Dry and ripening:
sea flat and shining
like burning glass.

Gulls floating
like ducks on a giant’s pond.

Small Coppers, Blues and Hairstreaks
like blown leaves
in parched grass.

Victoria plums,

This is the turning
of the year
when all that is thought of as ‘there’
is found to be ‘here’,
when harvests are collected,
lifetimes are inspected,
(next time’s cosmic seeds selected)
and the traveller sees fear
in his handful of dust.
(In his handful of dust.)


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Why wake him?
You woke to nothing,
do you think he won’t?
Your hand will guide him firmly and away,
your lips will teach the nonsense he will say,
your sins on him
every day.

At best,
he’ll pass the test
you failed,
but where you won
will be undone.

At worst,
putting him first,
you’ll chain his mind
to you in front and you behind.

At worst/best
you pierce his blessed darkness,
take his vision and fix his sight
on the broken splinters of your light
unmercifully shining:
a savage in a hole
dragging the sons of light
to gaze at shadows on a wall.

It’s not the tomb
that leads to hell,
it’s the antiseptic smell
that opens on the womb.
There are the white-coated
and the flower-carriers
smiling in their blindness
goaded on by kindness.   

Always, behind the chalk,
the cruel admonitory talk,
the printed notice and the pen,
the forcing on to make them men,
– the kindness;
the blindness-kindness,
the training of all that can be trained.

Do they not realise
that building is for gods?
Cannot even the wise
think it odd
that a man must slave
for what he cannot have?

Is it left to be the knowledge of the few
that life is only something to be got through?

You needn’t wilt
or tire,
nothing need be built
any higher.

(Poem from BLONDIN)


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A bare chest
is a cooler way
on a hot day
than a string vest.

Her husband’s pain’s a sword.
And, again,
though she sees and feels for him
and keeps her love
and cooks his meals for him,
she is bored.

It’s hard to be free
no matter what you see;
something to do with the guts
or too many ifs and buts.


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The Mouse
that scuttles down the bank
across the bricks
and back again,
carries no wallet
and all its baggage
is in the simplicity
of its brain.

The Bird that slides
across the wind
has left its briefcase
in a former life,
together with its house
its mortgage
(and its wife).

The Beetle with antlers like a stag’s
needs no loan,
pays no tax
and lives inside its bone.

Only Man
has spread his thought
far and wide;
is caught in its pulsating web,
and, grasping  every thread,
is trapped inside.


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“The sins of the fathers
are visited on the children.”

When the father goes bankrupt
the children and grandchildren
lose their inheritance
and discover poverty.

When the Jews rejected Jesus
they refused their inheritance
and their children and grandchildren
are still rejected
two millennia later.

When the Tibetans took over Changthang
from the Zhang Zhung,
they left the door open for the Chinese.

You pay your taxes to your Masters
and your Masters bomb Mesopotamia
and your money helps to buy the bombs!

Suicide Bombers
may deliver your morning post
one day.


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Delivered from the Cross
with all the authority
of the Saviour of the World
at the precise moment
of his people’s rejection of Him.

Forgive them Lord
for they know not
what they do.

And within forty years it came to pass.

Their Temple had been destroyed.
Their Holy of Holies had been trampled by Titus.
Their sacred paraphernalia had been looted.
The consecrated foundations
of their city had been ploughed over.
A million had been killed during the siege
and 97,000 were captured and enslaved.

A Roman coin was minted
showing a Jewish woman in chains
under a palm tree.

When the Romans built a replacement city
the Jews were forbidden entrance.

they wandered the earth
facing hard won prosperity
followed by expulsion
from every place
they settled in.

after two millennia of statelessness,
after six million had died in a Final Solution,
a plot of land was carved by force for them
from the cosmopolitan humanity of Palestine
and they were settled in the midst
of their most ancient enemies.
Proud, but unrepentant,
in fulfillment of their Saviour’s curse:

Forgive them Lord
for they know not
what they do.

And it could have been worse.


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How odd that humans choose to hide their sex
with clothes they have derived from plants
and so disguise them.

And yet they cut from plants their sex
(which they call flowers)
and stick them in rose bowls and vases,
put them on show
and highly prize them!


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