The holy land that all but I’ve forgot.

I bought myself a cotton coat online
So big I’ll have to wrap  it round with twine
I think a smallish man could get in too,
Or a cat and dog who wish to be the crew!

Or in the winter when it’s  icy cold
I could put on three jumpers  and look bold
The doctor will then nag me as obese
Maybe I’d do better in a fleece

It said it was real denim but it’s faux
Denim don’t grow where this weirdo’s  grown.
The meaning of the word has clearly changed
I sit outside with cats all  well arranged

I think that it would make a lovely sail
For a yacht in Morecambe Bay manned by a snail
I’d  pull the ropes and look at Arnside Knott.
The holy land that all but I’ve forgot.

On second thoughts it looks  like a great tent
The shortish sleeves could function as air vents
A generous towel can be my undersheet
I’ll rent my bedrooms out and be replete

When dawn arrives I’ll wash myself in dew
And pull off snails that lay beside my knee
I’ll put on my pyjamas made of string
And aertex vest  invisible in Spring

I feel my destiny is drawing near
As I can love all ants without much fear
I can sell the house and live with Alice Springs
In a field of buttercups with wings

Oh, when you grow older be discreet
Pretend you are a queen with hobnailed feet.

 

 

But gold or diamonds glorify the bed.

When ancient peoples sacrificed to god
They offered up the best of what they had.
The king’s own son would be the frequent choice
As insulting a god was seen as vice.

And when a man goes courting for a bride
He offers  her a ring that satisfies
He does not give her tin or zinc or lead
But gold or diamonds glorify the bed.

Yet here in modern or post-modern times
We offer up the lowest as our sacrifice.
And so the wealthy shall go straight to hell
As murderers of the sick and poor who fell.

In the past, the rich gave to the poor
But now they burned them up in Grenfell Tower.

 

 

I crept into the space between the words

It seemed to me,  my vision and  my mind
A template to project into the world
Brought you into being by my side.

I miss you, love, so slow the seconds wind.
I crept into the space between the words
I  made you in  my vision and  my mind

Is there only chaos, no design?
Are we dust around the spaces whirled?
I bring you into being by these lines

I smell your skin and see your eyes alive
I move my head but you have disappeared
It seems  both from my vision and  my mind

Why did all the pit props fall down blind?
I crept beneath  black  coal, with darkness smeared
A  person alien to humankind

Where is death, when it’s no longer feared?
What is love, when no-one else is here?
I imagined  you in  vision and in mind
Reality is so much more unkind

Can human sacrifice expunge our sins?

I felt the sun’s heat on the wheelie bins
The plastic lids and handles stung my hand
The rumbling wheels made their own  ugly din

I bumped my leg and nearly burned my shins
This work is more familiar to a man
I felt the sun’s heat on the wheelie bins

They spoil my garden and  ignite my pen
I wish the PM would issue a ban
The rumbling wheels made their own  ugly din

 

Can human sacrifice expunge our sins?
Grenfell Tower, a Death Camp I see now
I felt the sun’s heat on the vicious bin.

Men in power fought red tape, grumbling, grim.
The sacrificial victims died by fire or blow
The voices of democracy grew dim

A neighbour said they’re  illegals, eeh by gum,
So as they burned, no one will ever know
I smelled the smoke of Auschwitz rippling in.

Where thou goest , I will also go
The Christian world sure writes a damning show
My heart cracked and I fell into the bin
They grumbling  made their own   darned ugly din