO’s and bent spoons;
Jesus was a good man just like Buddha
Mohammed and ourselves.
He was a good moral teacher although we think
his good morals were bad.

We believe that all religions are basically the same,
at least the one that we read was.
They all believe in love and goodness.
They only differ on matters of
creation sin, heaven, hell, God, and salvation.
We believe that after death comes The Nothing
because when you ask the dead what happens
they say Nothing.
If death is not the end, if the dead have lied,
then it’s compulsory heaven for all
excepting perhaps Hitler, Stalin and Genghis Khan

We believe in Masters and Johnson.
What’s selected is average.
What’s average is normal.
What’s normal is good.

We believe in disarmament.
We believe there are direct links between
warfare and bloodshed
Americans should beat their guns into tractors
and Russians would be sure to follow.

We believe that man is essentially good.
It’s only his behavior that lets him down.
This is the fault of
Society is the fault of conditions.
Conditions are the fault of society.

We believe that each man must find the truth
that is right for him.
Reality will adapt accordingly.
The universe will readjust. History will alter.
We believe that there is no absolute truth
excepting the truth that there is no absolute truth.

We believe in the rejection of creeds.

HUMANIST”S LOVE POEM

Why don’t we try loving each other?
(A strange collection of atoms I am).
Feeling this molecular urge for you
-we must chemically react if we can.

DECLARATION OF INTENT

She said she’d
Love me for eternity
But managed to reduce
It to eight months
For good behavior.
She said we fitted
Like hand in a glove
But then the hot
Weather came and such
Accessories weren’t needed.
She said the future
Was ours but the deeds
Were made out in
Her name.
She said I was
The only one who
Understood completely

And then she left me
And said she knew’ that I’d understand completely

DEATH SEX RELIGION AND POLITICS

I’m afraid we don’t talk about death here,
not while drinking coffee
Death is a private matter.
It’s up to the individual.
Thinking about it won’t make it easier.
You can worry yourself to death
but not back again.
Sex is a private matter too.
People shouldn't’t have problems.
I learned everything I needed through jokes at school
Thinking about it doesn’t make it easier.
Sex is another thing we don’t talk about
Religion? Well, each man to his own, I say.
It’s bad manners to argue religion.
They all lead to God.
There’s no difference between Buddhism
and frog worship
I leaned all I need to know about religion at school.
You can worry yourself to death but not to heaven.
I’m afraid we don’t discuss politics here.
Politics is a private matter
Like sex and death.
Like all religions, all politicians are the same
They all lead to death.
I learned all that I need to know about knowing
at school.

WHERE JESUS TOUCHED THE EARTH

I went to see where Jesus
once touched the earth
but the Catholics
had got there before me
and obscured His footprints
with arches, buttresses,
gold and incense.

I went to see where Jesus
once touched the earth.
I couldn’t see for
concrete and collection boxes,
for postcards and guidebooks.

So I looked further down.
I looked to the ground.
But the ground was thirty feet
higher than back in A.D.3.
This is not where Jesus walked.

I looked down, down to my feet
my legs, arms, chest.
I looked down to where Jesus
touches the earth

History Lesson

History repeats itself.
Has to.
No-one listens.

TRUTH

There’s no
such thing
as truth

No.
Not even
this.

If Jesus Was Born Today

If Jesus was born today
it would be in a downtown motel
marked by a helicopter's flashing bulb.
A traffic warden, working late,
would be the first upon the scene.
Later, at the expense of a TV network,
an eminent sociologist,
the host of a chat show
and a controversial author
would arrive with their good wishes
-the whole occasion to be filmed as part of the
'Is This The Son Of God?' one hour special.
Childhood would be a blur of photographs and speculation
dwindling by his late teens into
'Where Is He Now?' features in Sunday magazines.

If Jesus was thirty today
they wouldn't really care about the public ministry,
they'd be too busy investigating His finances
and trying to prove He had Church or Mafia connections.
The miracles would be explained by
an eminent and controversial magician,
His claims to be God's Son recognised as
excellent examples of Spoken English
and immediately incorporated into
the O-Level syllabus,
His sinless perfection considered by moral philosophers
as, OK, but a bit repressive.

If Jesus was thirty-one today
He'd be the fly in everyone's ointment-
the sort of controversial person who
stands no chance of eminence.
Communists would expel Him, capitalists
would exploit Him or have Him
smeared by people who know a thing or two about God.
Doctors would accuse Him of quackery,
soldiers would accuse Him of cowardice,
theologians would take Him aside and try
to persuade Him of His non-existence.

If Jesus was thirty-two today we'd have to
end it all. Heretic, fundamentalist, literalist,
puritan, pacifist, non-conformist, we'd take Him
away and quietly end the argument.
But the argument would rumble in the ground
at the end of three days and would break out
and walk around as though death was some bug,
saying 'I am the resurrection and the life...
No man cometh to the Father but by me'.
While the magicians researched new explanations
and the semanticists wondered exactly what
He meant by 'I' and 'No man' there would be those
who stand around amused, asking for something
called proof.

 

 

Christmas is Really For The Children

Christmas is really
for the children.
Especially for children
who like animals, stables,
stars and babies wrapped
in swaddling clothes.
Then there are wise men,
kings in fine robes,
humble shepherds and a
hint of rich perfume.

Easter is not really
for the children
unless accompanied by
a cream filled egg.
It has whips, blood, nails,
a spear and allegations
of body snatching.
It involves politics, God
and the sins of the world.
It is not good for people
of a nervous disposition.
They would do better to
think on rabbits, chickens
and the first snowdrop
of spring.

Or they'd do better to
wait for a re-run of
Christmas without asking
too many questions about
what Jesus did when he grew up
or whether there's any connection.

 

Disciples

They threw down their nets
and they followed Him.
There was no time to
calculate profit or loss.
There was no time to
call home for a second opinion.
It seemed like absolute madness.
It seemed like death.
But it was a wise madness,
a necessary death.
The old faith dropped
and sank beneath waves.
The new faith walked on water,
beckoning on to Jerusalem
and the dry hills around.

 

Lord, Lord

You were hungry
and I was sorry.
You were thirsty
and I blamed the world.
You were a stranger
and I pointed you out.
You were naked
and I turned you in.
You were sick
and I said a prayer.
You were in prison
and I wrote a poem.

The God Letters

The Lord God says:
'Share your bread
with the hungry,
bring the homeless poor
into your house,
cover the naked.'

Dear Lord God,
We have got
new carpets,
so this will
not be possible.

 

The Nail Man

Which one was it
that held the nails
and then hammered them
into place?

Did he hit them
out of anger,
or a simple
sense of duty?

Was it a job
that had to be done,
or a good day's work
in the open air?

And when they
clawed past bone
and bit into wood,
was it like all the others,
or did history
shudder a little
beneath the head
of that hammer?

Was he still there,
packing away his tools,
when 'It is finished'
was uttered to the throng,
or was he at home
washing his hands
and getting ready
for the night?

Will he be
among the forgiven
on that Day of Days,
his sin having been slain
by his own savage spike?.

 

 

The Crucifixion

You were one with the Father.
Then the Father turned his back on you.
You felt forsaken,
hanging there between heaven's thunder
and the dank spittle of earth.

For that moment you belonged nowhere.
You were love, cut off from love;
truth nailed down by lies.
You must have wanted to explode, to disintegrate,
to disappear into a void.
But that was forbidden.
And that was the test.

Your blood burst through your skin
and ran down like sweat.
Your sweat ran cold
and drained into your heart.
The universe caught hold of your pain.
The sun went blind with grief.
The earth shivered in shock.
History was torn in two.

I stood at a distance,
my collar turned up,
like a murderer witnessing
a wrongful arrest.

 

 

The Cast of Christmas Reassembles

Take the wise men to the Emperor's palace.
Wash their hands in water.
Get them to say something about truth.
Does anyone know any good Jewish jokes?
The one about a carpenter
who thought he was a King?
The one about the Saviour
who couldn't save himself?
The shepherds should stand with the chorus.
They have a big production number -
'Barabbas, We Love You Baby'.
Mary? She can move to the front.
We have a special section reserved
for family and close friends.
Tell her that we had to cut the manger up.
We needed the wood for something else.
The star I'm afraid I can't use.
There are no stars in this show.
The sky turns black with sorrow.
The earth shakes with terror.
Hold on to the frankincense.
We'll need that for the garden scene.
Angels? He could do with some angels.
Avenging angels.
Merciful angels.
He could really do with some angels.
Baby Jesus.
Step this way please.
My! How you've grown!

The Morning That Death Was Killed

I woke in a place that was dark
The air was spicy and still
I was bandaged from head to foot
The morning that death was killed.

I rose from a mattress of stone
I folded my clothes on the sill
I heard the door rolling open
The morning that death was killed.

Heaven

What happens in heaven?
Will I sit on a cloud?
Is walking or talking
Or jumping allowed?

Will I be on my own
Or with some of my friends?
Does it go on for ever
Or eventually end?

What happens in heaven?
Will I play a harp's strings?
I can't play piano
I can't even sing.

Who chooses the music
That angels inspire?
Who does the auditions
For the heavenly choir?

What happens in heaven?
Are the streets paved with gold?
Is it crowded with people
Who're incredibly old?

Will I know who I am?
Will I know what I'm called?
If I pinch myself hard
Will I feel it at all?

What happens in heaven?
Do I go through a gate?
What if I get myself lost
Or turn up too late?

Is my name on a list?
Is the gatekeeper nice?
Can you sneak in for nothing
Or is there a price?

The Morning That Death Was Killed

I walked alone in the garden
The birds in the branches trilled
It felt like a new beginning
The morning that death was killed.

Mary, she came there to find me
Peter with wonder was filled
And John came running and jumping
The morning that death was killed.

My friends were lost in amazement
My father, I knew, was thrilled
Things were never the same again
After the morning that death was killed.

Poem For Easter

Tell me:
What came first
Easter or the egg?
Crucifixion
or daffodils?
Three days in a tomb
or four days
in Paris?
(returning
Bank Holiday Monday).

When is a door
not a door?
When it is rolled away.
When is a body
not a body?
When it is a risen.

Question.
Why was it the Saviour rode on the cross?
Answer.
To get us
to the other side.

Behold I stand.
Behold I stand and what?
Behold I stand at the door and

knock knock.

ANIMALS

The Governor said it
and the New York Times
agreed.
These people were animals.

My biology teacher
had said it for some years before.
He had included us all.
Up from the swamp we arose
-some with two legs
some with four.

Philosophy professors passed it on.
The word must have spread.

People are starting
to believe it.
People are starting
to act like it.

Something will have to be done.

 

ONE

You make
Me whole.
I’m not
Half the
Man I was.

DEPRESSION

Came here
to write
a poem
on depression
but

got fed up
and left.

FIRST LESSONS IN LIVING

These are the first lessons in living.
To begin with we drag you head-first from your shelter,
away from your food, from your warmth.’
We cut you apart from your only known friend.
We take you and beat you until strange gasses
rush your lungs and pain jerks your frame
These are your first lessons in living.
They will stand you in good stead.

DEATH LIB

The liberating thing about death is in its fairness to women,
its acceptance of blacks,
its special consideration
for the sick.

And I like the way
that children aren’t excluded,
homosexuals are welcomed.
and militants aren’t banned.

The really wonderful thing
About death
Is that all major religions
Agree on it, all beliefs
Take you there, all philosophy
Bows before it, all arguments
End there.

Con men can’t con it
Thieves can’t steal it
Bullies can’t scare it
Magicians can’t trick it.

Boxers can’t punch it
Nor critics dismiss it
Don’t knows can’t not know
The lazy can’t miss it

Governments can’t ban it
Or the army defuse it
Lawyers can’t sue it

Capitalist can’t bribe it
Socialists can’t share it
Terrorist can’t jump it
The Third World aren’t spared it.

Scientist can’t quell it
Nor can they disprove it
Doctors can’t cure it
Surgeons can’t mover it.
Einstein can’t halve it
Guevara can’t free it
The thing about death
Is we’re all gonna be it.

IT MUST BE HARD

It must be hard for those
whose faces make children cry,
whose voices make adults embarrassed,
whose skin turns our eyes to lovelier things.
They must get used to silence.
They must think of humans
as those who turn away,
who withdraw their smiles and sounds
like hands from an angry dog.
There is nothing as evil to us as ugliness.
It deserves only a room to hide itself in,
some air, and a little light.
Meanwhile, we help by telling
children not to stare
and by keeping the jokes to ourselves.

PEOPLE WHO LOVE

You love her
But she loves him
He doesn’t care.

So you write poems.
She writes songs.
He doesn’t listen.

I love her.
She loves no-one
And no-one cares.

I write poems.
I write songs.
You listen.

The world is full
of poems and songs.
And people
who love people
who love people
who don’t love them

THE LYING BLUES

Woke up in the morning
With lies on my radio
Woke up in the morning
With lies on my radio
Said- Don’t be uptight ‘cos everything is alright
If you just stay tuned to my show

Got up and caught the train
But lies stood along the line
Got up and caught the train
But lies stood along the line
They said if I soak up lungs full of smoke
Health and happiness will be mine

Saw the morning paper
Where the lies werern’t hard to find
Saw the morning paper
Where the lies werern’t hard to find
It said that show biz,TV, sport and nudies,
Where all that happened all the time

Down at the disco
Were the same lies with a beat
Down at the disco
Were the same lies with a beat
Sayin’ feelin good is bein’ good
So live your life like you move your feet

Looked at my TV
They had experts telling lies
Looked at my TV
They had experts telling lies
But you couldn't’t tell, it was done so well,
Being expert is a great disguise

Looked at the adverts
They were dressed to kill
Looked at the adverts
They were dressed to kill
I dropped my guard to give a laugh out load
And they came in a took my will

Brought me a magazine
And it’s lies were done with class
Brought me a magazine
And it’s lies were done with class
They said it’s ok most people do today
If it feels good just don’t ask.

JUST ONE MORE TIME

Lead me into temptation
Just one more time
Lead me up close
Through circumstances
beyond my control.
Lead me then leave me
Deliver me from escape,
Increase my ignorance,
Limit my will
Make me the victim of
A victim-less crime
Leave me ‘til sin
Is the only way out,
Give me a tad of
What to avoid.
Leave me ‘til it’s
Your fault
Yet guilt floods me
Like a chill.
Then lead me back
Into temptation,
Just one more time.

HOW TO HIDE JESUS

There are people after Jesus
They have seen the signs.
Quick, lets hide Him.
Let’s think; carpenter,
fishermen’s friend,
disturber of religious comfort.
Let’s award Him with a degree in theology,
a purple cassock
and a position of respect.
They’ll never think of looking here.
Let’s think;
His dialect may betray Him,
His tongue is of the masses.
Lets teach Him Latin
and seventeenth century English,
they’ll never think of listening in.
Lets think;
humble
Man of sorrows,
nowhere to lay His head.
We’ll build a house for Him,
somewhere away from the poor.
We’ll fill it with brass and silence.
It’s sure to throw them off.

There are people after Jesus.
Quick, lets hide Him

 

IN THE INTEREST OF NATIONAL SECURITY
It is wrong
to be wrong
unless
you are wrong
while protecting
the right people
from wrong.
Then it is
alright to be wrong
because rulers
have the rights
on what is right
and there’s no-one
big enough
to tell a ruler
what is wrong.
Right?

(Wrong)

WAIT

These are
the good
old days.

Just wait
and see

HISTORY LESSON

History repeats itself.
Has to.
No-one listens.

 

JINGLES

(i)
absence makes the
heart grow fonder.

Get ABSENCE.

(ii)
out of sight is
out of mind.
Girl, you are
outtasight.

EVERYTHING

Looks aren’t everything.
Luxury’s not everything.
Money’ not everything.
Health is not everything.
Success is not everything.
Happiness is not everything.
Even everything is not everything.
There’s more to life than everything.

 

PORTRAIT

Not only in the words you say,
Not only in your deeds confessed.
But in the most unconscious way
Is Christ expressed.

Is it a beatific smile?
A holy light upon your brow?
Oh no, I saw His presence when
You laughed just now.

To me twas not the truth you taught,
To you so clear to me so dim.
But when you came to me
You brought a sense of Him.

And from your eyes He beckons me,
And from your lips His love is shed.
Til I lose sight of you and see
The Christ instead.

Is a beatific smile?
A holy light upon your brow?
Oh no, I saw His presence when
You laughed just now.