Ghosts of Guilt and Gold

Down dreamlike fields all filled
with wondrous, passing things
Visions rise up
and bastards hold them down

Oh, to live in the green places
Lost to the time
Lost to the race
Lost to the tune
of hearts and souls suspended

I could win
or hang upon the wire
The hand that holds
the ghosts of guilt and gold
slowly closes in

Let the serpent's finger stroke my chin
Lure me with sin
And gaze where flattened greyness
fills the minds of men

December 31st 1987

First of the Fifth (Song of Isis)

Throughout the light and the trees
I'm only in the sparkle of time
Let me live, deliver me
And think no more of an end
but a big feel

Soft in hearts, no fear to disappear
Gasp! A hazy earth, clad in gauze so dear
Blowsy roses at her breast
Her hair's a mess, her heart
your Souvenier

The fifth month comes down haunting
like a troubadour
Sing what you feel,
Mean what you say,
And keep in touch, 'til sundown now

May 12th 1987

Moon

Darkness frames the light
the moon your eyes
I need your eyes
I spy through leaves
wide, round, irascible
But always there
They wait like thieves

Deeper than the night you are
Fresh and ravishing, longing to be desired
pure and clean unclouded now
They stole my soul

Then sometimes your moon eyes change
Raw and churlish like a spiteful sky
Spitting venom on the bleak black earth

One moment a virgin
The next as worldly as Narcissus
Waiting to take the earth
like a summer storm

--------

July 7th 1981

The Writing on the Wall

A rustic in darkish clothes passed me
Down by the delicatessen of all my spicey dreams
With hands full of stars
And eyes so familiar
I thought I'd never see life again

The delicate darlings may wait in the wings
And wait they will - it's too late
For there is a beauteous beacon of winter
Like dahlias in autumn
and breath on the pane

He's come, relentless, shattering the world
wiith a sadness supreme
A thing we cannot help but die for
It is not called love

Bath, Avon, September 10th 1986

The Hermit (the twin's lament)

Say it's doom, a choiceless path I'm on
Where to go, and wander off
In each direction
Hypnotised

Fall away, debate the great
Confusion
Any day we could be called
Our split mind finds an answer
And a question.
Cling and cling and cling
Another spark
Feel, the atmosphere's
a question mark

Bath, Avon, June 15th 1987

The Plastic Rainbow

Plastic Rainbow in the Sky

The beautiful child delivered into a place called paradise

Why is it the powers that be

Think they can improve on this

God given flowers showers

An earth that supplies

Us with every prevention nutrition and cure

it's like a kiss
What God creates Satan counterfeits
and gives the power to the moneymaking scientist

Why do they think they can improve on something so pure

From the great designer

There is nothing finer

Plastic food, plastic faces

Plastic buildings, plastic places

Plastic waste forms it’s own island in the sea

An ancient giant turtle

Was cut open recently

And the plastic in its stomach filled a

Six foot piece of plastic, completely

The world, natural

Organic and fractal

In the beginning beautiful

But they destroyed it and made it so

And if they could

They’d make a plastic rainbow

Under the Wire

On 12 December 1982, 30,000 women held hands around the 6 miles (9.7 km) perimeter of the Greenham Common Air Base, Newbury, Berkshire, in protest against the decision to site American cruise missiles there. I was there and wrote this poem afterwards. It was a momentous day, a show of what love, peace and solidarity can do - the base was closed some time later.

----------------------------------------------------

They moved the wisp, the frightened space

That hides behind the moon

And what they did, this shadow race

these pioneers of magic

was burst the colour

through the fence

the heavy metal chickenwire

without the aid of guns

The witches sit

they will consider

how to get the magic

over the fence

under the wire

how to keep their blackened eyes

and sprawling, ravaged

wisps of hair

away from cross-fire

The other side the cold hearts lie, uncomplicated

with never a wish the card won't provide

the soldiers hold their steely glances to the sky

For they don't see the moon

or dissenchanted birds migrating

No, they only see the space

where rockets fly.

All yours, Euphoria

A mystic astrology, soaring over Yorkshire
descended into a flesh and blood daughter
some kind of spiritual sister, still in my mind
in England's turbulent times
and stormy waters

Law, politics and social interaction

Was of interest but anathema

Yet she knew each tiny detail of every one of these

rules, and no insight of social or official convention

escaped her

She knew the glance of the cruellest patriarchal eye

And the judge when he condemned the pauper who was innocent
She knew the boredom and tedium of being a victorian teacher

The longwinded religious ramblings of the nonsense of the preacher

The shame of the drunken brother

Shattered, disgraced, a life

Tormented, wasted and spent
The strife of a life that all of them led
without a mother

And the desire to be free

on paper made her declare

the words of a rare and raw

and wild uncultivated cultivated mind

“Only a mystical lover could match my moors no man alive no no

only a man who was my landscape made incarnate

who knew how to love and who

knew how to hate my enemies

with such equal intensity
and it felt like i was him and he was me”

Out in the darkening grey unsympathetic storm

Know how it feels to be demonised, despised

No-one in respected and civil society
(which in reality is more savage and uncivilised)

Could understand what it felt like to be out there

gloriously ravished and mesmerised

The ecstasy, to be unleashed
with the beautiful eyes and the form

of the perfect gypsy

With the wind and the wild northern storm in our hearts

And the lightening and thunder and rain comes down and we’re laughing

Hysterically

Even if it kills you and me
Soaked to the skin without fear

With the moors in my arms

With the wind in my hair
With the rain on my face

Oh Im all yours euphoria

You broke my heart

But only the intellect

Could ever tear our heavenly souls apart

For this is how it feels

to be finally free
and truly perfect

the lightening flash of that dream
of our real home

I felt I had to write it all down

In a story and some poems

for forever

All yours, euphoria

--------------------------

Emily Bronte, (British Author and Poet) - 1818-1848

Charlie Gilmour

Hanging from a flag on the Cenotaph

Someone took a photograph

A boy with a certain poetic face

was a good excuse to make a case

for disgrace

for he is of rock royalty dynasty

in his privilege

how dare he!

But arent poets and rock stars supposed to make a stand?
Arent they the best and most romantic symbols of this land?

All our nations pride was on the line

the bones and blood and death enshrined

in a monument to the glorious dead

yes, its so glorious to be dead

two entire generations of brave young men

gloriously dead

how sad, that after all of that

the Nazis havent gone away
They live!
their ethos spread to make more dead
and fight another day

today they're creating a third

for the royalty who would cut off your head

for saying this, two hundred years ago, absurd

if you dared speak out against their warmongering waste

their own minds cut off from conscience, reality or taste
maintaining their comfortable warlike status quo
arranging wars, well, they don't have to go

to war, there's no real threat from anyone - just war as usual, war, war war

but charlie gilmour

swung a bin at the bastards

whatever whoever the son
or the situation,
[situationist]
(shame he missed)

and that takes courage

even so

Vive la revolution!

-------------

The Situationists
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Situationist_International

Diamond Lights on the Water

Only A Lovely Summer Dream...summers in the woods sound of wood pigeons

purring in time like the engine of the heart so much world going on inside nature's infinitesimal and infinite magic, yes us a part of summers song or swept back in time to an olive grove dusty and hot with crickets, beat a stick in time, rhythm of the pulse or the sound of the lazy lapping sea on the beach and laying in a boat with the sparkling diamonds of light on the water the soothing swish of the sea and thousands of purple and silver fish and the sound clear mind life in the moment summer abound why cant we just be summer forever found like where love lives and laughs and the sea claps with a loud smack on the shore and recedes with a long sigh and comes back and soft skin is the minds elenin drunk on just being here, all the stars manifest into nature's

manifesto

  

sparkling diamond lights

on the water

Marilyn Monroe

(the very name was thus created by the gods to be a poem)

Marilyn Monroe loved poetry
(ee cummings especially)
She died 49 years ago today
and words of other's wisdom swirled around her head
until her final moments, final day

lain in bed, swirls of white sheets
with scripts of words and authors and poets beats
around her and it fed
a craving and a thrill
that maybe men and films and fame could not fulfil
in a world that only saw the physical
she understood the quark and charm, the metaphysical and quizzical
she understood the poet's art
and just like hers
it was the language of the heart

some words from ee cummings
i like to think her dreamy eyes were maybe wandering over
in a gaze in her last days...

"i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes"
....

'almighty God! I thank thee for my soul; & may I never die spiritually
into a mere mind
through disease of loneliness'


Marilyn Monroe (American Actress) - June 1st 1926 - August 4th 1962
Edward Estlin Cummings (American Poet) - October 14 1894 – September 3 1962

Angelic Intervention

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Skylark

In the night of the human day
we live through the restless dark
of the wretched soul
where the incandescent spark
becomes the break in the dawn
in the part of the heart
which is the skylark

and the spark becomes the wings
of a bird in flight and the bird
has no memory of the endless night
just the feel of the freedom breeze as it sings
on its feathers
forever forever
forever