lifescapes |
The Thrill of the Chase I came in nineteen forty-three; You are a child compared to me! But every year we share a date In January; we celebrate Four seasons more since we were born In late, ambitious Capricorn. At eight, you’re racing in your Kart; At eight I’m winning with my art And then my writing - oh, the thrill Of chasing prizes! Love it still. But by the time you came to be A champion driver in F3 I raced toward another goal, The understanding of the soul. Came the millennium, came F1 And Pluto transiting our Sun. You diced with Kimi, Massa, Seb As I went hunting on the web For information, dates and times, For synonyms and perfect rhymes. One decade ended, one began; From Oz to Yas you were The Man, Jenson; you had chased and won Your longed-for moment in the sun. And I? ... was being born again After the years and years of pain, After my Jesus’ great surprise, After so many fruitless tries To greet the waiting world on-line, I built a Site. Entirely mine. Now I can hunt for distant friends, And show them where my rainbow ends; Share the excitement of this chase To comprehend the human race As tiny shards of the Divine Through Sun and planet, arc and sign. And you? ... are stepping from your car, Drawn to where the athletes are. Your F1 training made you trim And super-fit to run and swim, To cycle Riviera hills; You still need racing and its thrills. Another track, a wider smile, Pushing your limits mile on mile. What are we chasing? Money? Fame? The fire inside us is the same, Both driving - driven - for a prize Which no amount of money buys: The joy that yet again we’ve done Our Maker proud - and it was fun! ______________________________________ Iron In the crust of a thousand islands, In the rocks and the dust of Mars, In the core of a whirling planet, In the breath of a billion stars The metal of Man was waiting For a brain and a thumb and fire. An age of history-making Began with naked desire; Firing, hammering, honing, Ready for food and foe, Blade and spear in the forest To swing, to thrust, to throw. Mankind has harvested iron, Harnessed its weight for war, Hard in the mouths of horses, Strong on the fortress door; Melting, moulding and casting Cauldron, helmet and chain, Armour against the weapon, Shield to carry the slain. Hoops for the cooper’s barrel, Rim for the carter’s wheel - And then the gun. And the girder. Man has discovered steel. With steel he plunders the planet. With steel he murders the trees. With steel he conquers his neighbour ... But loses to Heart disease. The crust of the whirling planet Is left with the rust of war, Waiting for souls to ripen Just as it was before. ________________________________ My Campaign Roll up! Roll up! And vote for me, This rare day of democracy! Your Independent candidate Is up for vigorous debate On any issue - you may pick it; I shall add it to my ticket. Join me! Wear my fine rosette! I found these on the internet, The symbolism quite apparent - Frills and ribbons all transparent. My platform? I am anti-greed. ‘To each according to his need.’ So - nurses’ wages? They must rise; That should come as no surprise. I am also on the ball With soccer - salaries must fall To where they were back in the day When games were televised in grey; The pricey foreigners must go So local lads can run the show. Then we can all afford to cheer Our teams three dozen times a year! The beating heart of my campaign Is second homes. Let me explain, That only for a licence fee In this corrupt economy Should anyone at all be given More than a single house to live in. After somewhere nice to stay With kids or friends on holiday? You’ll have to rough it like the rest Of us, and be a hotel guest. Open the villages again To local folk and working men! My logo is a garden gnome: “Make every house a proper home.” Still on the theme of rural life, One phrase that cuts me like a knife Is “National Park.” A park’s for play. We’re throwing peace and space away, Granting the ignorant permission To tramp the wild into submission. I’ll curb the greedy National Trust, Stop all the farms from going bust, Punish the waste of food, and pull Strings to revive the trade in wool. (... Remember the verses on the bus And tube that once delighted us? When Brummel Beau, the swell of swells Electrified the Brighton Belles, The Prince would hover in the offing, Killing romance with fits of coughing. ‘Another cold, Sire? Listen do! To be well-dressed be wool-dressed too! In elegance it is the rule, There is no substitute for Wool!’‘) We must control our lust for oil, Return the plough-horse to the soil. Spread the forests, marsh and heath, Meadow and moor, till we can breathe. I can see progress here and there, But people need another scare - We’re seeing fewer plastic-trees Yet micro-beads are in the seas And particles lodged in the brain May drive us secretly insane. Is our poisoned air why we Deny the world’s divinity?... I’ll fight the rising tide of noise From shrieking girls and fighting boys; The clubs and bars will close at ten, And we can get some sleep again... Under a blazing Milky Way Once light is limited to day. No fireworks may be lit before November 5th; I’m waging war On every huge exploding shell That turns an evening into hell For those with post-traumatic stress, And trembling pets. The friendliness Of toffee-apples round the fire, Sooty potatoes, rockets higher Than stars, and flowers of coloured light Are joys enough on Fireworks Night. And those who wind their windows down To blast their ‘music’ through the town And all who leave their engines running For ages at the kerb, I’m gunning For you! You shake the old, the ill, The tired - I’ll force you to keep still. Many end up on a ward, Sick or broken, stressed and bored. On my watch, to help us heal We shall feast at every meal. Morale will soar - and if we get a Smile as well, we’ll soon be better! Prevention always trumps a cure; In Whitehall thrift has great allure: I’ll save the NHS a packet, Ruining Big Pharma’s racket. Garlic scrips at fifty pee, Will keep the country virus-free. (You take it raw, with lots of food. It does your blood and body good.) And when you go to see the Doc He won’t be looking at the clock And neither will your daily carer - Pay and practice must be fairer. Nobody should lie all day Unloved until they waste away. Roll up! Roll up and vote for me! I’ll do my best as your MP To purge pollution, waste and lies; Let’s save the world before it dies. ....................................................... Paradise Lost (a Villanelle) Yesterday you joined us on the summer sand, Girls in bikinis, tiny children running bare, You in a bomb-belt, Kalashnikov in hand. Our simple heaven shattered in a foreign land, The debris of your holy visit everywhere. Yesterday you joined us on the summer sand. In the only Paradise you understand Naked houris waited for your beck and call - You in a bomb-belt, Kalashnikov in hand - But your black leaders lovely lies have slain you, and There will be no Garden, no reward at all. Yesterday you joined us on the summer sand; In that moment nothing happened as you planned. The hand of God reached down for us and left you there, You in a bomb-belt, Kalashnikov in hand. In that love which makes our butchered children whole Is there forgiveness for your naked, broken soul? Yesterday you joined us on the summer sand You in a bomb-belt, Kalashnikov in hand. ................................................................................................. Mirror, Mirror ... Mirror, mirror on the wall This is a disaster! Look at me. I'm getting old Dicky knee in plaster, Belly-button going south, Down on chin and down in mouth. Mirror, mirror on the wall Once I was a beauty. Suddenly I feel the cold, Dances are a duty. Tired of tramping up the town; Longing for my dressing-gown. Mirror, mirrror on the wall Borrowed time is flying; Robbing me of memory, All my friends are dying. I forgot one funeral; Names will not remain at all! Mirror, mirror on the wall All my bones are crumbling. Every nerve is going mad And I've started mumbling. Lightning flashes in my eyes Itchy back and jelly thighs. Mirror, mirror on the wall Make me stand up straighter! I am in no rush at all To meet with my Creator! I'm fighting back against decline I'm backing up my life on-line. Mirror, mirror on the wall, Don't you go near Facebook! Here I choose a digital Lavender and lace look. Here, I'm who I want to be In quasi-immortality. ........................................... Parades I love parades. I love the noise The dancing girls the laughing boys The frocks as white as snowy May To celebrate Our Lady’s Day I hate parades. I hate the noise The new regime’s expensive toys The endless rhythmic martial tread Annual insult to the dead I love parades. I love the crowd The shouts the whistling out and proud The rainbow flags the sexy gear We’ve made it through another year I hate parades. I hate the crowd The pipes are shrill the drums too loud And symbols clash in every street As old intolerances meet I love parades. I love the smells Of food and animals the bells On circus horses scary clowns When wonder comes to sleepy towns I hate parades. I hate the smells Of men emerging from their cells Waste of body and waste of mind Bury the lives we left behind I love parades. I love the weather We freeze and fry and drown together To watch a smiling Queen go by And try to catch a guardsman’s eye I hate parades. I hate the weather Shivering sweating in serge and leather One day we’ll be the men in braid Now it’s a passing-out parade I love parades I hate parades Stories written in cavalcades The year has turned and here we come Who will march to a different drum? ........................................................... Gaia's Lament When am I to be free of men? Feel the breath of the stars again? Welcome again a crystal sea To pulse and rhyme with the heart of me? Men are piercing me for my oil, Scarring me with their pits and spoil, Torching the trees that make the air, Spreading their poison everywhere. The fading life in my ocean feeds On deadly invisible plastic beads. These will return to choke the men Who foul the air and the waves - but when? I whip and I whip their selfish hide, I spin the winds, I churn the tide, I crack the cities with men inside For all the loveliness that died. When will the polar snows return? When will the jungles cease to burn? When at last will the only roads Be the secret tracks of elk and toads? I long for the day Cheyenne and Sioux Can do again what they love to do, Buffalo graze on a bracing plain, Waters flashing with fish again. When will the billions learn to be Grateful, careful and kind to me? When will they honour the Earth, their mother? I die - they die. They have no other. Every battle between my sons Has wounded me with the bombs and guns. Oh friendly meteors, aim for me And put me out of my misery! The slums and towers will all be dust, Ambition will end in bone and rust; Shocked souls will cry for pardon - then I shall indeed be free ... oh, when? ................................................................. Labour He voted Labour all his life, your Dad. I was a loving, loyal wife And glad To put my cross by the same candidate Then wait Watching TV in the crowded bar By the pithead, sinking jar after jar Till the results were in And we knew Which side would win And who Have to Take defeat on the chin. This time it was Thatcher. Among the posh Tory men None could match her Smart, pearled Vehement Acumen. She took us on. In her blue eyes our blackened world Of slag and seam, Of red flags unfurled, Was alien, Spent; Our time had gone, Dismissed like a bad dream; The mines had had their day, They would no longer pay. And we of the tin baths and the tin hats Who toiled in blackness on the brightest day, Whose men clocked up miles in cages not cars, With scars From rockfall, pick-axe, truck and buried friends, We were like rats To be rid of by brute means for Tory ends. Oh, The mines would go. Not clean, Not green, Old King Coal was dead. The wheels would stop at every pithead, And soon there would be nothing to be seen Of where we had been, Nothing to show For centuries of hard labour below. Then came King Arthur. Labour to the core And one of us, a husband and a father - And more, He courted fame: He rallied our communities for war. How could we know Scargill would let us starve? That slow And bitter year The government would halve Our meagre benefits; There would be no Help from the Miners’ Union for the poor Surviving on our wits, On fags and beer. And how could we know The misery in store at striking pits? Hectored men would go Desperate for a little Union pay Onto the picket lines Day after day Believing this would somehow save the mines; There they would stay Despite the broken hand, the bloody nose, Taunting the Right, Keeping the scabs at bay. Braving fight after fight, Arrests and fines, Under the scrawled signs Life-long friends coming to blows Over the side they chose. And how could we know After the charging horses, Black police And bloodied batons, and the riot shields In ugly deployment of national resources To keep the peace; After our lives became a TV show, Our banners headlines, How could we know the mines Would soon revert to ruins in the fields, The wild take back our spoil And at terrible cost Our loved labour lost To gas, to oil? Three decades on, Son, Your Dad has gone. And there’s no coal And there’s no soul In this damned coalition. Thousands went in and then came out of prison; All that pain Was utterly in vain. The Tories won. The pithead wheels are rusting in the rain, The talk is all Of tide and wind and sun And Labour has broken with the Union. You’ll try again To roll back time - but this is a strange World caught up in climate change. Each warring party goes by its old name But red, blue, yellow, purple, green, What do they really mean? Each faces the same Enemy, utters the same Platitudes, and this year’s men To our generation Are alien. How could I know your Dad and his Union brothers Toiling for coal and gas and oil and bread, Raising their standards for the wives and mothers Till they and the men exploiting them were dead, Laboured to waste the earth for all the others To come? Oh yes. The maps are turning red. ........................................................................................ Scratchings from the Bedpost ... This arrow is not a tattoo - It's something that hospitals do To prevent any harm To the undamaged arm And indicate one bone or two. Now, piercings were never my thing, A bar or a stud or a ring ... You can guess how I feel With a wrist full of steel, The latest in hospital bling! When first I was put in a plaster I hoped my poor arm would heal faster. But this fibreglass shell Is hurting like hell, A challenge I yet have to master! When told that I had a green thumb I’d no idea what was to come! Now the joint is viridian, My elbow obsidian, My garden in need of a chum. I’m practising being left-handed; Its digits must do as commanded, Move on from the mouse To the whole of the house Or else I’ll be utterly stranded! I don’t recall saying when stressed, ‘I’d give my right arm for a rest!’ I rarely maintain there’s no gain without pain; so, zip it! I’m doing my best. (broken arm, summer 2014) ............................................. Voices Pretty voices Witty voices Something in the City voices Silly voices Chilly voices Night on Piccadilly voices Tiny voices Whiny voices Magical and shiny voices Army voices Smarmy voices Diners Club Umami voices Grumpy voices Jumpy voices Old and fat and frumpy voices Cheeky voices Squeaky voices On the spectrum geeky voices Picky voices Tricky voices Just time for a quickie voices Jokey voices Blokey voices Anyone for croquet voices Haughty voices Sporty voices Still a catch at forty voices Sleazy voices Wheezy voices Always bright and breezy voices Pally voices Scally voices Evening at the ballet voices Hoary voices Tory voices Read on Jackanory voices Crazy voices Lazy voices Forties Gert and Daisy voices Phoney voices Groany voices Can I have a pony voices Soppy voices Foppy voices Won’t you buy a poppy voices Catty voices Batty voices Getting very ratty voices Dopey voices Mopey voices Feeling rather ropey voices Sleepy voices Weepy voices Definitely creepy voices Snobby voices Yobby voices On about a hobby voices Risky voices Frisky voices Confidential whisky voices Plucky voices Clucky voices Absolutely mucky voices Kooky voices Rookie voices Looking for some nookie voices Happy voices Snappy voices Life is really crappy voices Scary voices Wary voices Hippie, beardy, hairy voices Cheery voices Weary voices Indistinct and beery voices Funny voices Sunny voices Never short of money voices Dirty voices Flirty voices Reading Krishnamurti voices Arty voices Hearty voices Going to a party voices Holy voices Lowly voices Yelling at the goalie voices Many voices Any voices Even two-a-penny voices Singing, chatting, making choices Laughing, warring over toys, is A cacophony of noises - Deafened Heaven still rejoices (Wishing we would lose our voices?) ................................................................................................. Beware! Beware! Secure your hard hat. Danger lurks in the flat Field and fresh air! Beware! Don’t go near the water. A man and his daughter Are drowning there! Beware Everything you eat Can kill you. Horsemeat Everywhere. Beware - Only the thin look great. Say you are size eight Whatever you wear. Beware Losing your self-esteem When Following your Dream. Worst nightmare. Beware: Kids must cope alone While you are on your phone With stuff to share. Beware Trends that are so last year. Insist on the latest gear - It’s only fair. Beware - For anything really nice Don’t pay the asking price Anywhere. Beware Those beggars on your street; They drink. They never eat Or wash their hair. Beware, That man with the ready smile May be a paedophile. Get out of there. Beware: A touch is an assault. Nothing is your fault - You were In Care. Beware of cuddling. Beware of love. Beware of the velvet hand in the iron glove. Beware of black and posh and daft and queer - Beware of everything you ought to fear. Estranged from mercy, trust, reflection, prayer, People, beware. ................................................................................................. Tunnels We are the men who bring the trains ... Tunnelling, tunnelling ... We are the blokes who clear the drains Tunnelling, tunnelling ... We are the docs who mend your brains ... Tunnelling, tunnelling, tunnelling. Blasting a way through ancient rock Blitzing a stinking garbage block Boring through bone against the clock ... Tunnelling, tunnelling. We are the guys who drill for oil ... Tunnelling, tunnelling ... We are the brains who search the soil ... Tunnelling, tunnelling ... We are the chaps who heap the spoil Tunnelling, tunnelling, tunnelling. Drilling the earth until she screams Probing the past for secret dreams Ripping the heart from golden seams ... Tunnelling, tunnelling. We are the creatures put to flight ... Tunnelling, tunnelling ... We are the ghosts that haunt your night ... Tunnelling, tunnelling ... We are the bugs you fail to fight ... Tunnelling, tunnelling, tunnelling. Riddled with graves a world will die Riddled with guilt, the mind awry Riddled with death, we all know why ... Tunnelling, tunnelling. ................................................................. May-Day I wandered, lonely, as a cloud Of loose balloons above the fair Carried the colours of the crowd Into the blue and steamy air; The crush, the smells, the shrieking rides Swamping the town between the tides. The folks out foraging for fun Saw no-one watching by the queue, Merely a shadow in the sun Only a breath away from you; Your onions flavouring my nose, Your ice-cream dripping on my toes. The chilly girls, the loud parade Dispersed to hot dogs on the pier, Counting the money they had made - The same routine as every year. The rattled bucket caught a pound I picked up on the rugby ground. That’s all I had. I hope it went To folks in institutions, or To help some other indigent Hungry as me, whose feet were sore, No dog for comfort, no guitar, Curled up where all the dustbins are. I wander, lonely. As a cloud Of pungent steam rolls up the town Enveloping me like a shroud Your lights wink on, my sun goes down. May-Day, May-Day by the sea; Tears at bedtime - none for me. ................................................................................... Heroes We are the Heroes All we need to do Is fly straight perish in fire Paradise waiting Islands and cities Full of mistaken people Chosen for Heaven * One man with a gun And a beautiful bomb smiles at His own Jihad Glorious weather To start a war by shedding The blood of children * Souls of the broken Stare at the tears and courage Uncomprehending No happier day To pack a rucksack and break The heart of London * Deep in shattered dreams New shoes kick the enemy Old men are weeping A perfect weekend For boys in the hood to run Looting and burning * Not the rescuers Dying to save a stranger Nor the blind climber Not the lovely boy He and the bomb dismantled Nor burning daughters Not the Red Arrow Who wrenched his plummeting plane Away from houses Not aching nurses Mothers of empty children Nor weeping Jesus God in our pocket We are the right men always We are the Heroes ................................................................................................. A Dog's Life Old Kos is gone Shadow of Bernie Rish Long-time companion Ate from the same dish Drank from the same tap Plodded the same stairs The old black Lab Now beyond prayers Before he died He would meet my eye Press his glossy side Against my thigh Patient he would stand Unable to tell My listening hand Where to make him well So Kos has gone And Suky quietly killed By a vet’s injection When I was unskilled - at ten - in taking care Of my Terrier and Dad Let her run everywhere Like dogs he once had Pained I look back - Dad’s birthday surprise The rescue dog whose lack Of training and wild eyes He couldn’t handle. Years Of boasting and bluff Ended in shock and tears When he had enough No dog for me Only the neighbour’s pet - Tiny tearaway Sally, Little Blossom who met A rose-bush at a run that blinded her, calm black Chelsea the famous one Who guides our Nicky back Bobbie (a Pisces) Our Kent Guide-dog friend Shared her Callie’s crises Their happy end The smell of soft puppies A mother’s melting eyes Amid warm apple trees And holy skies And once in a while A visitor - like the stray Called Lady a real trial The Lurcher had run away Lived with us for a week Tail tucked in eyes white Unable to sleep or speak For sheer fright An aged Retriever Came on holiday - Christine would leave her When she went to stay In France, Goa, Japan, On fashionable flights To boost her tan And see the sights I loved old Amber Didn’t mind the hair On the carpet - fed her Walked her everywhere Polished her gold coat Coaxed vital medicine Down her throat We couldn’t win Old Amber’s gone She who was nearly mine Left me with one Beautiful photograph a line Or two in an old diary Her Leo birth chart and The moment she bit me - Angry - on the hand. No dog for me No dawn exercise Haven’t the energy Wouldn’t be very wise But now just a glance At Poppy, Wallis, Betsan, And up they dance - I give what I can Walking the beach Poodles, Staffies, Springers Strain at the lead to reach My burning fingers Burdened with love for them When did it start? Did Kent or Bethlehem Break into my heart? I am a healer’s wife Touching a Dog’s Life ................................................................................................. TAO One wild horse, One tame. One with plaited hair, One with free mane. Born of the one Sire, Foaled of the one Dam, She is the wild one, The tame I am. One dark horse, One pale, One trim in ribbon, One with flying tail. Caught of the same rope, Locked in the one stall, Her ear flattens - Mine pricks to the Call. One high horse, One low, One for gentle duty, One for rodeo. Fired with the same Blood, Breathing the one Breath, Twinned in the old shafts, Love races Death. One dark curve, One bright, One with a dark eye, One with white. Poles of the One Love, Halves of the One Whole. Locked in a single Light, Shines home the Soul. .................................................................................................. They Who Kiss Mind to whom I do belong to My to My Self alone My is a wide net cast between time hither and past Self a sense of eye watching in privacy the blue nerve seen through wax is ice-keen of uncommon kind are they who kiss mind risk discovery in having Angels’ skin the people of Light cohere behind my sight we are the white-gold aëreën We are very old .................................................................................................. Beyond the Ploughland A cat - asleep? Or dead? - in a bank of grass. And a bicycle. Dead? To me who think I live these things are dead. I pass them, The huge present; the infinitesimal past. What do they do there? Beyond the ploughland lies the blue light. I will dig coins for myself as I cross the earth. As my clothes fall off me and die like leaves in autumn And new grass grows out of the approaching land to clothe me. Sometimes I am naked. And I can only watch where the blue horizon hangs And wait for the wind to finish mating me, Then bend with my nickel spoon again to turn the earth. For glimpses of what? Hope? Splinters of somebody’s past, my future? The years turn in their sleep and mutter their dreams Out of the sleeping corn, And another gold grain sticks in my hand. The wind sings You are alone and I run around you Playing at journeys while you stand and think And stoop, and yawn, and think, and frown in the furrows. You never look up at me when you rise; Your eyes light through me as if - am I there, dancing before you toward the horizon? - Where the blue light drips. The sun curries favour with the wind And I work alone Planting love, pricking myself, And my blood drops somebody’s impulse into the soil. One day I shall be riding the dark back of the sea At the edge of the end of it all - The inachievable future the great present. And the blue light will smoke over these lifting waves To take me into its dream with All the forgotten Whose thoughts lie unburied, on the ploughland Where the wind stands Wondering Why we left them there .................................................................................................. Red Feathers When you last let in the morning frost To scatter crumbs upon your window-sill, Shook the bread-board clear over the garden And watched the wild wings beating down for breakfast, did you think then? - birds have died for you So you can have red feathers on your hat. A cock bled all his gallantry for you - His love flown to your head. Put out more bread. .................................................................................................. Refugee Today I knitted myself a hat In red and green, for the holly season - And pulled it on, and dreaming sat In the firelight - when for God’s own reason A shiver of ice along the bone, The shock of snow below the skin, Confused my soul with a soul alone In her fear. The air, and her shawl, were thin; She strove barefoot on the mountain With child and cart and dying man. No songs, no feasts, no star, no inn As winter comes to Kurdestan. .................................................................................................. Temples The children of the Lord are laughing in the smoke The children of Life have many beautiful drums Listen oh listen the lovely lilt of the jungle Is the new prayer my body is a palm accept my Hands libation of dance of orient air I am in silk or leather, I am of thy Caste, I am of the new Creed (that is as old as Jesus and as full of death, O children) We, out of the common chalice Of our humanity, out of our treasure trove (That is as old as Adam, and as indocile, O children’s children) pour we our hair The children of the Lord are dancing in the smoke The children of Love with an open passport to Karma Hand the serpent an apple with a gentle smile And cast aside the garments given them to wear For that I have no sin, for I am like a rose That freely gives its seed to a beautiful stranger And is unblamed, my buds open Men may kiss my breast (where milk will come, But not, O child, as manna) lovely girls May rouse and soothe and curl my flowering fire In sisterhood (and they will build the cities of the plain Our children, to be again consumed) Ah good Youth, give us your baptism; there is a new River, O, it is roseate, for it is full of life ~ Remember the many Martyrs Remember the pink sweet stream of Perfume River Drifting out of the anguish of Hué (The children of the Lord were laughing in the smoke, The children of death had many beautiful drums Listen oh listen The lovely lilt of the jungle My body was a felled palm) The sacred mushroom has become the Cross Eat Me ~ I will deliver you from the falling skies; The children of the Lord shall fertilise the smoke, The children of time shall have devoured Chronos .................................................................................................. Which Way, and for How Long? Weird life. All that time, that rolls Before and around me like an irregular sea. A pulse of the world s breath beats like a hill; Miles of time To move in the mind of the tortoise, Spacious years For living and dying The day-dance of may-flies over the water. I have borrowed the slow heart-beat That shortens the day And swallowed time in a step too vast To heed the scurry of rabbit-paths in the thickets. I have ticked an hour into more aeons of time Than can be counted or conceived by men Stripped of empathy and Armed with stones. The ant burns away a long life, And the tree, In the onward rush of seasons. Trees grow no taller than I; They watch my life as I would watch an ant. My day is a second in time Their day is eternity To a may-fly. So what of my strange metabolism Flung between the particle and the cosmos? To what end my journeys, lonely as love, To the last forts of reason? Which way, Through lands of a million clocks that tell no more Than a dandelion puffed away in the wind? .................................................................................................. The Dividers Before I could lie in your arms, they came to the door And stood outside, trying to come in. One pale woman, one pale man, And a child, hovering. The silent burglars were knocking at our door. The nasty beggars pushing to come in. Before I could be sure we were together The grey people were walking in our hall With empty, insolent eyes and an air of propriety Touching our things. The grey people decaying in our hall, Invading us with gaunt and alien faces. Before we could warm the rooms with the lovely, long- Awaited intertwining of divided limbs They started pulling the hour apart Pain by pain; Making sure a cold breath breathed in every corner, Taking away my safety and your joy. And went away when they thought they had done, Leaving us empty, bewildered, trying in vain To escape the gaping horror of their faces. The Dividers came. Yet we triumphed - yet, oh my love, we won! Alone, afraid, we clung together like children. .................................................................................................. Return Beyond the plain of Lethe lie the Hell-hills smoking sulphur Under Tartarus. Save I, who would stand and watch that prussian sky with a gale blowing? See the ramparts rise against the dark, the long-lost battlements Of aged gold that crown the godless hills. Their sunlessness. What can I tell, my friend, of Lethe's river? A dry plain, and a corridor of wind that blows against me till the mind is numb, the senses gone, and another withered leaf is set to dance against the wall where Agamemnon danced. Behind me the last live angel has halted in the cloud and I go on, aware of his white eye watching the dark dervish in my hair and my light dwindling far across the plain. Eurydice is walking back for Orpheus - and will the old tale serve her true? .................................................................................................. Birth-cell The obscene night is passing at last in a cry of gulls And dog-sounds; one moth has found its way in here To flap and flutter the airs hopped by a yearning fly Minute by minute, all evening, last evening, Loving its own dry image. Dun-coloured days have played Their light-flung freak phantasms along my walls, Across the counterpane in pageants; we are well-acquainted With these mote-multitudes, the goblin-grins, dramas Caught in the plaster, with the grey window drawing forth The sad little fleet of ghosts above the door. High summer Was, when I left the embrace of God's air; now By an open window, I and the morning meet, surprised At the wild fresh tangle of autumn under the walls And the imminence of new life borne on the breath Of many such silver dawns. A grey day beckons; Soon I may go forth in the weary relief of rain. .................................................................................................. The Passers-By Men of the same race Pass before me like angels. I sing to them with my eyes, yet they never hear, They wander by, And I sing so loud in my head! Beings that glow and sing, Who move in Love and I love them, Gentle girls and slender beautiful boys Wandering by With thoughts that run on the wind. Here in my song now Is my joy; is hair that is soft As sun and sparrows, leaves in a cool wind. Wandering free, Do their eyes sing me my song? .................................................................................................. Ah God! The Youths! ... Ah God! The youths, with their pure dirt kisses and their hair full of the south wind - there goes Jeff in his creaking jacket, there goes bandy-legged Jeff. With their eyes full of the dark sparkle of speed, with their buck eyes full of the slanting sun, with their fresh and lazy eyes; All Mine. Ah God! The youths ... with their lithe and common grace. Watching the white slide of shirt over the shoulderblade, over the clean skin touch, I see Johnny in his new shape. Hallo, who's this jaunty little biscuit? Johnny, cocksure, comes swaggering, sauntering home - lazy young shaver. There goes Jeff in his natty jacket after the Hot Stuff - the bird, the ring, the reefers, one rough night; one bitter pill, ten quid - and the ring comes off. - the b...s will sting you, honey, and buzz off to break more flowers for green money. Ah God! The youths. On the coffee-spill tables, flexible as foxes, hard as cash. Some have lovely necks, king hair and fluid limbs. Tony here is the little big shot, keen as a bullet. If there's a fast one he can pull, he'll pull it. And Bob will grin like a fox. His room back home is littered with books and socks. He'll pass three out of eight and get a job on the docks. The beautiful youths with their open eyes full of the sky swing with the wind from south to west and some will swing. Two truths are told, and "Shame!" they laugh, and die. The flag they fight for is ton-up on their back; the flag they wave, the Union I'm-all-right-Jack. The hard youths, hard nuts, no sooner sweeten but the summer worm's inside. ... must have their pride ... The bitter-sweet, lovely boy-fruit unfallen; golden plums! Gather them now, before they fall - and eat them whole. Ah God! The youths, with their pure dirt kisses, and their need for Love's hand soon around their heart. |