I first heard
you through some jelly on belly
And thumping,
pumping, on and on
A relentless
piston
Working away
faster
Than I thought
possible.
I first saw
you through more jelly on belly
Ill-defined
with movement slight
Tumultuous I
stood in joy
But you
turned and yawned and moved away.
Next time I
peered into your world
You remained
oblivious to me
Content in
your own environment
All I could
do was observe
Like some
dumbstruck, star-crossed lover
Just admire
from afar.
My thoughts
could never reach you
Words or
touch, meaningless
To you
As yet.
“An orbit
here,” they said
“And nasal
cavities would soon be.”
They said you
waved
I smiled
We never
spoke but
In our own
way we acknowledged
Then in
frozen motion, captured
By way of
proof
A black and
white Polaroid, for me to frame
And long for
And wait
To hold you.
Shooters hair
cut short
Who cannot
get caught
Dial that
telephone number
Awaken from
your slumber
Bombs induce,
seduce
Pirates of
the nation
Station of
the airwaves
Collects and
passes guns for the masses
Pierce the
ears and skin
God damn all,
damn the rest
Automobiles
free deal freebase
Fashion,
style and propaganda
No space left
on the veranda
Sip the
methadone, while they drink the sherry
Storm the
palace tonight
Steal the
jewels
Burn the
curtains
Organise the
peasant army
Talk of
dreams and go to prison
Leave me all
there is to be.
Old tomers
rattle on
Tittle
tattle, rattle going strong
In northern
tones and northern lights
To call the
tunes
Where jazz
and poems flourish at will
In times to
kill
To cash and
carry for Tom, Dick and Harry
Death for a
seal of approval
For license
renewal
Hackers hack
into the night to respect their art
Where no
streets were paved with gold
In Carlisle
or Manchester, Huddersfield or Hull
Back in the
hotel
Damned to
hell
Mistrust the
safety net of lies
Fourteen
nights to despise the stammer of grammer
And the girl
waits, in the bed
Stations on
the line, undeline the title page
I stand at
the gap, the middle, the border
Division of
the land
Celebrate the
new England
Strong;
stronger still
Earn the
pounds in schillings and pence
Withhold the
words in sham suspence
England
Punks
Honeymoon.
Am but aren’t
Is but isn’t
Was but
wasn’t
Wanted to but
couldn’t
Tried to but
shouldn’t
Had to but
wouldn’t
Ought to but
didn’t
Could not and
did not
Wanted to but
should not
Would not but
tried to
But did not
But wanted to
But tried to
And had to
But did not
But could it?
Should it?
But it wasn’t
Was it?
Everyone can
have their say
Usa today,
engalnd here today
Tonight lets
challenge the airwaves
Use the world
and the satellites
To the right
of free speech
To what’s
left of free speech.
Everybody has
an opinion
Everyone has
a voice
But you don’t
like what I say
Filter out
Crap and
crass and it goes blander
Frequencies
propagate propaganda
Democratic
views but outspoken
Apathy turns
to statements token.
We must tow
the governments stance
Silence is a
passive acceptance
Jew and black
now defamed
Irritant,
sore and inflamed
Stone the
bookshops and burn the books
Attractions
of the thieves and crooks
Make it fast
like at an election
Like a vote,
make the connection
Either use it
or lose it
Yeah you’ve
got it
Yeah you’ve
got it.
Check the
kids and turn the locks
Petrol
through the letter box
And in the
carpark burning crosses
Make me mad,
make me sad
Glint of
knife fist comes down
Flash of
gunfire I fall down
Everbody has
an opinion
Everyone can
have their say
Yeah right.
In a darkened
night hidden from sight
She’s lying
and sighing
And he’s
lying and sighing
And they’re
lying and sighing
And he’s
jumping and pumping
And she’s
moaning and groaning
And they’re
coming and going
They’re lying
together
Feeling very
clever
They’re
together forever
In a darkened
night.
In a darkened
night hidden from sight
In the daed
of night
Hidden from
sight
Gone beyond
the night
He’s waiting
and hating
Hating the
waiting
Been to a bar
Gone in the
car
Gone too far
Driven the
car
In a darkened
night hidden from sight
In the dead
of night
He’s gone
beyond the light
He’ll put it
right
Knows how to
fight
On a darkened
night
And she’s
lying and sighing
And he’s
lying and sighing
And they’re
lying and sighing
And he’s
jumping and pumping
And she’s
moaning and groaning
And they’re
coming and going
Now he’s
attacking and hacking
Bearing and
swearing
Caracking and
battering
She’s
dreaming and screaming, bleeding and pleading
Fighting and
biting
Coiming and
going
In a darkened
night
Hidden from
sight
She’s lying
and sighing
Moaning and
groaning
And lying and
dying
In the dead
of night.
I have
watched him for years
I have known
him for years
Sometimes
laughing, sometimes loving
Sometimes
hating
He’s a born
leader; salt of the earth
If there was
a war he’d be the first on the beaches, they say
I say “no
way”.
A bully
pushing forward his views
Others have
opinions, others have views
But his are
always right.
Telling jokes
down his local
Never misses
his shout
Never with
his missus about
With his
cigar and short and designer jumper
His laugh is
loud in the crowd
He always
wins the srguements
Because he is
never wrong
And has the
biggest mouth.
He has a
heart of gold
Or so I’m
told
Jack of all
trades; Jack the lad; not bad
A trickster,
a fixer
Jim’ll bloody
fix it
He’s the man,
honest and true.
Now locked in
a single room
Behind the
old courtroom
The two of
us, four other men
Six women
For hours of
debate
For hours of
my simmering hate
“Date rape?
More like
rape date, mate.”
We all agreed
Mr X was guilty of unlawful sex
But he
argued, beyond all reasonable doubt
And he beat
the others down and out
If I agreed
would I complain?
Moan and
whinge with my whining desatin.
Now high noon
soon; me against him
Our opinions
collided
And I
subsided
Without the
courage of my convictions
I predict a
not guilty verdict.
Yes I was
weak
Yes I was
meek
But are you
strong enough?
Are you good
enough
To face the
power of the mighty mouth?
Is it any
wonder with men like this?
I am Mr X for
the joy of X
I am a triple
X, four X, expletive deleted
Lost between
Z and C on the type face
And wedged by
W and Y, I take my place
Unknown lonely
and stationary
Just four
words in the dictionary
Xenon,
xenophobe, xylophone and x-ray
Not many
chances to come out to play.
Often cited
as excited
But mainly as
an ex-, a has been
Ex-lover,
ex-fighter; a remanant, excrement.
But I can
offer hope and power
In the
elction, mark me in the box
The door of
government I unlock
And the
love-letter
Count me at
the end
A message of
affection that I send
The treasure
trove, I mark the spot
To the winner
to grab the lot.
Perm me,
birthdays and ages
Form and
lists for pages
Put the pin
in and let me win
Selections
one to ten
Bury and
Droylsden
Leyton O and
Crystal P
Will they be
my destiny?
I take in
turn Wimbledon and Blackburn
Now the
trouble really starts
And head off
for exotic parts
Places with
wonderous sounding names
And I try and
rack my brains
Towns whose
geographical existence I am unaware
Now whose
existaence is all that I care
Grenock
Morton, Inverness Calladoneon, Hamilton Academicals
Raith and
Cowdenbeath
Will Brechin
win, or Stenhousmuir draw?
Do I go for
Alloa?
In the end I
go for Forfar.
Saturday
teatime:
Seven jackpot
draws and what’s more
One high
score draw!
Telephone
claims for twenty three or twenty three and a half points
Excitement
burst through my joints
And on the
telephone I dialled
But a grimace
replaced my smile
There it sat,
still not gone
The still
intact Pools coupon.
No publicity
mark with an X
I still
remain Mr XXX.
Wind me up
Point me in
the right direction
Clockwork,
tick-tock
Rewire and
reprogramme
The new
improved version
Remodelled
and repackaged
And it’s not
the same
But it’s not
the same.
Sorry is but
a word
And this goes
much deeper
The faces of
the animals look so sad
Tears in
their eyes tonight
Prayful and
wishful
Back to
better times
It would be
much happier
It could be
much happier
It might be
better.
And I was
there
Up there with
the best
The Empire
State Building, Mount Everest
On that
pedestal.
But not now
Dug in a rut
Isolated and
insulated
Middle-aged
become boring
Inadequacies
highlighted
Strain of the
mundane
A dreamworld
of faded hope
And a return
to nothing.
Get out and
do something exciting
Another day
Yes we’ll do
it another day.
And I was
once there
Up there and
loved
On that
pedestal
But not now
I fell
Fell from
grace
Now an
also-ran, a never-ran
The pedestal
so far away
Moving out of
sight
Lost in a sea
of darkness
I am drwoning
Fading.
In quiet
In this house
In this bed
Could be
somewhere else
At work
Out
Abroad.
Lonely in
this head
“Where is
this love ?” I said
“Elsewhere”,
she said, “my dear.”
Oh dear.
I am
co-ordinated, I can
See, hear,
touch, smell and taste
I am
co-ordinated
I can talk
with my mouth full
Whilst
watching television
And turn a
blind eye
A deaf ear
To the
starving.
I am
co-ordinated
I have full
co-ordination
I can make
love to my wife
While
fantasising about another
And listen to
the football
All at the
same time.
I am totally
co-ordinated
I have full
co-ordination
I can change
a tape
Whilst
driving my car
In fact I
drive better after a few beers
I am totally
co-ordinated, he said
Smashing into
the child
Pissed out of
his head
Totally
co-ordinated.
Sailors,
snakes and dragons drag on
In this
toilet I sit
With grunge
and grime
Dirt and
vomit
Pierce the
skin with needles
And things.
Need it as a
weapon
As a shield
To attack and
defend
A
cartoonist’s caricature
Scribble me
in marker pen
Of “love” and
“hate”
Over
fighter’s knuckles
And weeper’s
tears.
Another mask
for another place
Too many
places
Too many
masks
Of martyr, of
saviour
Of lover, of
father
Of hated, of
hater
Of demon, of
God.
I no longer
know this place
I no longer
know this face
Or my true
face.
Early morning
fog sleepy eyes
North
Northwards
M6 not M1
Seaside
autumnal sunshine
Kiss me
quickly, hold me tightly
Ours slowly
Hours slowly.
Illuminations
illuminate
But I can’t
see
The point.
Crowded
Rediffusion
Tandy and
Comet
Radio-Rentals
Too late
though
Five to five.
A cry of joy
Black and
white magpie cry
Toon army;
one-nil away
Buy a Pink
Stop and
think
Blackpool
today
Leeds away.
I’d like to
wish you a happy new year
As you, young
man dance round the Clock tower at midnight
In your fag
burnt shirt and beer stained trousers
And to you
young girl, dancing and singing
In your
laddered stockings and smudged mascara
I’d like to
wish you a happy new year
As you
stagger and pass out in the gutter
Then wallow
in the puke and piss.
I’d like to
wish you a happy new year
As you
swallow down your Alka Seltzer
And recover
from the excesses of too much drink
And food from
Christmas indulgences
I’d like to
wish you a happy new year
As you battle
with your resolutions
Sitting on
the ceiling
After
crawling up the wall.
I’d like to
wish you a happy new year
On your first
day back at work
After your
holiday when you come face to face
With the boss
or secretary that you screwed at the Christmas party
Just think of
the wife or husband or kids.
I’d like to
wish all the politicians a happy new year
But can’t
What I’d like
is for them to see what it’s like to be unemployed
Because politics
is only for people who don’t have to live by their decisions.
I’d like to
wish all the old people a happy new year
And some
warmth and comfort
Away from
muggers and rapists
And sadistic
care assistants who beat them
Don’t look so
shocked; it’s true!
And some
protection for abused kids
Who suffer at
the hands of their own relatives
It does
happen.
I’d like to
wish the homeless a happy new year
Just some
shelter, for a night at least
They’re out
there, really they are.
I’d like to
wish myself a happy new year
There were
times when I’d wish my team would win the league and FA Cup
Now I set my
sights lower
And just look
to avoid relegation
I also used
to wish that the New Year would bring about an end to suffering and war
But it
doesn’t change; somethings don’t
Now I wish
for the love of my family and friends
Because that
is more realistic (I hope).
I’d like to
wish you all a happy new year
I like to
wish
I wish.
She stirs
briefly as the alarm clock sounds
In the
twilight zone she hears him dress
And make a
cup of coffee
“I’ll phone
you later honey” a voice far away drifts
And sleep
comes and goes
Then several
hours later she wakes with a start
A cold cup of
coffee and stained sheets
Reminders to
the passion
Of last
night.
She showers
and dresses and goes to work
The girls
chatter and they talk. Just talk
Of sex and
families. Just talk. Just fantasise
Mid afternoon
he phones
“I’ll pop
round later” he says.
Finishes
work, cooks her Menu-master microwave meal
The phone
rings, her Mum warns
Feeds the cat,
watches television and reads
Her best
friend phones and warns
Then the
highlight of the day
He’s had a
bad day; trouble with the car
The kids, the
boss, the wife
She thinks:
“I’m not a fucking social worker or a priest.”
But it’s so
good to talk
“Better to
shag” he laughs.
Back to bed
again
As the day
began
And they
talk, just talk
Of sex and
families
Just talk
Just
fantasise. Just shag.
In the
driving rain
Not another
bloody Sunday again
DIY shoppers,
deep seat divers, Sunday drivers.
Caught up in
the traffic, carbon monoxide makes me sick
Jammed up
nose to tail, head to bumper
Ferrets down
her jumper
And I just
want to go home
Feet up and
watch the footie on telly
But I’m not
there, I am here
A slow death
in the slow lane
And all I do
is complain
“Where are
they going?” I ask without knowing
I watch from
my panorama
I watch the
family drama
Of Ma and Pa
In the car in
front which I almost shunt
I watch them
squabble and bicker
Behind the
car stickers
That bear the
legend “if you can read this then you’re driving too close.”
Well excuse
me pal, but I’ve got no choice
And the
ultimate symbol of the driver’s virility
“Baby on
Board!” shows off their fertility
And as I
contemplate my woes
The brat in
the back sticks fingers up nose
And we’re
still here and soon it’ll be night
The traffic
ahead is queued up out of sight
And all I
want to be knowing
Is where are
they going?
And you state
in alarm: “they’re going to the Baby Farm”
“The Baby
Farm!” I exclaim with distain
With prospective
parents and the doddering, ploddering grandparents
Willingly
exchanging hard earned pence while I sit on the fence
For the free
wheeling baby buggy buggers
The tiny tot
cot terrors
At the happy
nappy rash cash bash
Which I think
so sad
For doting
Mum and Dad
And Mums to
be is all I see
Super stretch
jogging bottoms
Pulled tight
over the dart player belly
And all I
want to do is watch telly
Bloody kids;
who wants them?
Let’s get off
and onto home
But there’s
silence in the car
And I start
to think that I’ve gone too far
And you start
to mutter
And I start
to shudder and stutter
What’s that
you’re saying?
Why didn’t
you say?
It’ such a
thrill, oh isn’t it brill?
Isn’t it
great? Let’s celebrate
Turn the car
round let’s look round
It won’t do
no harm
Let’s go to
the Baby Farm!
Roy Stone is
dead. He died the other night.
And if we’re
honest it came as no surprise
They say his
family were shocked by the timing of his demise
But he was
prone to do that sort of thing just to despise.
Roy was good,
Roy was kind. He cared.
He had a
vision of the future he sought to describe
Through his
words of he thought he could break the lies
Of what it
was like to love, conquer and fall
He wanted
things to be better
A better life
for all
For people to
open their eyes, to live in dignity
To
acknowledge what they see and embrace humanity.
Roy was a
liar; unfaithful and a bully
But now he’s
gone we miss him dearly
He fought for
other’s rights, for them to have their say
Although he
wasn’t special, black or brown or gay.
He wrote with
a passion
In a school
book on his desk
Roy was a
chancer, a dreamer, an idealist
He was a just
average not a flawed genius.
It was no
broken body that they dragged from the wreckage
A car crash
or plane smash or a mechanical message.
He didn’t
cry, whimper, whisper or wheeze
He didn’t
have AIDS or an incurable disease
It was no
beating in a riot or armed rebellion
It was no
broken heart incarcerated in prison
There was no
shotgun of a jealous lover’s revenge
There was no
suicide note or letter to send.
Roy Stone is
dead. We only saw him the other day
He looked all
right to us; we didn’t know what to say
He was still
gifted, an eccentric personality
We all just
laughed the way it used to be
But the faces
that he recognised belonged to the past
And although
the love was there, we knew it wouldn’t last.
Roy Stone’s
alive! He’s not really dead!
You see,
aliens came along and took away his brain
Replaced it
with blancmange, a tube and drip and drain.
He’s still in
his body; sometimes you see him there
But most
times he’s out to play and wanders round elsewhere.
Roy Stone is
not alive. Roy Stone is dead
And these
were the last words that he ever said; -
“Just
remember the good times, remember them please….”
Roy is now
dead, Roy’s got Alzheimer’s disease.
As
Ian McClaskell tells
A bold cold
front is moving in
In this
winter hinterland.
Alone
in a high pressure zone
A cold snap
as blue on the map
Colder
with the wind chill factor
Rumble and
flash of the gritter tractor.
Highs
and lows from the TV glow
In the living
room gloom boom
Huddled
by log fire, flicker times
Warmed
muddled minds with mulled wine.
“Mind
how you go Flo”
Slowly,
slowly, deeply dippy, slippery, slippy.
Nothing
more to get you down
Like scraping
an iced car down
Minus ten
tonight
Dark skies,
stars stand bright
Such a
beautiful sight with the coldest night
Of the year.
Icicled,
skilled, silked webs hang in trees
Top
up the motor with anti-freeze
Winter scenes
of childhood dreams
Blue skies
and sun
Careful as
you go sunny son
It’s all so
beautiful,
But the
football might be off
But the
racing might be off
The cost of
frost.
Turn up the
fire. Shiver.
Under the
duvet. Shiver.
Soon warm up.
Under the
covers. Cold comfort.
Under the
sheets, not on the streets.
Cold comfort
for the homeless and hopeless,
It’s just
cold comfort.
Let’s just
say that the world is flat
Or that
gravity doesn’t exist
That there is
no war
And
everything will be just fine.
That we can
cheat and deceive
Indulging
ourselves in subterfuge
That others
are ignorant and all are stupid
Who can’t see
the wood for the trees.
To be normal
than before
Act
nonchalant in deceit
Create the
falsehoods that they all fall for
And humour
them in insincerity
And believe
that we are immune.
But we just
kid ourselves
That the
world is oblivious
And even when
they confront and cry
Still we deny
We still
think we can get away with it
But no one
ever does.
Dublin on a
Wednesday night
After the
missiles and the fight
It’s “Bastards
this…” and “Bastards that…”
The pariahs
of the world we’re told
And it’s
obvious to unearth
That we are
the scum of the earth.
“The English
thug is back!” is the call
The knee-jerk
reaction is to ban them all
More
consternation with the shame of the nation
Because every
skinhead is a nazi.
With the
panic of the mind-control police
The filth and
the fury is unleashed
Fascist
salutes were seen
So they
belong to Combat 18
Because every
skinhead’s a nazi.
Press double
standards hypocrisy complains
After years
of hate towards to Sinn Fein
Right wing
MPs have a field day
And then
wonder why they sing
“No surrender
to the IRA”
The
xenophobic Sun says “Up yours Delores” and “The Time Is Now”
And find a
crowd guilty with an out of date headline
Because every
skinhead is a nazi.
Ok ban all
football but ban animal rights too
Because the
veal crate’s at Dachau and boxed inside’s a Jew
You see
animal rights activists
Are just
undercover anarchists
The
one-dimensional stereotype view
Trouble
follows trouble again on the news
Just remember
every story has two sides
But with only
one option, how can you decide?
The time has
come to reclaim the flag
And get rid
of the racist tag
England where
patriotism is seen as extremism
And where
every skinhead is a nazi.
The curry was
too spicy, post jalfrezi telly
It sits
heavily, acidity aggravates the ulcer
Take the
aspirin in the bloodstream
Bless with
gravel and whiskey
An unsettled
stomach too rich as they die
In poverty,
in colour, in the corner
Have I done everything
I possibly could?
Have I
forgotten to do anything?
Have I been
pulling my weight? At home? At work?
Locked the
door in security
The line went
dead when he answered
Was it
burglars?
Was it
someone not wanting to speak to him?
His lover’s
lover?
Paranoia,
brain cuts sweat un-nerved
And swearing
on the TV and the nudity
Trigger
thoughts too scary
Too scared to
step outside
To get a
beating or gain a whipping
Conscience
with the pains of pleasure
Bring out the
deepest fears
To enjoy the
unenjoyable
To be the
priest withholding desires
An unnatural
restraint of the unnatural
These
feelings corrupt the psyche.
You taste of
Jim
Feeling
uncomfortable?
In the blue
black darkness
I hold you in
my arms
And watch the
dwan break.
I revisit my
nightmares
When I used
to lie awake
In the
deepest and deadest night
Scared that I
would never again see
The light of
day
Unimaginable
monsters from a child’s imagination
But sleep did
come
And so did
the day.
Now in this
peace the colour comes
And forms in
life
Crystal
clear, image precise
In focus over
the garden, the fence
To a new
horizon
As I gaze
down from the top of the world
Gaze at you
sleeping at my breast
Safe and
sound in love with love
And I thank
you.