Inhumunkind

a clarion call

the loud speaker

makes an unsettling grating noise

the manic street preacher

we all ignore

a killer sedate in a carriage

rolling golden wheels

crunch over bones and damage

the flag wavers

hypnotised by deathly power

worshipping their enslavers

oblivious

to real street level human law

is every politician now a whore -

rotten to the core?

on the fourth plinth in trafalgar square

should be a

statue of brian haw

in the pomp and hungry piranha feeding frenzy and orgy of war

one stand for peace

but that would be a stark admission

that peace is a decent way to live

under sane and righteous governance

they dont want a stark expose of their shame

for war is profit and fun for those outside the law

who like to think themselves outside of blame

and dont need a reminder

of their bloodied hands

and their soul's dark fate

a clarion call

brian's soul, a ghost, still floats bravely

in the conscience of us all

The Lustral

even in the storm of your eyes

a swirling force, a mistral

not to be missed

there was an equator of exotic peace

in the landscape of your lips

a lustral

What if God was a Cat?

If God turned out to be a cat
What would you make of that?
Would you ask forgiveness for all the times that
you hadn't been kind to cats?

If God turned out to be a turkey
Would you be feeling quite so chirpy
Eating God's only son on his birthday?

If God turned out to be a fox
It wouldn't look too good for toffs
On judgement day

If God is karma, this would bring
Kindness, love and understanding
An end to suffering
So maybe God is everything
Sentient...remembering


-------------
Quite a co-incidence
I wrote this poem the day of the passing
of Christopher Hitchens

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

Starlight Groove

Ancient instant light
Catapult from then to now
Ka-Pow!!!
Ping
Sing
Attentive moves
Concentration
Attention
Removes
Ignorance
For a dance
An  Entrance
eyes said be
mine A glance
Entranced

Future cosmic energy
Comes back advanced
Dispels all apathy
Get up, get on up
Like a dream
Like a love machine

Thrilled to be part of the cast of
Happenstance and Empathy

You look like you should be
Hanging in the Louvre
I love your Starlight Groove

Secrets Yet Untold

whispers winters dark

is snow and gold

the snowflake kiss

of memory silver

and secrets yet untold

the leaping heart

from out of earthly ice

and eyes that steal the soul

the sparkling sound

a love thats bound to tingle and enfold

and to entice

oh whispering winter magic

casting fractured patterns o'er icy pools

at which the starved bird sips

to gaze upon the frozen golden rose

the one that winter gently

places on your lips

lovers never heed the day

just rapt and wrapped in wondrous warm

entangled in a snowflake kiss

protected from the storm

and whisper in the winters dark

of memory white and gold

in keeping with the silver night

and secrets yet untold

Poets Float

Blessed with cerebral riches
Drowned as witches
But poets float

Words like petals floating on the breeze
So uncontrolled
They taunt and tease
The status quo

Float like butterflies
Sting like bees
A poet can't be bought or sold

Never given thanks
Made to walk gangplanks
But poets float

The poet's sensitivity
floats on to infinity
original thoughts
create the future and eternity

Your words
Like a saviour boat
On raging seas
In a storm
I feel reborn
For poets float
Happy birthday Heathcote




---------------
Heathcote Williams - British Poet, Actor, Playwright, Director and Artist
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heathcote_Williams

the flowers that be

we are the flowers

that will lead you

straight to the heart

and the mind of God
we are the butterfly

creation of God's art

roses - whether a single one
the beautiful two

or a bunch of dozens
vermillion leaves on the ground

are our autumn cousins

walk past flowers silent

but they're screaming out

their joy to be alive

unlike people

flowers never lie

endless colour infiltrated bliss

with every change of the light

dance fragrance everlasting like God's kiss

absorbing the day

embracing the might of the stars at night

flowers aren't like guns or swords
they don't want to kill you
flowers aren't like the glance
in human eyes
they can't desert or judge or despise you
but when you look at them
they might create a fantasy for you

we're universe

we are the flowers

dont mind us

we're just an element of fractal expression

of God's dreaming

we just exist
as long as there's sunshine

earth and air and showers

"the human beings, my pet species

killed my dreams with ingratitude" said Gaia

"but flowers are my love,
theyre never rude

they never let me down -
they are

my soul's fire"

CAIRO!

Instance a twirling magic of starlit night

And then, on the way to a party - a ride

on a cart pulled by a donkey

Interfusion something

so unlike

a pyramid system

at street level

or a dusty track in the countryside

The explosion of scent of jasmine and

a Larry Olivier voice booming

out into the night at the Sound and

dreamy golden purple Light

Lost in inner city wild bazaar

at midnight alone

felt like an initiation, being born

Heart beat drum beat

Trapped in a beast

Feast for the sunrise

Triangles at dawn

Giggling looking at Adolf Churchills room

Theyre all the same, they all want to make a

City of the dead,
but this city, my eternal love affair

alone in a crypt with a tomb and a female voice in my ear said “Claire”

I looked around and - there was nobody there

But it sounded sweet and it felt so wise...

A polluted forest of exotic concrete

Drowning in warm brown eyes

Diving through the UniVerse

I saw a stark tree
with bright red berries on it
and the sun fell right on it
and I knew then in my heart of hearts
that yes, there is a God of sorts
prowling through the universe

the blooms are coming up too soon
too soon to feel
and down dark lanes
a shaft of sun
on frozen rooftops starts
and I knew then in my heart of hearts
that there really is a God ofcourse
diving through the universe

Oxford, 29th January 1989

Out of Everydayland

The sounds of the sea come in
Mixed with emotional magic
They all come out of the sea
on embarrassed waves of tears
And now Im trapped in every day land
Where there never was a hope
of being set free

But listen awhile on the sand
to the thundering trombone of nature
the harp and the whistle of seagull and
violins of shellfish begging to be set free
Our undeserved symphony
The echoes of hollow
you all hope to follow

When I die the wind and I
will be me, to tunes
Already heard
And souls already infiltrated
We'll pierce the very hollow of you
Like a pebble ripe
in the lodge of fate

Deep down pools of devastation
That we wallow in
The bible of the earth
says it's the only sin
We're moving up in a new wave
with a wave of the human hand
the sounds of the sea come in with an era
fresh as the morning sand

Bath, September 9th 1986

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