SELECTION OF SOME OF MY POETRY:

SURREAL POETRY


Terror on the imagination

 

It was there to be seen

The unseen

Whose delectable nothingness

Pierced the night like a silent scream of a long-forgotten banshee

Who had forgotten – if memory there ever was

That no-one was about to die –

Though it may have felt like it

 

So why was it there? Just for the ride

Which it couldn’t take in any case

The wheel had not yet been invented

Chaos was the order of the day

An oxymoron if ever there was

And had there ever been anything

To surplant the undesired desire

 

It was near impossible to describe

For how can nothing be described?

For if there can be nothing

Where has the something gone?

And how can it be told what has replaced it –

Not an admission of failure or success

 

And so it went –on and off – for time uncountable

A day spent in a years thought of eternity

The nothing that would happen happened

So nobody noticed, save for the unsilent watcher

Whose perception of the inevitable was clouded by injustice

For without the respect of the exalted

The inner one can never get out

 


SPIDER SPAGHETTI

 The underneath was different to the adventurous and youthful

Great – though horrid too!

The xenial potential of Quentin was realised

In an ecclesiastical sort of way –

When he sent for the lithograph

From Birmingham –

And offered it to the ranting narcissus

That had been openly intimidating several spiders,

Which was wrong – for they were strong

And formed the kingpin of a certain civilisation!

And could have gone mental –

In a wonderful sort of way – and covered the county

In used jodhpurs, stolen from the very corners of the world-wide web

Which they had spun only last week!

Looked upon by a rather sarcastic fern

Which was orange (with purple spots – which gave it its verbosity!)

They raided the Zoo to release the Tarantula,

(Who was very angry at having been imprisoned)

And consequent to his release, he stole the golden orb

From Denbigh!

 


 

 ZEUS?

 

Zeus,

Now there was a guy

Or wasn’t

 

He would buy

Gold

From the strange beggar

 

Or would lounge

Thoughtlessly

In the sty

 

The pigs had gone

Long since

He asked why

 

No-one had told him

Days had gone by

In emptiness

 


Glowing and Throwing

Not everyone finds Kuala Lumpur enthralling

For one thing, there is no amphitheatre for the Impala -

Narcissus destroyed it by a thought        

From Villeneuve

And a xenial metaphor

 

Made from the gargantuan bulk of a deciduous carrot

(Which rhymes with parrot)

Accompanied by a quickening rebuke from a strange tetrahedron

Rejected by Pythagoras -

The bath water had grown too cold

 

Yorrick, with his rainbow bedecked umbrella,

Has eloped with a zany lizard from the depths of wistfulness

In a jet borrowed from a rainy day

In the middle of spring

At the edge of might

 

Where the Ibis could no longer fly

Binary restrictions had been set in place

So they gave the Ibis a lift

Which annoyed the showers that be

Who muttered to their death

 

About the total injustice of it all!!!

 


BROAD THOUGHTS FROM A HOME 

Caricature of memory long since buried

Beneath the trappings of time

And circumstance

Who have made good partners

 

Appearances have not led to deceive

Deception too has been driven down

To belief in the unbelievable

At the end of their truth there was always lies

 

Was it by design or default?

Who chose their path? They had not

The inclination to choose their own

Not enough free conscience for choice.

 

Or was conscience overcome by the nadir of their greed?

Did the compelling first class lounge screens

Really stay blank; obliterating screams of pain

And merely spew forth cries of delight

 

As the walking zeds took the night

Leaving no light or day

To share; there were no partners in this game

Of life; only the nano second to be adored

 

But what is adoration?  Caprice with no eyes

But for gratification of persona

Which has no substance in reality

But their reality in insubstantial

 

Answers have never been discovered

Nobody has found the question


 

Where is He?

 

As silence stares, the only token

For future yet unspoken

The frame exists, but has no glass

So through it every doubt can pass

Are dreams of time to come

Lies-

Hid deep within uncertainties?

 

So build a wall that can’t be breached

So the pinnacle is never reached

And spending all the light of light

Silent

Figures in the night

Stark, dark

Do not care-they just take all

Rejoicing as the shadows fall

 

Take arms! Take fight! And shut them out!

Should they just whisper, you must shout!

And shout! And shout! With all your might!

You have the day! Reclaim the night!

 

But ask – should puerile denseness take –

Where’s the Lord-for Heaven’s sake???


JASONY AND THE BREADCRUMB THING

The fortune seekers hover, interfering with the peace

That is so much required in a happening we can’t police

Jason and the Argonauts abandoned the Golden Fleece

For a pocketful of breadcrumbs – they thought it was a feast

 

And as you wander aimlessly, for ever and a day

Don’t ask the priests for bread and jam, ‘cos none will come your way

They’d rather feed the ravens, which are circling above

They do not claim relations - they have no brotherly love

 

But does it really matter if they never reach their goal

As long as the Mad Hatter interferes not with their soul

And speak of souls collectively as though it were the sum

Of all the parts united,  should the Messiah never come

 

Young Alice – still in Wonderland has poisoned all the tea

And offered it to the seven dwarves, with apples thrown in free

And Jason ‘s on the Argo,  incandescent, feeling slighted

He’s fond of toffee apples, but he hasn’t been invited

 

So what should happen hasn’t – the quest was given up

All for the sum of nine pence and an aeroplane in a cup

So all the patient labels and the songs that came to nought

Can rediscover happiness – they know it can’t be bought

 

So all the elves can now depart – but what do they call home?

Insubstantial such as they are free to think and roam

The light takes over from the dark – you do not need a candle

But if the cold replaces warmth – will it be too hot to handle?

 


 

SOME VIRTUAL CRAP!

 

As the heart watches what the head cannot see

Stay lucky they said

But what is luck if not worth a fuck

They don’t care they just stand and stare

Who are they to disapprove

What they could move

If only they had the will, still

They stand off the land

And leave the rest at sea

Where they be

Offset by the mischance

Of the sideways glance

Where the land of their birth

Has no mirth

No one laughs anymore

They have shut the door

On compassion, it’s not the fashion

To float and pretend not to gloat

Dukes steal while they have not yet invented the wheel

People try not to rhyme

But it comes,  in time!


SHREDDED ATLANTIC MANOEUVRES 

The furthest star where the glow nymphs are is the order of the day

Whilst orders come in from the sneering bum to forbid the priests to play

In a deep mad plane is where the sane begin to question doubt

And a weird band of philanthropists hand fifty pound notes out

To the beggars that are from afar and have flown in in their ships

To hear unspoken words sound broken from disunited lips.

 

All the teacups in Albania and the saucers from Lahore

Are arguing with lepers who have made the running sore

Nobody will release them from their undulating Hell

Just because the storyteller has now refused to tell

Them why the zoo is closing and the Air Force drops green bombs

Upon the livid mountain trying to reduce it all to crumbs

 

But the bread is baked too quickly and the clocks are running fast

While the princes in the tower cry” Don’t heed it, it won’t last!”

But little do they know of all the snow that’s yet to come

To cover every rich man and to cover every bum

But what should be a new cloud then turns out to be a moon

And all because the winter went too fast and came too soon

 

Where will they find a reason? Not beneath a Christmas Tree

Nor with that scoundrel Horner with his past- the- sell- date pie

For he’s scorning blessed devils and still mocking all the days

With their many different faces and their isolated names

Like ivory and juniper and flowers with no petal

Which refuses to believe the elephant could be cast in metal

 

But the sinners and the winners come from nowhere to compete

With undivided atlases with hands but with no feet

To the detriment of order chaos reigned and won the day

Leaving those across the border to confine themselves to play

And the one who saw through the still-closed door all that the world could steal

Left behind his head and swam instead to a place where he could feel


L’inconnu

Deep in the Earth, deep in the soil

Oblivion now life’s new toil;

Kick of ball, then kick of gun –

Before life’s quarter-first was done

Song of wrath then song of calling,

Heaven’s bells toll for the fallen;

The hands that push-the hearts that bled-

Men turned to hate, green turned to red;

The hands that push, the hearts that reach

The words that learn, the books that teach;

A mother’s grief-a stranger’s sigh –

Who will know whereat you lie?

And-‘ere this final act of War

Did you find out the final score?


Reaching for the Orb

 

The Arbiter of Denbigh has reached for the Golden Orb

The madness of investiture he's hoping to absorb

And in the field the egg is laid - the vulture has no nest

Because it has been stolen by the blind ventriloquist

 

In Washington, the jereboam King says he’s not Lear-

It’s Tyne and Wear, not U.S.A. – we need it over here!

Whilst the Lilliputian barber will not make a wig; instead

He talks of stuff to Yorrick – who says he’s not lost his head.

 

Together they will rid the World of quintessential tar

Which they’ll give to Nebuchadnezar hiding underneath his car

With the xenial robust statue who can’t move – but he can speak

And though he won the opening game he’ll lose on Tuesday week!

 

Torches light the way along the avenue of tramps

Who lick the boots of gondoliers then lick three - halfpenny stamps

Too late do they discover that the torches have gone out

And make a din that wakes the sleepers on the roundabout.

 

And, trying to escape from it, one hundred will be killed

By blatant anonymity  that leaves their blood unspilled –

But this does not prevent expanding hues of black and red

Though still untouched they join the ranks that contain the waking dead.

 

So silent on their shelves lie all the jars of pending gloom

Because they ‘re unaware they're slipping through the edge of doom,

Unheeded by the reckless and the feckless with no name

Who suddenly forget their flowers and  then from whence they came.

 

And of the death of dragons will the monolith take heed

Though fixed in space and time, all that he cares about is speed

And dressed in blue, Death will go through; the World has lost its black-

All stolen by a Cyclops who has been to hell and back.

 

And don’t upset the starter or he’ll never let you end

And though you are as his enemy he’ll tell you he’s your friend

And let you loose to kill the Lord, his dog, his son, his daughter

And make you turn the blood of men and turn it into water.

 

And should you see a China man with a tray of old glass eyes

Please do not take one from him – he’ll think he’s won a prize,

And when at last the dye is cast all people will roam free

‘Cos they don’t know they're caught, my friend, just like you and me!


A BIG QUESTION?

Can you ever be so clever
As to think in terms of nought
Is your mind then
Not so kind when
You sell back all that you have bought?

Could the season
See no reason
To extract the core desire
Will the timeless 
End up rhymeless
And no world get set on fire?

Could the useless
Be so fruitless
Even though they have the key
And the friendless
End up endless
Lost without a boat at sea?

Will the farmers
Try to harm us
When they find they have none left
Will the draymen
Become laymen
Leaving half the world bereft?

Do the fishes
Have their wishes
And remain within the sea
Or do matchmen
Go and catch them
And deliver for our tea?

Does the tall foot
Kick the ball foot
Which is the wrong way about
Or will William
Come and kill them
And bring back the total doubt?

And if nought else
Will the church bells
Ring out clear and ring out loud
And the Baptists
And the captives
Prepare the final shroud?


IT

It stood in purple splendour
Like a robe of ancient Greece
Awaiting for the vendor
For to sell the Golden Fleece

But no-one came to buy it
They were feared the price too high
So none could ever try it
And it floated to the sky

Where a million vestal virgins
Took it safe within their wing
While the lowly one was urging
All the demons loud to sing

But the power of concentration
Had escaped their simple mind
And hyper-ventilation
Was the fate of all their kind.

So it floated, lost forever
In the firmament between
Till someone thought it clever
To portray on silver screen.

But none could understand it
And the message didn't gel
In the end t'was forced to hand it
To the messengers of Hell!



SOLUTION

you promise nought
but offer everything, compromising all,
heavenly choirs cannot compete
with your spellbinding.
you are broken,
imperfect,
incomplete.

yet your despite demands all,
even failure is your success,
you cannot be held in any earthly place,
nor will the heavens contain your avarice,
your evil essence has no soul,
yet every soul in the Universe
assists your purpose,
and you devour the firmament from whence you came.


TO  COME:

Laid to rest, in earth that is your birthright
Longing for another place
But the might
That denies your race
For greed
Cannot cede

Beneath the air that every man  breathes
Friend or foe
You cannot leave
No where to go
Your fate
Is no state

The river still flows forever
And fate shall bring
Us together
Else weapons sing
Along the shore For evermore

The flame that came from within
Will still burn
So was your birth a sin?
Will they ever learn?
To live
And to give?


Balcony

the navy searched for the detestable Jay,
who’d stolen the world’s last piece of litmus paper,
his owner, the Kurd,
was questioned at length as to his whereabouts.
“He loves the marshes” was all they could get out of him.

so they drowned the Kurd in a bucket of tar,
diluted with vapid soda - water,
taken at midnight from the cellar of a run-down Inn,
and, taking his patchwork quilt as insurance,
set off for the forbidden zone.

but, Jayward, they encountered disciples,
canvassing the advent of the beam.
“Disgraceful!” they shouted in unison,
and threw handfuls of guineas at the bearded ones,
injuring some.

A xenial hot chestnut man,
with a double chin and a polo neck,
interrupted,
and said he’d seen the Jay only yesterday at Chernobyl,
reading the Sunday Times.

and so, fearing the Jay’s possible intellectual capacity,
and,  abandoning the litmus paper to an uncertain fate,
they said a rather hypocritical prayer for the Kurd,
and queued up for fruit.


Brick in the wall

“No more!!!” said the brick in the wall,
“finish!"
cheap white paint, bought – or even lifted –
in yet another day – one that pit ponies never knew –
stolen from ten unasked-for years,
is given form to become the goldfish without a bowl.

Liquid white leaks through life’s black clouds
And becomes cement that binds forever to a wall
That will crumble in a spider’s breath!!!!


JOHN

a scarlet haze, a shrouded hill,
home of Kings for evermore,
time unspent, time stood still,
a grey hand opened death's black door.

the dreamers and the sleepless stare,
dirges fill the empty earth,
show faces to the faceless air,
where death is just a new rebirth.

of songs unsung, a yellow dawn
sees spirits walk, unseen by men,
echo loud in shadow's morn
to live, and die, and live again


JEOPARDY

There are lives in Jeopardy
Cried the Bishop
A celestial being will dangerously manifest
when the Villain cometh.

How  then do we lubricate the cogs of time?
(Malachite is not easy to find any more).

Shall we anoint Him with water
(Forget the oil!)
and pray for a quick ascension?

Go back to the kitchen, in your helicopter
and liberate the pans from the shadows
Do not deny the undercurrent of
an enormous donation given  for ceasing to chew gum.

Ignore naive orders given inadvisably
for they quip not with passion,
preferring the zygal approach
and screaming from the xebec
as though in control of the world's largest yacht.

Feel free to ruffle - the world will be a better place
for ruffling.


Black Fishnet Tights

did he ever wear them?
even metaphorically.

it was always talked about-
whispers  in the shadows and
 oration in speakers corner

but no-one really knew.

red lipstick was needed to complete,
with matching heels

borrowed from eternity -
what goes around comes around -
eventually  or sooner

still no-one knew

and hundreds who'd denied
accepted in the end
along with the one

sadly missed!


BLUE CHINA TEACUP

You can buy a blue china tea  - cup, too, to drink a ruby wine
While the paper’s peeling from on the ceiling and the dog’s singing out of time
Then you’ll need to pick  a ticket, quick,  to the where no-one can tell
‘Cos Andy needs to barter his beads to get on the road to hell
The clowns don’t  smile, they’ve run  their mile, and have sailed on up the creek
With a German fellow in canoes of yellow  they made on Tuesday week

And the firemen burn  and the fairies learn new languages and read
Of the disenchanted debutante hooked on Harvey Nicks and speed
The eagles beak is  torn and weak  by the arrow shot from the  gun
So he finds in Devon some ivory heaven to set his sons upon
While the restful wake in need of a steak  and the restless seek relief
From the ones who come to take in the Sun  in  religious disbelief

And past the tall stone on  the wall, the sea is left behind
A statement of indifference, leant, where once the men were kind
Giraffes drink gin and the lions rush in to take over at the zoo
‘Cos the ones who sought to destroy the fort have taken poison too
Politicians hide with the truth denied and play hide and seek with our souls
So the stoic fighters and heroic writers are left to fill the holes

Spades and buckets are there but the beach is bare and the children all have gone
To Russian roulette and the goal that’s been set to build their lives upon
But the tiger rugs and the Amazon bugs can never hope to fill
What fate had set after time so yet they take another pill
Do the Presidents and the residents not look up from their feast
And find not proud what was said out loud by the operatic priest?

When finally we find the decree is it nought or absolute?
And on the long journey to eternity will the mercenaries shoot?
From the earth so low, where shall we next go for the searching of our time
And will the boat ever get to float on the sea of unbidden rhyme?
And as the big red nose comes to a close should we not be aiming higher?
The men don’t send to unchosen end, we don’t want their world on fire


BLUE SO BLUE

Blue so blue it can’t be true
Is this pretence a defence
Avoiding contact with the actual fact
For a moment whole never baring your soul
So individuality is your reality

You intrude and the truth is spewed
The lie covers the dark light in your eye
Open the door!  Go out!  Admit it! Let it out!
Confide! Don’t hide! Let your heart speak what your soul’s denied!

Shall we ever find what is in your mind?
If we give a token, will you let it open?
The world needs to see what you truly be
Since you can’t be bought, freely give your thought
Don’t believe you haven’t any, your thoughts are worth  much more than a penny!


CHOICE IN AN OPAQUE WORLD.

Corroboration!
or imagination?
Is that clouds I see rolling by
in your eye
where before was a clear sky?

Telepathy
or empathy?
is it a desert I now find
in a once  foliant mind?

At rest
or tempest?
as through eons you strive.
Can you remember when you were alive?

Cemented.
Relented.
Opaque might seem apparent
but the truth is more transparent.

Defending
by pretending!
Imagination to get by,
do you really believe your own lie?

Ago
you know,
 


GEORGE v THE NORWICH WITCH.

George gleefully held aloft the lace handkerchief
(cut from Aunty Mabels best lace tablecloth)
and unwrapped the piece of magic coal.

Zenda, a gnarled old witch from Norwich,
Whose broomstick
Had tied to it an opulent pair of red underpants
Filled with pebbles as ballast,
Limped angrily, muttering, on her zimmer frame.

After tying her broomstick to a xenial dark khaki Impala
(who was surprised)

She screamed
“My coal!” ”My coal!”
To the Impala
Who was manacled to the gate of a pea factory

“A thousand curses on him!”
“Death to the evil George!”
The Impala, whose name was Derek,  never being one to play
The Devils Advocate, agreed.
So, after due consideration, Zenda
Juxtaposed a piece of frayed blue litmus paper

To a pond full of frogs,
Chanted some magic words for a while
And Lo! A pond full of Georges
And a lovely frog, called Vertigo,
Who
Knowing not the raison d’etre of magic coal
Ate it and ended up in casualty
With severe indigestion
And Charlie.


A TITLE LESS POEM

The thunder acclaims what the daylight shames hidden underneath the hill
And the Manager  shouts to the books get out, you're not welcome here still
And the orange peel makes the horses feel like the earth is really flat
While in a swirl the tiny girl wears a superficial hat

The slow progression of the long procession makes you feel like time has ceased
For the one within who can't hear the din made by the purple beast
But they soon grow cold with the manifold standing right upon the edge
They can't push it over, the Spartan clover has been hired in to dredge

They have plumbed the deep and are trying to keep the Chancellor at bay
He will take the prize, though its any size, and he'll take it from your pay,
And when at last, the dye is cast, the purse isn't any fuller
And his wicked eyes, to your great surprise, have changed to another colour.

In the silver hall will the fortunes fall, and yet join another heap
Of broken men who will shout and then climb a hill that's far too steep?
Does he ever think to pull from the brink, will he always be condemning
Those who try so hard to lift the guard and prevent another Lemming?

Innocuous concrete Llamas meet and forward to the brink
But pull right out before old men shout they've not had enough to drink
And wander off to see caps doffed by thoughtless peasantry
And, having had enough, begin to get tough, there's no more pleasantry.

Green vehicles and badger culls are on the unspoken lips
Of everyone who likes the sun and laughs at all the rips,
"Too much" they cry but won't deny the power of the chosen one
Who creeps to find he's been left behind, so for spite takes in the sun.

With nowhere to go the reapers sow the seeds of their despair
And the quiet mouse has to leave his house for a castle in the air
The dreams of clouds are spoken loud but the silent do not here
They're huddled in the old waste bin and shivering with fear.

When will they learn the world don't turn, not since the great explosion
And the minds of men that remember then suffocated with corrosion
They have shaved their beards, now they all look weird, and the saucepan's run away
To get ready for some more days of yore and yet one more judgment day.

THE PAPER CLIP OF TIME

They're trudging ever backwards through the paper clip of time
While the thirsty Nomads are singing  songs  that they forgot to rhyme
And the planets are descending to the level of the Beast
All because the mad patricians forgot to invite them to the feast
Jackals are prowling outside the Zoo, they've opened up the cage
And caused the howling waiters to throw up their arms in rage

The Mona Lisa's just been stolen by a phantom who was dressed
In some ordinary clothing, just like any other guest;
Five hundred Chinese bakers have sung their wares out loud
They're selling pastry cases filled with happiness and cloud
And if you buy just one of them, you get another  for free
But should you pass my way, my friend, don't offer one to me.

And the plumbers  can't be found  -  they're living in the Deep
They're hiding all the worn out keys the gaoler forgot to keep.
Llewellyn's horse, he gallops, to the rock above the lake
To set free all the prisoners, then he tells them he's made a mistake
So they run to the Casino, where they fill their eyes with gin
And think about the faceless one who  told them drinking was a sin

And all the faceless posters and the nameless magazines
Queue up to see the Matador who's throwing all his scenes
The President considered him the best that a man could choose
But if he's so magnificent, how come he'll always lose?
Galileo - he's wondering how the world has got so small
And he wants to get some dynamite, he's thinking of blowing it all

The train is leaving early, 'cos the hour has come too soon
And the minutes are too late to catch the rocket to the Moon
All the passengers have taken up with a rather peculiar man
Dressed in fifty dollar notes, which he does because he can
And if  I see you in the line again, just hiding at the back
Please kill the  old Commanche who is wearing a plastic mac

The brick walls are all crumbling 'cos the cement was made of tears
And all the uncollected thoughts that lay waste for many years
The dwarves  stole all the sunflowers to decorate their halls of gold
But the Ice Queen has rejected them, "Get them out of here. They're too old!"
Don't let them see you're angry! 'Cos they'll  scream  till they turn red!
And come into your life tonight and throw you out of bed

And when the dawn is mended and the night has broken out loud
Don't look at the girl with the golden hair, she's dressed in a silver shroud
She'll turn you into water, then laugh at you till she cries
Then elope with the crippled carpenter who won the second prize
And once the power is turned off from within the golden dome
We can all eat out last supper and then head off for our home

Next page: Poems from my past


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