THE SACRED THREE
To save,
To shield,
To surround
The hearth,
The house,
The household,
This eve,
This night,
Oh! this eve,
And every night,
Each single night.
Amen Amen
not sure where this poem comes from tbh, whether it’s one of mine or somebody else’s’
If somebody recognizes it, please let me know.
I WONDER WHAT THEY WILL SAY?
I wonder what they will say of me when I am gone?
It was him that penned those lines, you know
The ones about choking the chicken.
Ah, poor Katie Doyle never lived that one down!
And the lies he told in that Altar Boy book he wrote
Just as well his poor mother wasn’t still around…
Then there was that tale about the Kray Twins
How he walked and smoked with them
On remand in Wormwood Scrubs if you don’t mind!
How they didn’t seem nearly as bad as they were painted
In fact he almost said they were kind!
I wonder what they will say of me when I am gone?
Perhaps they will say nothing
AUTUMN LEAVES
Autumn mornings are best;
The sun smiling low over the gasworks
Flighty leaves browning the common
Kites lark-high over the tree-tops
Coffee and a roll in the old rectory
And you by my side
ECLIPSE – WHAT ECLIPSE?
Here’s a picture
Of the one I didn’t see
This morning
On the West Hill
Clouded out, the sun hid itself well
From old New Age-rs
And others whose persuasion
I couldn’t tell
(Though the clothes were more hippy than hip)
And we gathered in some dog viewers as well
What any of us expected I don’t quite know
But an eclipse was a definite no-show
Perhaps a second coming
Or a burning fire in the sky
With a voice booming out over the hill
Repent or die! Repent or die!
CIVIL SERVANTS SHOULD NOT LEAK
He said it, my God he said it!
Brazen-faced, to the watching nation
‘They should not leak’, he said
‘After all, they are servants of the Crown’.
Leaking in public? How revolting!
And where would it begin?
A seepage from the ears perhaps?
Or a welling-up from beneath
All those virginal starched collars?
Or would it occur in the nether regions?
Visible only as a steady trickle
Down around the ankles.
A telephoned enquiry brought no joy;
‘I can assure you, Sir, we have
No leaking Civil Servants here
Why don’t you try MI 5’
A DIFFERENT RACE
The lighted first-floor windows illuminate them
Their good sides always facing outwards
Like so many beautiful birds they perch;
Silently caged,
Mouthing ‘For Sale’ pleasantries
Outside
Others less beautiful ply the darkness
Stalked by vermin
And the ghosts of their childhood
There is a rage
Unfurling flags of despair;
‘Look at what you have done’
Some are shouting
‘Don’t you care?’
These articulate ones are the ugliest
The least loved
And the loneliest
OLD ACQUAINTANCE
I see they have sent him down – again
A two stretch this time
I sold a typewriter for him once
And got six months for my trouble
(he got three, but swore it was my idea)
Then there was the time he
Asked me to burn his house down
‘Two hundred quid’ he said ‘easy money’
‘The insurance won’t twig it’
(when I declined, he did the job himself)
After that we lost contact for several years
He removed his wife and daughters to another town,
Where he was just as big a bastard – to them –
And to the world in general
Drinking, gambling, big-mouthing and beating,
Mostly his wife,
Till she put a slit near his throat
With a carving knife
Left to his own devices
He hung misery about him like a shroud;
He went to Knock for a week
And returned a changed man
Flowers from Interflora, presents for the girls,
Flannel for everyone else.
She relented of course.
They don’t speak much about him in the town now
A nudge and a wink
When his wife appears;
‘She must have known what was going on…
Doing that with his girls….
And she had him back!’
JESUS FREAKS
Jesus on the streets
Satan under the sheets
Why do the heathens rage
When we don’t keep sinners in a cage?
He that sits in the heavens shall laugh
When he speaks to them in his wrath
Hear me when I call, ye sons of men
How long before ye turn glory into shame again?
Stand ye in awe and sin not one time more
For your pillow will be a hard rock
And your bed a fiery brimstone floor.
PRISONER
The ticking clock is silent
Articulating emptiness
Mainspring not busted
Just not required.
Time gulling it over the horizon
Speckled in the distance
The residue left behind
Not worth a light
Over some visionary hill
Virtual reality is real enough
More and more scream the worms
Turning every which way but one
More length, more depth
More leisure, more pleasure
More love, more life
Bur mostly more coin
Nothing prepares us for this
The hand that held the answers
Trembling now before new idols
Knowledge bootless as experience
New waves have old beginnings
But tired dogs own no snap
It’s the rut we’re stuck in, see?
Slow going forward but no going back
Sitting by time’s window
Waiting for the daily rebuff
To come winging by
Sifting little crumbs of comfort
From the embers
Screaming all the way……
FLASH FICTION
My stars had predicted it. ‘Go for maximum growth and opportunity, late in the afternoon’, said the Sun’s Stargazer. Well, it was late afternoon and here I was in firm’s stationary cupboard. The maximum growth had already taken place, and the opportunity was about to present itself. Just as soon as Jackie managed to free the stubborn zip on her skirt!
My Writing Life 