Day: December 6, 2018

From the dazzling depths comes  our new year

A performance both liturgical  and spare
Candle light in darkness,ancient ,new
Illuminated shadows of despair

Enter in the ones who loss can bear
Do not cross them out, nor  make them skew
The performance,ah liturgical , ah spare

From the dazzling depths comes  our new year
When will be the last of my own few?
lluminate and  fear not bleak despair

We do not let the fear of feelings bare
Abbreviate the pleasure , lose the clue.
A performance mute, liturgical  and spare

Candles in the darkness, how so fair?
Dark and light combine,  Da Vinci drew
Eliminate  excesses of despair

In the little crib the light was blue
Another, holier world is here and now
A performance both liturgical  and spare
Illuminated shadows of despair

 

 

The clockwork savage

He said he wanted a battery for his hen!I thought it was clockwork.
The coast of England has been so battered by  the ocean it is leaving for a Shelter
.Is it  one  of those at Blackpool on the Prom?
You guessed!
A battery operated food whisk was unknown in Tudor times.This info is brought  to you by Raatchi and Paatchi.Don’t ask why.
Why not?

He’s been watching the TV all day.What does he think it is going to do? Mate with my laptop or apply for citizenship? Go out for a ramble? Emigrate? Shout, oh Exit!

I am cooking my sinner tonight.I reckon  I should throw  him in the fire.
To think Joan of Arc was only 19 when she was killed…. and I’ve lived here for 48 years.

I’d love a dead duck tonight
We don’t cook live ones
Do you curry  them?
They are too small to carry me.

Suppose all the ducks in London got together and  caught Doris Swanson
Why?
They’d cook her  for tea.
Is  she transgender
Yes, he is!
Make him deliver a joke  or otherwise the  post
The letters boxed
Did they knock him out?
How does one tell?
He would lie on the ground and not  move.
Shall I shoot him?
Why?
He moved!

The world may not console

Why  does the one  I want not love me too?
The order of this world  does not console
Why does the one I want give me the blues?

God and Nature don’t leave me a clue
Why do we think  God still has a role?
Why  does the one  I  love not love me too?

He makes me feel like mental Asian flu
Viruses  killed Grandad ,  Daddy’s cold.
Why does the one I love give me the blues?

I opened up my mouth and said,it’s you
You are more than thoughtless, came my growl
Why  does the one  I  love not love me too?

He said,I do not hate you but it’s true
I don’t know who I am, that fairy, tale
Why does the one I love give me no  clues?

 

If you  hate  me  I shall  go to Hell
They used to say that Satan told good tales
Why  does the one  I  hate. not  hate me too?
Why does the one my heart loves   make  me blue?

 

 

 

On the last train,Warsaw to Moscow, [change Niegoreloje.]

Elena,a baby wrapped in woollen clothes.
On the last train,Warsaw to Moscow,
[ change Niegoreloje.]
1939.Father,mother,brother
You passed through the Arctic Wastes of life.
Still as if travelling on a train
To an impossibly far destination.
As you left the German Army crashed into Poland
Lost,your aunts
Your cousins.
Your culture.
How does God select the damned?
You had your own baby,here in England,
Not lost like all those others.
Your father died by his own hand,
The hand of history;
The fingers twitching,
Not sure where to point.
Then settling into frozen grief
A sculpture only your mother saw.
You saw too,Elena.
You always saw,though you can’t remember;
The long journey, your mother’s breast,
Your father’s silence.
Only the dead know that silence.
Only the dead weep
With the rocks and stones .
And the ice in each eye
Fell like snow down your cheeks
As you held your own infant.
Warsaw to Moscow,
Moscow to Jerusalem.
Always journeying
Looking for what they can never find:
The home they left behind
The presence of the dead
Lying in gaunt heaps
Like rubbish
Your aunts, Elena.
Your cousins.
You never knew them.
But there’s a hole in your mind
Through which the Polish wind forever blows