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