Other People
Lately
I've been surprised
Not just once
Or even twice
But many times
In different ways
By other people
A quick hello
A nervous laugh
Or just a smile
To break the ice
So many ways
Of being nice
By other people
No hidden wish
No point to prove
Or silly games
Which have no rules
Just simple words
Which mean a lot
By other people
Lately
I've been surprised
Not just once
Or even twice
At different times
In many ways
By other people.
Lately
I've been surprised
Not just once
Or even twice
But many times
In different ways
By other people
A quick hello
A nervous laugh
Or just a smile
To break the ice
So many ways
Of being nice
By other people
No hidden wish
No point to prove
Or silly games
Which have no rules
Just simple words
Which mean a lot
By other people
Lately
I've been surprised
Not just once
Or even twice
At different times
In many ways
By other people.
8 May 2020
These are two poems written since lockdown began on 14 March.
The Collared Doves Affair
The Collared Dove brothers were flying quite near
To pass on the word when the garden was clear
The first in the flight by a minute or three
Was Bertie the bandit from Alcalali
The chatter, as usual, was focused and tight
A normal occurrence when both were in flight
The second Dove brother who fancied a go
Was Percy the pecker a star of the show
´The garden looks clear,`whispered Bertie in flight,
´We´d better go down or we´re up here all night.`
Percy was watching, a trait he held dear,
´I think I agree or we´re up here all year.`
The brothers decided to go for the kill
The feast on the ground was, as usual, a thrill
A bowl full of nuts and a sprinkling of seed
Was ready and waiting for both to proceed
The plan was agreed and relayed up the line
A message came back, the arrangements were fine
Both Bertie and Percy were ready to go
When Shorty the Sparrow invaded the show
The brothers remembered the stories they´d heard
About Shorty the Sparrow, a tasty old bird
They looked at each other, no longer so sure
So both buggered off to the garden next door.
These are two poems written since lockdown began on 14 March.
The Collared Doves Affair
The Collared Dove brothers were flying quite near
To pass on the word when the garden was clear
The first in the flight by a minute or three
Was Bertie the bandit from Alcalali
The chatter, as usual, was focused and tight
A normal occurrence when both were in flight
The second Dove brother who fancied a go
Was Percy the pecker a star of the show
´The garden looks clear,`whispered Bertie in flight,
´We´d better go down or we´re up here all night.`
Percy was watching, a trait he held dear,
´I think I agree or we´re up here all year.`
The brothers decided to go for the kill
The feast on the ground was, as usual, a thrill
A bowl full of nuts and a sprinkling of seed
Was ready and waiting for both to proceed
The plan was agreed and relayed up the line
A message came back, the arrangements were fine
Both Bertie and Percy were ready to go
When Shorty the Sparrow invaded the show
The brothers remembered the stories they´d heard
About Shorty the Sparrow, a tasty old bird
They looked at each other, no longer so sure
So both buggered off to the garden next door.
Somewhere
In these crazy times
Full of anguish and pain
Uncertainty rules
Like a dark, spreading stain
Confusion works hard
To confuse even more
We´re in isolation
No knocks on the door
Our masters assure us
They´re steering the ship
The compass is broken
No hope on this trip
So many contenders
Are trying to say
They have all the answers
They´re pointing the way
If †hey bothered to listen
To reasons not blame
To natures quiet warning
Not fortune or fame
For lives being lost
There is nothing but tears
We hope for the best
In this twentieth year
We need to find answers
Restart and repair
Not sure where to find them
Just somewhere, somewhere.
These are two images of a memorial, at Westy Hall Care Home in Latchford, Warrington, to the residents, who included Margaret´s Mum Helen, who passed away from the Covid-19 virus. God bless them.
25 April 2020
Splendid Isolation
There is danger in the air
It makes no sound
Not that the devils may care
It´s all around
We´re in a time
When nothing seems fair
In our
Splendid isolation
There is no one to blame
Not even him
With his fake news game
And stupid grin
We´re in a time
When the rules are lame
In our
Splendid isolation
There is no new news news
It´s all the same
Just weary views views views
And so much pain
We´re in a time
When there´s nothing to choose
In our
Splendid isolation.
Written on 7 April 2020.
.......................................
This is the incredible Slices Of Time exhibit at the NOW gallery.
This is a view of the nearly empty Ryanair flight which carried us back home to Spain on 15 March.
I wrote this piece after staring in wonder at the magnificent show the moon put on for us.
The Orange Moon
The orange moon
Chased us on the cobbles
Then it vanished
Just dropped out of sight
Turns out
It was just another night
Up in the stars
The orange moon
Followed as we drove
Then it vanished
Faded in the trees
Turns out
It was blowing in the breeze
Up in the stars
The orange moon
Turned its back on us
Then it vanished
Or that was how it seemed
Turns out
It was sorting through our dreams
Up in the stars.
Written on 11 January 2020.
...................................................................................................................................................................................
Ken Yendell and me trying to look as though we know what we are doing. I packed him off to a penal colony many miles away...
1 January 2020
This is a poem I wrote in September.
Later Today
The air is full
Expectant, heavy
Blowing the September leaves
Damp and earthy
Grabbing at the breaks in clouds
All is well for seeing friends
Later today
The rain is warm
Splishing, splashing
Falling when we knew it would
Plants and bushs
Standing rigid, not believing what they feel
Just for them
We´ll walk the garden
Later today
The time is right
For being here
Second guessing is the game
Smiling, laughing
As we are
Searching for tomorrows clues
As the night arrives
Later today.
This is a poem I wrote in September.
Later Today
The air is full
Expectant, heavy
Blowing the September leaves
Damp and earthy
Grabbing at the breaks in clouds
All is well for seeing friends
Later today
The rain is warm
Splishing, splashing
Falling when we knew it would
Plants and bushs
Standing rigid, not believing what they feel
Just for them
We´ll walk the garden
Later today
The time is right
For being here
Second guessing is the game
Smiling, laughing
As we are
Searching for tomorrows clues
As the night arrives
Later today.
30 June 2019
This is a piece I wrote in 2015 when I was being particularly snitty.
I Love You
When my mouth runs away
And there's nowhere to go
The words tumble out
But I can't stop the flow
It's me who's the fool
I just want you to know that
I love you
When my head blows a fuse
And the wiring is wrong
My thoughts should be earthed
But the live is too strong
It's me who's the fool
I just want you to know that
I love you
When I snap and I crack
And we wait for the pop
I know that I'm daft
But I can't always stop
It's me who's the fool
I just want you to know that
I love you
When you turn down the heat
And the moment is gone
I'm searching for words
But it's time to move on
It's me who's the fool
I just want you to know that
I love you.
........................................................................................................
This is a piece I wrote in 2015 when I was being particularly snitty.
I Love You
When my mouth runs away
And there's nowhere to go
The words tumble out
But I can't stop the flow
It's me who's the fool
I just want you to know that
I love you
When my head blows a fuse
And the wiring is wrong
My thoughts should be earthed
But the live is too strong
It's me who's the fool
I just want you to know that
I love you
When I snap and I crack
And we wait for the pop
I know that I'm daft
But I can't always stop
It's me who's the fool
I just want you to know that
I love you
When you turn down the heat
And the moment is gone
I'm searching for words
But it's time to move on
It's me who's the fool
I just want you to know that
I love you.
........................................................................................................
5 March 2019
For your consideration, two poems to stretch your imagination.
The Colour Of The Sea
In those moments
Drifting, fading
Thoughts merge into dreams
As big as the sky
As deep as a question
The colour of the sea
In those seconds
When eyelids flutter
To some unlikely beat
The nights events
Swim into view
The colour of the sea
In those minutes
Diving deeper, deeper
In the story store
Sides as shiny
As a star
The colour of the sea
In those hours
Casts of thousands
Jostle in the story line
Tripping over
Different endings
The colour of the sea
In those moments
Shows are ending
Final notes are fading fast
Curtains draw
To blinking eyes
The colour of the sea.
.........................................................
The Red Pen
I´m living this life
For the life that I´ve led
Will the words come to life
Or get tangled in dread?
If the red pen forgives
I´ll be dreaming instead
So, there it is, ending
And here it begins
Another spin round of
Who loses
Who wins
I´m safe where I am
In my attic of sins
As the ladder
Is falling away...
.................................................
For your consideration, two poems to stretch your imagination.
The Colour Of The Sea
In those moments
Drifting, fading
Thoughts merge into dreams
As big as the sky
As deep as a question
The colour of the sea
In those seconds
When eyelids flutter
To some unlikely beat
The nights events
Swim into view
The colour of the sea
In those minutes
Diving deeper, deeper
In the story store
Sides as shiny
As a star
The colour of the sea
In those hours
Casts of thousands
Jostle in the story line
Tripping over
Different endings
The colour of the sea
In those moments
Shows are ending
Final notes are fading fast
Curtains draw
To blinking eyes
The colour of the sea.
.........................................................
The Red Pen
I´m living this life
For the life that I´ve led
Will the words come to life
Or get tangled in dread?
If the red pen forgives
I´ll be dreaming instead
So, there it is, ending
And here it begins
Another spin round of
Who loses
Who wins
I´m safe where I am
In my attic of sins
As the ladder
Is falling away...
.................................................
19 November 2018
I was looking for a poem which reflected the fact that we are moving into winter
and also conveys my love for Margaret. I wrote this about eight years ago.
This Winters Kiss
Will you hold the bliss
Of this winters kiss
And love me
All my days
Will you be my love
Be my stars above
And love me
All my days
In this land of groves
Which stretch forever
Waiting for the Spring
We sit before
This roaring fire
The weather closing in
I couldn’t wish
For more than this
If there was more than this
I hope and pray
Each and every day
For continued happiness
Will you hold the bliss
Of this winters kiss
And love me
All my days
Will you be my love
Be my stars above
And love me
All my days.
........................................................................................................
I was looking for a poem which reflected the fact that we are moving into winter
and also conveys my love for Margaret. I wrote this about eight years ago.
This Winters Kiss
Will you hold the bliss
Of this winters kiss
And love me
All my days
Will you be my love
Be my stars above
And love me
All my days
In this land of groves
Which stretch forever
Waiting for the Spring
We sit before
This roaring fire
The weather closing in
I couldn’t wish
For more than this
If there was more than this
I hope and pray
Each and every day
For continued happiness
Will you hold the bliss
Of this winters kiss
And love me
All my days
Will you be my love
Be my stars above
And love me
All my days.
........................................................................................................
19 May 2018
Some of you will have read this poem before. I´ve featured it again because of the increasing numbers of articles in the press containing graphic details about cruelty to animals.
You Won't See Me Cry
When I turned
The man I called Father was gone
I couldn't stop shaking
I was standing in water
Feeling so cold, so afraid
I was lost
I wanted to run
But the chain really hurt
So I waited and waited
You won't see me cry
I was trying to sleep
When a man stroked my head
I pulled back
But his hands didn't hurt me
He turned and was gone
But returned with a lady
Who smiled like the sun
As the chain seemed to vanish
I shivered and shook, but
You won't see me cry
When I turn
The man I call Father is there
He speaks and I listen
I yawn and he laughs
I dream about chains
Being wet and so cold
But the lady who smiles
Like the sun
Keeps me warm
You won't see me cry.
©
Ray Wilcox
2017
.............................................................................................................................
Some of you will have read this poem before. I´ve featured it again because of the increasing numbers of articles in the press containing graphic details about cruelty to animals.
You Won't See Me Cry
When I turned
The man I called Father was gone
I couldn't stop shaking
I was standing in water
Feeling so cold, so afraid
I was lost
I wanted to run
But the chain really hurt
So I waited and waited
You won't see me cry
I was trying to sleep
When a man stroked my head
I pulled back
But his hands didn't hurt me
He turned and was gone
But returned with a lady
Who smiled like the sun
As the chain seemed to vanish
I shivered and shook, but
You won't see me cry
When I turn
The man I call Father is there
He speaks and I listen
I yawn and he laughs
I dream about chains
Being wet and so cold
But the lady who smiles
Like the sun
Keeps me warm
You won't see me cry.
©
Ray Wilcox
2017
.............................................................................................................................
23 April 2018
I wrote this poem many years ago after someone had asked me if I had enjoyed my childhood.
Dreams
I dreamt I dreamt
About a dream
I had when I was one
There wasn't any content
So there wasn't any fun
With mother always present
I just couldn't get away
I think I'll leave it there for now
And try another day
I dreamt I dreamt
About a dream
I had when I was two
The cotton sheets were sticky
And the eiderdown was blue
I'd crawled into a cupboard
That was hidden by a chair
My mother never found me
So I guess that I'm still there
I dreamt I dreamt
About a dream
I had when I was three
I kept on falling over
It was funny being me
My mother never noticed
As I fell out of the door
My tears were hot and salty
But my head cried out for more
I dreamt I dreamt
About a dream
I had when I was four
The postman brought a letter
Which I tore and tore and tore
Dear mother found me playing
In the mess that I had made
I never tore another thing
Her hand was like a blade
I dreamt I dreamt
About a dream
I had when I was five
Staying at my granny's
Who was, sadly, still alive
I said I didn't like her
As I ran towards the door
The bread knife whistled past me
As it bounced and hit the door
I dreamt I dreamt
About a dream
I had when I was six
My mother always moaning
She was fed up with my tricks
I didn't give a monkeys
I was older than my time
I told her that I hated her
The pleasure was all mine
I dreamt I dreamt
About a dream
I had the other night
The content didn't matter
But I knew I'd got it right
The memory's where scattered
As I moved through time and place
Never lingering on sadness
With a smile upon my face.
..................................................................................................................
I wrote this poem many years ago after someone had asked me if I had enjoyed my childhood.
Dreams
I dreamt I dreamt
About a dream
I had when I was one
There wasn't any content
So there wasn't any fun
With mother always present
I just couldn't get away
I think I'll leave it there for now
And try another day
I dreamt I dreamt
About a dream
I had when I was two
The cotton sheets were sticky
And the eiderdown was blue
I'd crawled into a cupboard
That was hidden by a chair
My mother never found me
So I guess that I'm still there
I dreamt I dreamt
About a dream
I had when I was three
I kept on falling over
It was funny being me
My mother never noticed
As I fell out of the door
My tears were hot and salty
But my head cried out for more
I dreamt I dreamt
About a dream
I had when I was four
The postman brought a letter
Which I tore and tore and tore
Dear mother found me playing
In the mess that I had made
I never tore another thing
Her hand was like a blade
I dreamt I dreamt
About a dream
I had when I was five
Staying at my granny's
Who was, sadly, still alive
I said I didn't like her
As I ran towards the door
The bread knife whistled past me
As it bounced and hit the door
I dreamt I dreamt
About a dream
I had when I was six
My mother always moaning
She was fed up with my tricks
I didn't give a monkeys
I was older than my time
I told her that I hated her
The pleasure was all mine
I dreamt I dreamt
About a dream
I had the other night
The content didn't matter
But I knew I'd got it right
The memory's where scattered
As I moved through time and place
Never lingering on sadness
With a smile upon my face.
..................................................................................................................
23 April 2018
I wrote this poem a couple of weeks ago.
Church
No icy blasts
Or colored glass
In this church
No need to kneel
Or make a deal
In this church
We take our time
You know it´s true
Just hold on tight
We´re coming through
With everything
We need to do
I love you
No fancy clothes
Or empty rows
In this church
No need to sing
Or kiss a ring
In this church
We use our time
To pause and rest
No need to rush
We face the test
In everything
We need to do
I love you
No ringing bells
Or threats of hell
In this church
No need to pray
Or lose your way
In this church.
......................................................................................................................................................
I wrote this poem a couple of weeks ago.
Church
No icy blasts
Or colored glass
In this church
No need to kneel
Or make a deal
In this church
We take our time
You know it´s true
Just hold on tight
We´re coming through
With everything
We need to do
I love you
No fancy clothes
Or empty rows
In this church
No need to sing
Or kiss a ring
In this church
We use our time
To pause and rest
No need to rush
We face the test
In everything
We need to do
I love you
No ringing bells
Or threats of hell
In this church
No need to pray
Or lose your way
In this church.
......................................................................................................................................................
26 January 2016
This is a poem written a few years ago...
The Sliding Blues
Can you stand it?
Can you take the news?
Crop the bass lines
Pay your dues
Muddy Waters
Blue suede shoes
Playing the sliding blues
Hear me trying
Can you take the sound?
At the crossroads
Winding down
Little Richard
Burns my fuse
Playing the sliding blues
Got you moving
Knife on strings
Little red rooster
Pretty things
David Gilmour
Nothing to lose
Playing the sliding blues
Light my fire
We’re getting down
Slipping and sliding
Hitting the town
Big Bill Broonzy
Making the news
Playing the sliding blues
Black magic woman
Dangerous chords
Moving quite nicely
Mouthing the words
Marvin Gaye
The grapevine news
Playing the sliding blues
Retuned and cruising
Locked in tight
Two in our fan club
Just for one night
Sleepy John Estes
Sweeter than booze
Playing the sliding blues.
...........................................................................
This is a poem written a few years ago...
The Sliding Blues
Can you stand it?
Can you take the news?
Crop the bass lines
Pay your dues
Muddy Waters
Blue suede shoes
Playing the sliding blues
Hear me trying
Can you take the sound?
At the crossroads
Winding down
Little Richard
Burns my fuse
Playing the sliding blues
Got you moving
Knife on strings
Little red rooster
Pretty things
David Gilmour
Nothing to lose
Playing the sliding blues
Light my fire
We’re getting down
Slipping and sliding
Hitting the town
Big Bill Broonzy
Making the news
Playing the sliding blues
Black magic woman
Dangerous chords
Moving quite nicely
Mouthing the words
Marvin Gaye
The grapevine news
Playing the sliding blues
Retuned and cruising
Locked in tight
Two in our fan club
Just for one night
Sleepy John Estes
Sweeter than booze
Playing the sliding blues.
...........................................................................
8 January 2018
This is an excerpt from Unlock These Hands
‘OK, OK’ Crossland whispered, tears starting to run down his cheeks. ‘Don’t hurt me any more, please’ he moaned, as Colley stared at him.
‘Shut up you fucking useless wimp. Now, I want you to bend down, slowly, and pick up the paper. Slowly, or your nuts are creamed.’ Crossland
nodded and slowly started to bend down. Colley had to bend with him and started to laugh. Crossland stared at him, terrified.
They both stood upright, slowly, Colley quietly laughing, Crossland weeping. Colley released Crossland’s ear and snatched the paper. Crossland
gasped and shuddered.
‘You fucking dirty bastard, you’ve pissed yourself, but I won’t be letting go just yet.’ Colley whispered. ‘I’ve written you a poem and now I will share
it with you. Concentrate now, I’m only going to read it once.’ After clearing his throat he began.
“Try to imagine
What it’s like to be me
Killing my girls
As they try to break free.
Try to imagine
What it’s like to be you
Gasping for breath
With your lips turning blue.
Try to imagine
What it’s like to be dead
Down in the fires
Where I live in your head ....’
‘How was that, pretty good eh?’ Colley said as he gave Crossland’s crotch a last squeeze as he pushed him backwards. As Crossland landed on
his back he cried out. Colley turned, walked over to the bunk, climbed on and feigned sleep.
..................................................................................................................................................
This is an excerpt from Unlock These Hands
‘OK, OK’ Crossland whispered, tears starting to run down his cheeks. ‘Don’t hurt me any more, please’ he moaned, as Colley stared at him.
‘Shut up you fucking useless wimp. Now, I want you to bend down, slowly, and pick up the paper. Slowly, or your nuts are creamed.’ Crossland
nodded and slowly started to bend down. Colley had to bend with him and started to laugh. Crossland stared at him, terrified.
They both stood upright, slowly, Colley quietly laughing, Crossland weeping. Colley released Crossland’s ear and snatched the paper. Crossland
gasped and shuddered.
‘You fucking dirty bastard, you’ve pissed yourself, but I won’t be letting go just yet.’ Colley whispered. ‘I’ve written you a poem and now I will share
it with you. Concentrate now, I’m only going to read it once.’ After clearing his throat he began.
“Try to imagine
What it’s like to be me
Killing my girls
As they try to break free.
Try to imagine
What it’s like to be you
Gasping for breath
With your lips turning blue.
Try to imagine
What it’s like to be dead
Down in the fires
Where I live in your head ....’
‘How was that, pretty good eh?’ Colley said as he gave Crossland’s crotch a last squeeze as he pushed him backwards. As Crossland landed on
his back he cried out. Colley turned, walked over to the bunk, climbed on and feigned sleep.
..................................................................................................................................................
16 July 2017
I wrote this, in 2015, for a friend who is no longer with us.
Alcalali Blues
I called my good friend
I said I'm needing some fun
He said I'll give you directions
Turn your radio on
When you hear the guitars howling
You'll be ready to choose
He said the boss was busy buying
At the Alcalali Blues
I called my good friend
I said I'm needing a gun
He said I'll buy you all the bullets
But you must pay for the fun
I couldn't stop my head from banging
I had nothing to lose
He said he'd left me all the answers
At The Alcalali Blues
I called my good friend
I said I'm needing to run
He said I'll give you all the numbers
When you tell me you've won
I should have got my act together
But I had holes in my shoes
He said the door would now be closing
At the Alcalali Blues
I called my good friend
I said I'm needing some sleep
He said I'll give you the keys
But all the bills you can keep
When I asked him for decisions
All he gave me was shoes
He said my time had gone forever
At the Alcalali Blues.
............................................................................
I wrote this, in 2015, for a friend who is no longer with us.
Alcalali Blues
I called my good friend
I said I'm needing some fun
He said I'll give you directions
Turn your radio on
When you hear the guitars howling
You'll be ready to choose
He said the boss was busy buying
At the Alcalali Blues
I called my good friend
I said I'm needing a gun
He said I'll buy you all the bullets
But you must pay for the fun
I couldn't stop my head from banging
I had nothing to lose
He said he'd left me all the answers
At The Alcalali Blues
I called my good friend
I said I'm needing to run
He said I'll give you all the numbers
When you tell me you've won
I should have got my act together
But I had holes in my shoes
He said the door would now be closing
At the Alcalali Blues
I called my good friend
I said I'm needing some sleep
He said I'll give you the keys
But all the bills you can keep
When I asked him for decisions
All he gave me was shoes
He said my time had gone forever
At the Alcalali Blues.
............................................................................
14 June 2017
I wrote this piece a few days ago.
Hoof And Claw
Something moving in the shadows
Just an outline, not quite sure
Moving slowly, careful, watching
Dragging something through the door
Smell, distinctive, ripe, abrasive
From a nightmare way before
Panting, growling growing louder
Now I see it
Hoof and claw
Walking slowly to the counter
In the shop I´d seen before
Was that something, did I hear it?
In the distance, can´t be sure
´Can I help you?`, shook me rigid
In the doorway, on the floor
Reaching slowly for the handle
When I saw it
Hoof and claw
Bubbles dripping from the corners
Of a mouth, ferocious, sore
Overpowering sense of panic
Pulled me backwards through the door
Didn´t make it, lost my balance
Stumbled, falling to the floor
Tried to crawl but never made it
Felt the pressure
Hoof and claw.
...............................................................................
I wrote this piece a few days ago.
Hoof And Claw
Something moving in the shadows
Just an outline, not quite sure
Moving slowly, careful, watching
Dragging something through the door
Smell, distinctive, ripe, abrasive
From a nightmare way before
Panting, growling growing louder
Now I see it
Hoof and claw
Walking slowly to the counter
In the shop I´d seen before
Was that something, did I hear it?
In the distance, can´t be sure
´Can I help you?`, shook me rigid
In the doorway, on the floor
Reaching slowly for the handle
When I saw it
Hoof and claw
Bubbles dripping from the corners
Of a mouth, ferocious, sore
Overpowering sense of panic
Pulled me backwards through the door
Didn´t make it, lost my balance
Stumbled, falling to the floor
Tried to crawl but never made it
Felt the pressure
Hoof and claw.
...............................................................................
14 June 2017
I finished writing this piece yesterday
Friends
Fair-weather friends
We trust
With excuses
Friends
We trust
With our time
Good friends
We trust
With our feelings
Best friends
We trust
With our lives.
........................................................................
I finished writing this piece yesterday
Friends
Fair-weather friends
We trust
With excuses
Friends
We trust
With our time
Good friends
We trust
With our feelings
Best friends
We trust
With our lives.
........................................................................
I wrote this piece on 22 April 2017. I was thinking about the things we had seen and done during the past three years.
I Am
I wonder
So many times a day
The more I see
So much to cram
Into waking hours
I often wonder
What will be
I wonder
I hope
I understand
A little more each day
Open my mind
Open my heart
Absorb
And filter out the bad
I hope
I wish
I could use the brake
And slow down time
The everything
Which pulls us in
And makes us
Who we are
I wish
I believe
In love
In true friendship
The path
Of cool sunshine
Is littered with rain
But I keep on trying
I believe
I want
To be happy
And not disappointed
Bright in the day
Not hidden by smoke
Balanced and happy
With everything here that
I want
I am
Full of angles
Contradictions, emotions
A giver who kicks
At the fool
On the take
I´m happy with all that
I am.
...............................................................................
I Am
I wonder
So many times a day
The more I see
So much to cram
Into waking hours
I often wonder
What will be
I wonder
I hope
I understand
A little more each day
Open my mind
Open my heart
Absorb
And filter out the bad
I hope
I wish
I could use the brake
And slow down time
The everything
Which pulls us in
And makes us
Who we are
I wish
I believe
In love
In true friendship
The path
Of cool sunshine
Is littered with rain
But I keep on trying
I believe
I want
To be happy
And not disappointed
Bright in the day
Not hidden by smoke
Balanced and happy
With everything here that
I want
I am
Full of angles
Contradictions, emotions
A giver who kicks
At the fool
On the take
I´m happy with all that
I am.
...............................................................................
911
I´m sure a time will come
When I start to understand
What I have witnessed, today
Ghosts rushing by
Looking for themselves
Trying not to cry
When all they find
Are ghosts
We looked at the spaces
Paused at the names
And tried to imagine.......
...............................................................................
I´m sure a time will come
When I start to understand
What I have witnessed, today
Ghosts rushing by
Looking for themselves
Trying not to cry
When all they find
Are ghosts
We looked at the spaces
Paused at the names
And tried to imagine.......
...............................................................................
The Night People
I watched them
From a distant window
Watched them moving slowly
Never looking
Missing cars and bikes
By inches
On the move
The square
Shaped like a spiders back
Tense, with six legs
Tipped with darkness
Tarmac shining
Bringing business to
The night people
The beggar man is hungry
On a bed of card
He coughs and smokes
His dog is hoping
For a bite to eat
The pavement boys
All pomp and swagger
Painted eyes
Which never smile
Zero in
On those who wonder
How the night will end
The street girls
Leave this turf to others
Nothing worth a hippy shake
Rain is bouncing off
The cruising cars
The alley
Cars and spinning bottles
Fading into black
The business
Eager for the fun
Wander in
But never make it back
I watched them
As the dawn
Threw shadows
Hard at work
Doing nothing
Very well.
..........................................................................
I watched them
From a distant window
Watched them moving slowly
Never looking
Missing cars and bikes
By inches
On the move
The square
Shaped like a spiders back
Tense, with six legs
Tipped with darkness
Tarmac shining
Bringing business to
The night people
The beggar man is hungry
On a bed of card
He coughs and smokes
His dog is hoping
For a bite to eat
The pavement boys
All pomp and swagger
Painted eyes
Which never smile
Zero in
On those who wonder
How the night will end
The street girls
Leave this turf to others
Nothing worth a hippy shake
Rain is bouncing off
The cruising cars
The alley
Cars and spinning bottles
Fading into black
The business
Eager for the fun
Wander in
But never make it back
I watched them
As the dawn
Threw shadows
Hard at work
Doing nothing
Very well.
..........................................................................
Brush Strokes
Take what you need
Just enough
Not too much
Remember, that time
Is a gift
Not a crutch
Capture a life
On a canvas of air
Your brush
Will be telling the truth
If you dare
Tentative scribbles
Prepare for the brush
The texture and depth
Of the image
Will rush
Like a vision, creation
To grow from your hand
The love you invest
Is the love you have planned
The blues and the yellows
With so many more
A delicate mix
A smudge,
There´s no law
Controlling your wishes
Defeating your will
Your canvas is living
Impatient
And still
Your pallet of friends
Is ready to go
So paint me a blues
With your radio waves
Crashing, receding and crashing again
Collect me those shells
Half hidden in sand
I´ll treasure your love
It is
Just as we planned
The gallery´s open
The art lines the walls
Admission is free
But don´t bother to call
If you´re not in the brochure
No brush strokes for you
The artist has captured
The essence, the rub
The room is on fire
With a color called
Love.
.........................................
Take what you need
Just enough
Not too much
Remember, that time
Is a gift
Not a crutch
Capture a life
On a canvas of air
Your brush
Will be telling the truth
If you dare
Tentative scribbles
Prepare for the brush
The texture and depth
Of the image
Will rush
Like a vision, creation
To grow from your hand
The love you invest
Is the love you have planned
The blues and the yellows
With so many more
A delicate mix
A smudge,
There´s no law
Controlling your wishes
Defeating your will
Your canvas is living
Impatient
And still
Your pallet of friends
Is ready to go
So paint me a blues
With your radio waves
Crashing, receding and crashing again
Collect me those shells
Half hidden in sand
I´ll treasure your love
It is
Just as we planned
The gallery´s open
The art lines the walls
Admission is free
But don´t bother to call
If you´re not in the brochure
No brush strokes for you
The artist has captured
The essence, the rub
The room is on fire
With a color called
Love.
.........................................
Lost In A Moment
Lost in a moment
Falling backwards
Into memories
So vivid
I can taste the tears from then
Lost in a moment
Digging deeper
Into melancholy feelings
I remember
Being lonely, being ten
Little boys
Don´t cry or scream
At nightmares
Stupid
Just a dream
That shadow didn´t really move
At all
Silly boy
Control that stutter
Join the others
In the gutter
Nowhere else to go
Not far to fall
Lost in a moment
When I open up
Those boxes
Full of nothing
Worth me visiting again.
...................................................................
Lost in a moment
Falling backwards
Into memories
So vivid
I can taste the tears from then
Lost in a moment
Digging deeper
Into melancholy feelings
I remember
Being lonely, being ten
Little boys
Don´t cry or scream
At nightmares
Stupid
Just a dream
That shadow didn´t really move
At all
Silly boy
Control that stutter
Join the others
In the gutter
Nowhere else to go
Not far to fall
Lost in a moment
When I open up
Those boxes
Full of nothing
Worth me visiting again.
...................................................................
I wrote this poem a few weeks ago.
Just Believe
You´re never too old
To carry good things
It´s never too soon
To wear diamond rings
It´s never too late
Whatever life brings
Just believe
Clinging to driftwood
Floating downstream
Looking for chances
To go for that dream
Caught in the shallows
Time running out
Know what you´re after
Just give in and shout
You´re never too old
To learn a new word
It´s never too soon
To make yourself heard
It´s never too late
To fly like a bird
Just believe
Just believe.
..................................................................
Just Believe
You´re never too old
To carry good things
It´s never too soon
To wear diamond rings
It´s never too late
Whatever life brings
Just believe
Clinging to driftwood
Floating downstream
Looking for chances
To go for that dream
Caught in the shallows
Time running out
Know what you´re after
Just give in and shout
You´re never too old
To learn a new word
It´s never too soon
To make yourself heard
It´s never too late
To fly like a bird
Just believe
Just believe.
..................................................................
I've given Jonah Roth a copy of these lyrics for him to put some great music to them.
Compensation Blues
I've had the confirmation
Need to ratify the news
There's a mess of suits arriving
In their sixty-something shoes
They will leak commiseration
As they liquidate your dues
Hope you find some medication
For your compensation blues
I've seen the presentation
Need to circulate the news
There's a mess of suits arriving
In they're eighty-something shoes
They will smell your desperation
As they orchestrate the news
Hope you find some consolation
For your compensation blues
I've heard the altercation
Need to rectify the news
There's a mess of suits arriving
In they're ninety-something shoes
They will show consideration
As they know you can't refuse
Hope you find some meditation
For your compensation blues
They're a virtual corporation
Selling nothing left to choose
They're a .com syndication
Selling nothing left to lose.
........................................
I wrote this poem yesterday after reflecting on how much fun we had in London last Thursday.
Sparkle
Sparkle
All the facets of love
All the colours of the rainbow
On your finger
Sparkle
Like the look in your eyes
Like the stars in the sky
On your finger
Sparkle
Every moment with you
Everything that is us
On your finger
Sparkle
All the days of my life
All the dreams I can dream
On your finger.
............................................
Sparkle
Sparkle
All the facets of love
All the colours of the rainbow
On your finger
Sparkle
Like the look in your eyes
Like the stars in the sky
On your finger
Sparkle
Every moment with you
Everything that is us
On your finger
Sparkle
All the days of my life
All the dreams I can dream
On your finger.
............................................
I wrote this poem, recently, to try and demonstrate how much we put at risk when our trust is on offer.
The Keys Of Trust
The keys of trust
Are made of gold
Not hot or cold
Not bought or sold
The keys of trust
Are made to hold
Forever and a day
We knew it was near
But it hit like a train
The moment it happened
The daggers of pain
Our lives were in free fall
We didn´t complain
But we cried
We gave what we could
Till we couldn´t give more
Emotions laid bear
In a mess on the floor
We couldn´t imagine
The pain that we saw
In the lies
We guessed it might happen
But we hoped we were wrong
When leopards are changing
Their spots linger on
The takers will always
Deny they are wrong
No surprise
The keys of trust
Are made of gold
Not hot or cold
Not bought or sold
The keys of trust
Are made to hold
Forever and a day.
.................................................
This was written years ago when I was particularly pissed off with what was happening in The Commons. Seems to fit in well with the present chaos in Westminster.
The Old Goat
Everybody knows him
He’s always been around
He doesn’t wait to listen
When threatening the pound
Spotting him is easy
With hands around his throat
Without a name to answer
The old goat
Blaming him is easy
For everything gone wrong
From rising rates of interest
To Salmon Rushdie’s gong
It doesn’t seem to matter
If rumour gets the vote
Keep the fingers pointing at
The old goat
If you didn’t see him
If he wasn’t there
Would we reinvent him?
To look like Tony Blair
Take him to the Palace
Drown him in the moat?
Cloak him in a knighthood
The old goat
Would you take the challenge?
Give yourself the job?
Hide behind the silence
Retreating from the mob
Could you force the issue?
Would you wear the coat?
Remembering to mention
The old goat.
..................................................
I wrote this poem a few days ago. It's amazing where your mind takes you...
Turn A Stone
The church bell chimes
It's six
I'm warm
But half awake
Too early
For the written word
The ink won't flow
It's still asleep
Maybe
I'll turn a stone
Good morning lady
Far away
Are you sleeping
Deep in dreams
Maybe
We'll turn a stone
Together
Soon
We've turned
So many stones
To look
Not always sure
We want to see
What lay beneath
But it's late
No turning back
Turn a stone
Roll it away
There's no coming back
Another day.
.................................................................
Turn A Stone
The church bell chimes
It's six
I'm warm
But half awake
Too early
For the written word
The ink won't flow
It's still asleep
Maybe
I'll turn a stone
Good morning lady
Far away
Are you sleeping
Deep in dreams
Maybe
We'll turn a stone
Together
Soon
We've turned
So many stones
To look
Not always sure
We want to see
What lay beneath
But it's late
No turning back
Turn a stone
Roll it away
There's no coming back
Another day.
.................................................................
I wrote this poem in 2007.
Deep Inside A Dream
Slipping ever so slowly down
Into the place where dreams reside
Where form and images collide
Within a galaxy of sight and sound
Does it make you want to run
Or drag your feet in deeper sand
Which forces you to show your hand
To grasp a sound which only you can hear
You’re falling now into the place
Where hard is soft, where night is day
Where all the words you want to say
Are waiting patiently for you to start
You’ve stopped and started falling upwards
To the point where color changes
Stops and starts and rearranges
Sliding past the point of no return
As you start to know the answer
Questions drift across your vision
Filling you with indecision
Is it time to wake or carry on?
...................................................
Deep Inside A Dream
Slipping ever so slowly down
Into the place where dreams reside
Where form and images collide
Within a galaxy of sight and sound
Does it make you want to run
Or drag your feet in deeper sand
Which forces you to show your hand
To grasp a sound which only you can hear
You’re falling now into the place
Where hard is soft, where night is day
Where all the words you want to say
Are waiting patiently for you to start
You’ve stopped and started falling upwards
To the point where color changes
Stops and starts and rearranges
Sliding past the point of no return
As you start to know the answer
Questions drift across your vision
Filling you with indecision
Is it time to wake or carry on?
...................................................
This one was written in 2008. It's one of those 'what the hell is going on' poems
One String Band
Straight down the middle
Or close to the edge
Whatever you choose
Is whatever you get
Lyrics which really will
Blow you away
Rock to the One String Band
Pull down the shutters
Or lay in the sun
When chasing emotions
Emotions will run
Eagles and Siegals will
Blow you away
Rock to the One String Band
Smoke on the water
Or shots in the dark
Missing the moments
Are moments to miss
Putting the slide on will
Blow you away
Rock to the One String Band
Pushing the boundaries
Not fading away
Catching the moments
With moments to catch
Reasons to matter will
Blow you away
Rock to the One String Band
Time for conclusions
Straight down the line
Lost in translation
Translation is lost
Music which really will
Blow you away
Rock to the One String Band.
....................................................................
One String Band
Straight down the middle
Or close to the edge
Whatever you choose
Is whatever you get
Lyrics which really will
Blow you away
Rock to the One String Band
Pull down the shutters
Or lay in the sun
When chasing emotions
Emotions will run
Eagles and Siegals will
Blow you away
Rock to the One String Band
Smoke on the water
Or shots in the dark
Missing the moments
Are moments to miss
Putting the slide on will
Blow you away
Rock to the One String Band
Pushing the boundaries
Not fading away
Catching the moments
With moments to catch
Reasons to matter will
Blow you away
Rock to the One String Band
Time for conclusions
Straight down the line
Lost in translation
Translation is lost
Music which really will
Blow you away
Rock to the One String Band.
....................................................................
This is a picture of the Daily Mirror building at Holborn Circus in London, when I worked there from 1965 until 1974. In this poem I'm trying to capture the 60s, some of the characters and what it was like to work there.
Daily Mirror
I left school in such a hurry
No one gave a toss
Guess I never tried enough
Knew I was no loss
Jones and Higgins, Saturdays
Set me up for work
Never late or lost for words
Always such a jerk
Thoughts, emotions, many changes
Time for pulling birds
Time for tonic mohair suits
Time for using words
What to do and where to work
Stealing was a crime
Took the bus to Holborn Circus
Daily Mirror time
Passed the tests and got a job
Who’s a clever boy
School results came through the door
Failure such a joy
The pecking order was, in truth
A many splendid thing
I was the scraping on the shoe
I was the captain’s ring
I ducked and dived, was quick to learn
A postal boy supreme
I learned the streets of London, fast
A taxi drivers dream
I soon became, in Peter’s words
A half way decent lad
My football skills were used, at last
Which satisfied my Dad
We made a plane we hoped would fly
Of paper, glue and fun
It missed the wind and took a dive
And, bugger, did we run
From Marjie Proops to Cecil King
I met the best and worst
I had a reputation now
Which really was a first
I got to meet the heavy guys
I got to make the news
I got to speak to Miss Bardot
At last, I got to choose
The Daily Mirror was a bitch
My love for her complete
She gave me reasons to exist
She put me on my feet
The Stab was where we used to meet
We super Mirror guys
As years went by we found it hard
To tell the truth from lies
My recollections of the team
Of Terry, Lou and Bob
Of Audrey, Jeff and Johnny French
A rum lot, what a job!
.............................................................
Daily Mirror
I left school in such a hurry
No one gave a toss
Guess I never tried enough
Knew I was no loss
Jones and Higgins, Saturdays
Set me up for work
Never late or lost for words
Always such a jerk
Thoughts, emotions, many changes
Time for pulling birds
Time for tonic mohair suits
Time for using words
What to do and where to work
Stealing was a crime
Took the bus to Holborn Circus
Daily Mirror time
Passed the tests and got a job
Who’s a clever boy
School results came through the door
Failure such a joy
The pecking order was, in truth
A many splendid thing
I was the scraping on the shoe
I was the captain’s ring
I ducked and dived, was quick to learn
A postal boy supreme
I learned the streets of London, fast
A taxi drivers dream
I soon became, in Peter’s words
A half way decent lad
My football skills were used, at last
Which satisfied my Dad
We made a plane we hoped would fly
Of paper, glue and fun
It missed the wind and took a dive
And, bugger, did we run
From Marjie Proops to Cecil King
I met the best and worst
I had a reputation now
Which really was a first
I got to meet the heavy guys
I got to make the news
I got to speak to Miss Bardot
At last, I got to choose
The Daily Mirror was a bitch
My love for her complete
She gave me reasons to exist
She put me on my feet
The Stab was where we used to meet
We super Mirror guys
As years went by we found it hard
To tell the truth from lies
My recollections of the team
Of Terry, Lou and Bob
Of Audrey, Jeff and Johnny French
A rum lot, what a job!
.............................................................
I wrote this poem back in 2013 when I was exploring my memory for more detail about my early years.
A Peckham Boy Tried
A Peckham boy lay
In the mud where he fell and he cried
His tears of frustration were mixed
With a truth he'd been denied
Whenever he blossomed
It was never enough
A slap was reward
Or a backhanded cuff
The bombs had stopped falling
But they couldn't sweep the sadness away
The dust and the debris was home
To those with no rules to obey
If he slept in the rubbish
On one seemed to care
The coppers were busy
At Peckham Rye fair
The classroom was closed
But he guessed there was more if he tried
The doorways and joints were easy to love
As the truth fell away when he lied
He danced in his dream
In a suit made of gold
But all he could feel
Was the pavement, so cold
A Peckham boy stood
In a field in the sun and he prayed
For change to inhabit his after-hours world
To the anthems that nobody played
He found his way home
But the door had gone
The sign on the wall said
'All done, move on'
The ghosts had stopped calling
But questions were all that he had
In the absence of love and affection
He would settle for mother and dad
The walls that he'd built
All flimsy and lies
Slowly cracked and collapsed
With a glint in his eyes
The monks were still chanting
A sound which was honey and cream
His vision was colored with slashes of red
In a way he found oddly serene
The bus ride was long
But the ticket was cheap
All he could do
Was to sleep, just sleep
A Peckham boy stepped
Into the future with purposeful strides
The road was now hard, no mud
So he wore his Ravels with confident pride
He crumpled a note
In a crack in the wall
No forward address
There was nothing at all.
...................................................
A Peckham Boy Tried
A Peckham boy lay
In the mud where he fell and he cried
His tears of frustration were mixed
With a truth he'd been denied
Whenever he blossomed
It was never enough
A slap was reward
Or a backhanded cuff
The bombs had stopped falling
But they couldn't sweep the sadness away
The dust and the debris was home
To those with no rules to obey
If he slept in the rubbish
On one seemed to care
The coppers were busy
At Peckham Rye fair
The classroom was closed
But he guessed there was more if he tried
The doorways and joints were easy to love
As the truth fell away when he lied
He danced in his dream
In a suit made of gold
But all he could feel
Was the pavement, so cold
A Peckham boy stood
In a field in the sun and he prayed
For change to inhabit his after-hours world
To the anthems that nobody played
He found his way home
But the door had gone
The sign on the wall said
'All done, move on'
The ghosts had stopped calling
But questions were all that he had
In the absence of love and affection
He would settle for mother and dad
The walls that he'd built
All flimsy and lies
Slowly cracked and collapsed
With a glint in his eyes
The monks were still chanting
A sound which was honey and cream
His vision was colored with slashes of red
In a way he found oddly serene
The bus ride was long
But the ticket was cheap
All he could do
Was to sleep, just sleep
A Peckham boy stepped
Into the future with purposeful strides
The road was now hard, no mud
So he wore his Ravels with confident pride
He crumpled a note
In a crack in the wall
No forward address
There was nothing at all.
...................................................
It's getting a bit nippy around these parts, so welcome to 2015
Winter Calls
It's just around the corner
It's never far away
I wouldn't miss a moment
I wouldn't miss a day
So, winter calls
We listen
We recognise the feel
Of season change
Of darker nights
Our paradise is real.
The mist will turn to shower
The earth will slowly cool
I wouldn't miss a moment
I wouldn't be a fool
So, winter calls
We listen
We understand the sound
Of thunderstorms
Of dripping leaves
Our time has come around
The rain will last forever
The roads will surely flood
I wouldn't miss a moment
I wouldn't miss the mud
So, winter calls
We listen
We reminisce away
Of warmer days
Of coming spring
Our time is here
Today.
..............................................................................
Winter Calls
It's just around the corner
It's never far away
I wouldn't miss a moment
I wouldn't miss a day
So, winter calls
We listen
We recognise the feel
Of season change
Of darker nights
Our paradise is real.
The mist will turn to shower
The earth will slowly cool
I wouldn't miss a moment
I wouldn't be a fool
So, winter calls
We listen
We understand the sound
Of thunderstorms
Of dripping leaves
Our time has come around
The rain will last forever
The roads will surely flood
I wouldn't miss a moment
I wouldn't miss the mud
So, winter calls
We listen
We reminisce away
Of warmer days
Of coming spring
Our time is here
Today.
..............................................................................
I wrote this poem in 2013.
Different Times
I watch you
Deep in concentration
Whiskers twitching
Eyes a restless blue
Do you see me
As I'm seeing you?
These are different times
Fast asleep
Another dream
I wander through
Those Soho nights
Not dazzled by
The brittle lights
These are different times
All that glitters
Can be gold
It's easy
When you know the way
No rules to break
No games to play
These are different times
Shall I paint tomorrow
Capture it today?
Will the colours blind
Or simply fade
Pull the switch
To bathe in our arcade
These are different times
Time to go
To rest, in contemplation
Search for words
That won't be found
Break a lead
On different ground
These are different times.
.................................................................
Different Times
I watch you
Deep in concentration
Whiskers twitching
Eyes a restless blue
Do you see me
As I'm seeing you?
These are different times
Fast asleep
Another dream
I wander through
Those Soho nights
Not dazzled by
The brittle lights
These are different times
All that glitters
Can be gold
It's easy
When you know the way
No rules to break
No games to play
These are different times
Shall I paint tomorrow
Capture it today?
Will the colours blind
Or simply fade
Pull the switch
To bathe in our arcade
These are different times
Time to go
To rest, in contemplation
Search for words
That won't be found
Break a lead
On different ground
These are different times.
.................................................................
|
You Won't See Me Cry When I turned The man I called Father was gone I couldn't stop shaking I was standing in water Feeling so cold, so afraid I was lost I wanted to run But the chain really hurt So I sat down and waited You won't see me cry I was trying to sleep When a man stroked my head I pulled back But his hands didn't hurt me He turned and was gone But returned with a lady Who smiled like the sun As the chain seemed to vanish I shivered and shook, but You won't see me cry When I turn The man I call Father is there He speaks and I listen I yawn and he laughs I dream about chains Being wet and so cold But the lady who smiles Like the sun Keeps me warm You won't see me cry. ........................................................................................................... |
Usted No Me Verá Llorar Cuando me giré El hombre al que llamaba Padre se había ido No podía dejar de temblar Estaba de pie en el agua Me sentia frío y tenía miedo Estaba perdido Quería correr Pero la cadena realmente duele Así que me senté y esperé Usted no me verá llorar Estaba tratando de dormir Cuando un hombre me acarició la cabeza Me eché atrás Pero sus manos me hicieron daño Se dio la vuelta y se fue Pero regresó con una señora La cual sonrió como el sol La cadena parecía desvanecerse Me estremecí y me sacudí, pero Usted no me verá llorar Cuando me giro El hombre que yo llamo Padre está aquí Él habla y yo escucho Bostezo y se ríe Sueño con cadenas Me siento húmedo y muy frío Pero la señora que sonríe Como el sol Me mantiene caliente Usted no me verá llorar. ............................................................................................................. |
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4 October 2014
I wrote this poem in November, 2003, during the flight home from Stansted to Newcastle. I'd attended the funeral of a dear friend called May. The funeral was held at Honour Oak Cemetery in South London. After taking an early flight and hiring a car I got there just in time. My mother was there. There was none of the 'Hello son, glad you could make it. How's Margaret?', stuff. It went more along the lines of,
Mother. 'Bloody hell, couldn't you get here any earlier?'
Me. 'The sky was busy'.
Mother. 'You'll be late for your own funeral, you will.'
Me. 'Let's hope that you're not.'
and so on. May's adopted son was there in a black suit, black shirt and white tie ensemble. Nice. Apart from sharing the occasional joint when we were teenagers, we had little in common because our lives had gone in different directions. I'm glad I made the effort to attend, Margaret always liked May. The grainy image at the top of the page is of Gloucester Grove, Peckham, where May was born.
So, for your consideration, 'May In November'.
May In November
As I stood by the grave
In the cold winter sun
With no one to talk to
And nowhere to run
You were so far away
Isolation had won
And May in November was done
The tears of the crowd
Were hardened by age
They dried on the cheeks
Of those seething with rage
The look in the eyes
Of her second-hand son
And May in November was done
You would have been proud
Of the words that were said
My mother was crowing
With pride for the dead
Tears never quite manage
To dry in the sun
And May in November was done
No carriage or horses
Would carry old May
To her place in the ground
In the cold winter clay
Her ninety-plus years
Was a blessing for some
And May in November was done.
.................................................................................................
I wrote this poem in November, 2003, during the flight home from Stansted to Newcastle. I'd attended the funeral of a dear friend called May. The funeral was held at Honour Oak Cemetery in South London. After taking an early flight and hiring a car I got there just in time. My mother was there. There was none of the 'Hello son, glad you could make it. How's Margaret?', stuff. It went more along the lines of,
Mother. 'Bloody hell, couldn't you get here any earlier?'
Me. 'The sky was busy'.
Mother. 'You'll be late for your own funeral, you will.'
Me. 'Let's hope that you're not.'
and so on. May's adopted son was there in a black suit, black shirt and white tie ensemble. Nice. Apart from sharing the occasional joint when we were teenagers, we had little in common because our lives had gone in different directions. I'm glad I made the effort to attend, Margaret always liked May. The grainy image at the top of the page is of Gloucester Grove, Peckham, where May was born.
So, for your consideration, 'May In November'.
May In November
As I stood by the grave
In the cold winter sun
With no one to talk to
And nowhere to run
You were so far away
Isolation had won
And May in November was done
The tears of the crowd
Were hardened by age
They dried on the cheeks
Of those seething with rage
The look in the eyes
Of her second-hand son
And May in November was done
You would have been proud
Of the words that were said
My mother was crowing
With pride for the dead
Tears never quite manage
To dry in the sun
And May in November was done
No carriage or horses
Would carry old May
To her place in the ground
In the cold winter clay
Her ninety-plus years
Was a blessing for some
And May in November was done.
.................................................................................................
2 September 2014
These two poems were written for a friend who is no longer with us. A nice man, he is a character in 'Lock-Down Blues'.
Don't Cry
Don't cry
There's always time
The words will come
You're doing fine
At noon or midnight
I'll know you're here
You will always be with me
Don't cry
There's more to do
It's not a secret
It's there for you
At dawn or sundown
I'll know you're here
You will always be with me
Don't cry
The pain will go
It's not forever
Your heart will know
At any moment
I'll know you're here
You will always be with me.
...........................................................................
These two poems were written for a friend who is no longer with us. A nice man, he is a character in 'Lock-Down Blues'.
Don't Cry
Don't cry
There's always time
The words will come
You're doing fine
At noon or midnight
I'll know you're here
You will always be with me
Don't cry
There's more to do
It's not a secret
It's there for you
At dawn or sundown
I'll know you're here
You will always be with me
Don't cry
The pain will go
It's not forever
Your heart will know
At any moment
I'll know you're here
You will always be with me.
...........................................................................
I'll Be There With You
I'll see you again
In that wonderful place
As I'm resting my head
In your warming embrace
The words will come easy
As they always do
When the moment is calling
I'll be there with you
I'll see you again
In that wonderful place
Brush my fingertips, lightly
Across your proud face
Our tears will be laughter
All shining and new
When the moment is calling
I'll be there with you
I'll see you again
In that wonderful place
No pain or confusion
Will colour your face
We'll stand in the future
Enjoying the view
When the moment is calling
I'll be there with you.
..............................................................................
I'll see you again
In that wonderful place
As I'm resting my head
In your warming embrace
The words will come easy
As they always do
When the moment is calling
I'll be there with you
I'll see you again
In that wonderful place
Brush my fingertips, lightly
Across your proud face
Our tears will be laughter
All shining and new
When the moment is calling
I'll be there with you
I'll see you again
In that wonderful place
No pain or confusion
Will colour your face
We'll stand in the future
Enjoying the view
When the moment is calling
I'll be there with you.
..............................................................................
10 August 2014
This is one of the first poems I wrote back in 1965.
Words
Read the caption
Buy the book
Spend your money on another look
Searching the written word
For love
Will hold no basis for life
Each line that holds a different dream
A look
Into another’s mind
Combined with imagination that we all have
Forms our own dream
Our time machine
Our place to go
Our private world away from reality
Stop in midsentence
Think of the last word
Line or phrase
Do you relate?
Or do you hate
Mr Hero or the Dog
A new chapter
A moment to return
To trenches, bed or drawing room
Revisit the blood and sunny skies
Trapped between your hands
The golden promise
Of the last page
Begins to enhance the printed delight
Answers to questions will amaze or confirm
At The End.
..........................................................................................................
This is one of the first poems I wrote back in 1965.
Words
Read the caption
Buy the book
Spend your money on another look
Searching the written word
For love
Will hold no basis for life
Each line that holds a different dream
A look
Into another’s mind
Combined with imagination that we all have
Forms our own dream
Our time machine
Our place to go
Our private world away from reality
Stop in midsentence
Think of the last word
Line or phrase
Do you relate?
Or do you hate
Mr Hero or the Dog
A new chapter
A moment to return
To trenches, bed or drawing room
Revisit the blood and sunny skies
Trapped between your hands
The golden promise
Of the last page
Begins to enhance the printed delight
Answers to questions will amaze or confirm
At The End.
..........................................................................................................
I wrote this poem back in 2011 after realising how beautiful diamonds are.
Diamond
Step into a diamond
To rest for a day
Bewitched by the colours
Be tempted to stay
A bird of great beauty
With talons of light
Will circle above
As you drift into night
Your dreams will be simple
No pressure to dawn
Full of hot moments
The day you were born
A cat of great beauty
With whiskers 'au lait'
Will pad around slow
As you drift into day
Step into a diamond
The colour deep blue
With sparkle and shade
So delightfully you
A time of great beauty
The stunning blue sky
Will move as you want
In the blink of an eye.
.................................................................
Diamond
Step into a diamond
To rest for a day
Bewitched by the colours
Be tempted to stay
A bird of great beauty
With talons of light
Will circle above
As you drift into night
Your dreams will be simple
No pressure to dawn
Full of hot moments
The day you were born
A cat of great beauty
With whiskers 'au lait'
Will pad around slow
As you drift into day
Step into a diamond
The colour deep blue
With sparkle and shade
So delightfully you
A time of great beauty
The stunning blue sky
Will move as you want
In the blink of an eye.
.................................................................
21 July 2014
I wrote this poem a few days ago as the unspeakable events were starting to come to light.
Now And Again
Is happiness a loaded gun?
Where freedom hides
Behind the sun
When saying no
Can take your breath away
Are we in that time again?
Where chaos falls
Like burning rain
When speaking out
Can make you disappear
Is that moment now at hand?
Where courage climbs
To take the stand
When saying yes
Can be a warm embrace.
...................................................................
I wrote this poem a few days ago as the unspeakable events were starting to come to light.
Now And Again
Is happiness a loaded gun?
Where freedom hides
Behind the sun
When saying no
Can take your breath away
Are we in that time again?
Where chaos falls
Like burning rain
When speaking out
Can make you disappear
Is that moment now at hand?
Where courage climbs
To take the stand
When saying yes
Can be a warm embrace.
...................................................................
I wrote this one last year.
This Is Love
This is love
It's for you
Nothing old
Nothing new
It just is
Real is real
Missing words
Quick to heal
How you feel
This is love
This is love
It's for all
Nothing big
Nothing small
It just is
Here today
All around
A okay
Press to play
This is love
This is love
It's for me
Nothing cheap
Nothing free
It just is
Easy done
You and me
Having fun
Race is run
This is love.
........................................................................
This Is Love
This is love
It's for you
Nothing old
Nothing new
It just is
Real is real
Missing words
Quick to heal
How you feel
This is love
This is love
It's for all
Nothing big
Nothing small
It just is
Here today
All around
A okay
Press to play
This is love
This is love
It's for me
Nothing cheap
Nothing free
It just is
Easy done
You and me
Having fun
Race is run
This is love.
........................................................................
This is what I call 'a piece of fluff'.
Between Two Fountains
Tiny drops of splashing water
Shaped like tears
Who've lost their way
Broken hearted
In their grief
But wanting more
Than weathered stone
All slippery and shine
Which had them trapped
Between two fountains
Taking time to change direction
Never more than distant
In the heavy rain
Tiny pebbles
Breaking free
Fighting hard
To fill the space
With different shades of green
Rainbows only speak
Between two fountains.
..................................................................................................................................................
Between Two Fountains
Tiny drops of splashing water
Shaped like tears
Who've lost their way
Broken hearted
In their grief
But wanting more
Than weathered stone
All slippery and shine
Which had them trapped
Between two fountains
Taking time to change direction
Never more than distant
In the heavy rain
Tiny pebbles
Breaking free
Fighting hard
To fill the space
With different shades of green
Rainbows only speak
Between two fountains.
..................................................................................................................................................
13 July 2014
I wrote this some months ago as a poem but I think it also stands as a set of lyrics. For your consideration, 'Compensation Blues'.
Compensation Blues
I've had the confirmation
Need to ratify the news
There's a mess of suits arriving
In their sixty-something shoes
They will leak commiseration
As they liquidate your dues
Hope you find some medication
For your compensation blues
I've seen the presentation
Need to circulate the news
There's a mess of suits arriving
In they're eighty-something shoes
They will smell your desperation
As they orchestrate the news
Hope you find some consolation
For your compensation blues
I've heard the altercation
Need to rectify the news
There's a mess of suits arriving
In they're ninety-something shoes
They will show consideration
As they know you can't refuse
Hope you find some meditation
For your compensation blues
They're a virtual corporation
Selling nothing left to choose
They're a .com syndication
Selling nothing left to lose.
......................................................................................
I wrote this some months ago as a poem but I think it also stands as a set of lyrics. For your consideration, 'Compensation Blues'.
Compensation Blues
I've had the confirmation
Need to ratify the news
There's a mess of suits arriving
In their sixty-something shoes
They will leak commiseration
As they liquidate your dues
Hope you find some medication
For your compensation blues
I've seen the presentation
Need to circulate the news
There's a mess of suits arriving
In they're eighty-something shoes
They will smell your desperation
As they orchestrate the news
Hope you find some consolation
For your compensation blues
I've heard the altercation
Need to rectify the news
There's a mess of suits arriving
In they're ninety-something shoes
They will show consideration
As they know you can't refuse
Hope you find some meditation
For your compensation blues
They're a virtual corporation
Selling nothing left to choose
They're a .com syndication
Selling nothing left to lose.
......................................................................................
This poem dates back to 2012. Margaret calls it a 'David Crosby' moment.
The Devil On Your Shoulder
The fun will start
To break your heart
Before you get much older
I'll plant the seed
I'm what you need
The devil on your shoulder
Trees are burning
Clouds of smoke
Did you hear me?
I just spoke
Do you always
Tune me out?
The days are growing shorter
The residents
From down below
Are here, it's getting colder
The screams will stop
When I arrive
The devil on your shoulder
Roads are cracking
From the heat
Heed my warnings
Take your seat
Watch me closely
Spot the trick?
The nights are growing longer
Read, enjoy
My web of lies
I keep them in a folder
You'll find the truth
I am, for you
The devil on your shoulder
Caught you hiding
From the sun
Got the message?
Time to run
Find the lady
Flip the card
The cold is growing colder
The fun will end
Be sure, my friend
Before you get much older
I'll set you free
So, trust in me
The devil on your shoulder.
....................................................
The Devil On Your Shoulder
The fun will start
To break your heart
Before you get much older
I'll plant the seed
I'm what you need
The devil on your shoulder
Trees are burning
Clouds of smoke
Did you hear me?
I just spoke
Do you always
Tune me out?
The days are growing shorter
The residents
From down below
Are here, it's getting colder
The screams will stop
When I arrive
The devil on your shoulder
Roads are cracking
From the heat
Heed my warnings
Take your seat
Watch me closely
Spot the trick?
The nights are growing longer
Read, enjoy
My web of lies
I keep them in a folder
You'll find the truth
I am, for you
The devil on your shoulder
Caught you hiding
From the sun
Got the message?
Time to run
Find the lady
Flip the card
The cold is growing colder
The fun will end
Be sure, my friend
Before you get much older
I'll set you free
So, trust in me
The devil on your shoulder.
....................................................
I wrote this poem in 2007 and had another go at it yesterday. A bit of nonsense, me thinks.
The Old Goat
Everybody knows him
He’s always been around
He doesn’t wait to listen
When threatening the pound
Spotting him is easy
With hands around his throat
Without a name to answer to
The old goat
Blaming him is easy
For everything gone wrong
From rising rates of interest
To that bloody Birdie Song
It doesn’t seem to matter
If rumour gets the vote
Keep the fingers pointing at
The old goat
If you didn’t see him
If he wasn’t there
Would we reinvent him?
To look like Tony Blair
Take him to the Tower
Drown him in the moat?
Cloak him in a knighthood as
The old goat
Would you take the challenge?
Give yourself the job?
Hide behind the silence
Retreating from the mob
Could you force the issue?
Would you wear the coat?
Dress up your expenses as
The old goat.
....................................................................................................
The Old Goat
Everybody knows him
He’s always been around
He doesn’t wait to listen
When threatening the pound
Spotting him is easy
With hands around his throat
Without a name to answer to
The old goat
Blaming him is easy
For everything gone wrong
From rising rates of interest
To that bloody Birdie Song
It doesn’t seem to matter
If rumour gets the vote
Keep the fingers pointing at
The old goat
If you didn’t see him
If he wasn’t there
Would we reinvent him?
To look like Tony Blair
Take him to the Tower
Drown him in the moat?
Cloak him in a knighthood as
The old goat
Would you take the challenge?
Give yourself the job?
Hide behind the silence
Retreating from the mob
Could you force the issue?
Would you wear the coat?
Dress up your expenses as
The old goat.
....................................................................................................
This is Berwick Street Market a lifetime ago.
I wrote this poem a couple of weeks ago.
On Our Perfect Days
Sitting here
Dozing, lazy
Thinking back when we were crazy
Swooping birds
And buzzing flies
Give no thought
To our replies
On our perfect days
Feed him now
A constant purr
All Basil Brush and spiky fur
Take a nap
Or maybe two
It's duvet time
With me and you
On our perfect days
Pushing words
Or pulling thread
Harking back to things we've said
Half forgotten
Things to do
Was it me
Or was it you
On our perfect days
Always here
A part of us
You would always love the fuss
Marcus mouse
Your special name
Keep you close
We'll meet again
On our perfect days
Shall we go
Or shall we not
Looking back to find the plot
Catch a snack
Or maybe more
Maybe less
I hear you snore
On our perfect days.
............................
Another recent piece. I hope that Wilf and I can make it come alive.
Campo Blues
Now is my time to escape from this darkness
Got to get used to the light
Time to wake up to the stuff that I'm missing
Sorting the wrong from the right
Finding the place where the secrets are buried
Digging down deep with a knife
Guess I'll decide if it's worth all the trouble
Trying to make sense of my life
Chorus
Losing my way
When the dust is rising
Stumbling around
With stones in my shoes
Follow the stars
My good friend has told me
Connect with the campo blues
Holding on tight to the meaning of friendship
Frightened of losing my way
Gentle reflections now hold a new meaning
Leaving the ghosts where they lay.
..................................
I wrote this poem a couple of weeks ago.
On Our Perfect Days
Sitting here
Dozing, lazy
Thinking back when we were crazy
Swooping birds
And buzzing flies
Give no thought
To our replies
On our perfect days
Feed him now
A constant purr
All Basil Brush and spiky fur
Take a nap
Or maybe two
It's duvet time
With me and you
On our perfect days
Pushing words
Or pulling thread
Harking back to things we've said
Half forgotten
Things to do
Was it me
Or was it you
On our perfect days
Always here
A part of us
You would always love the fuss
Marcus mouse
Your special name
Keep you close
We'll meet again
On our perfect days
Shall we go
Or shall we not
Looking back to find the plot
Catch a snack
Or maybe more
Maybe less
I hear you snore
On our perfect days.
............................
Another recent piece. I hope that Wilf and I can make it come alive.
Campo Blues
Now is my time to escape from this darkness
Got to get used to the light
Time to wake up to the stuff that I'm missing
Sorting the wrong from the right
Finding the place where the secrets are buried
Digging down deep with a knife
Guess I'll decide if it's worth all the trouble
Trying to make sense of my life
Chorus
Losing my way
When the dust is rising
Stumbling around
With stones in my shoes
Follow the stars
My good friend has told me
Connect with the campo blues
Holding on tight to the meaning of friendship
Frightened of losing my way
Gentle reflections now hold a new meaning
Leaving the ghosts where they lay.
..................................
This poem took a long time to arrive at completion. It inspired me to start work on Lock-Down Blues.
The Lock Down Blues
The bell is ringing
It won’t stop now
There’s nothing for you to choose
If you fight the man
He will lay you down
And play you The Lock Down Blues
You can bang your head
The whole night through
But no one will comfort you
Kick and hit the door
Will only make you sore
And give you The Lock Down Blues
If you taunt the man
He will wrap you up
Chastise you for being you
Try a different way
And restart your day
To the sound of The Lock Down Blues
As you close your eyes
Will you dream of light
Or the nightmare that follows you
If your time has come
And your day is done
Say goodnight to The Lock Down Blues
Does your blood run cold
When you think of her
Have you finally paid your dues
She has nothing left
Not a single breath
As you cry to The Lock Down Blues
At the time of this
With a feather kiss
On a distant day
When your life was fine
Can you see your way
Will you go or stay
Are you sure you can toe the line?
If you make a sound
You will kiss the ground
As you pause to admire the views
From the dusty floor
To the ancient door
Don't give in to The Lock Down Blues
Turn inside yourself
Get to know your mind
Realise what you have to do
Analyse yourself
You will have the time
For embracing The Lock Down Blues
Give yourself the time
To relax and think
Take a trip to a place that’s new
You can nod your head
To the Grateful Dead
And jam to The Lock Down Blues
In you're pain and fear
Through a single tear
Know a change will come
Can you hold it tight
Keep it in you're heart
Never let it go
Are you sure you can make it right?
In your darkest hour
When it’s closing in
Feeling tired and without a clue
You may hear a scream
From a distant dream
As you stir to The Lock Down Blues
In the early morn
At the break of dawn
It will all be the same to you
Try to settle down
You will hear the sound
Telling you it’s The Lock Down Blues
As the creaking door
Opens wide for you
Take your time with the different view
Make it your last time
To embrace the dark
Say goodbye to The Lock Down Blues.
Written on 18 March, and worked on 2 and 5 April and 16 June 2004 and 10 February, 12 June 2009.
©
Ray Wilcox
All Rights Reserved
2014
...........................................
This is new. I wrote these words as a poem or song lyrics. A dear friend knows the story behind them.
Unlock These Hands
Unlock these hands
Drive this pain away from me
Unlock these hands
Drive this pain away from me
I want nothing more than that
Don't need your tears or sympathy
Unlock these hands
Drive this pain away from me
Unlock these hands
Drive this pain away from me
A little midnight R and R
Will lift me from this misery
The pills and the potions
Are messing my head
I'm walking in fog
Was it something I said
I'm slipping and sliding
So close to the edge
I'm on fire
Unlock these hands
Drive this pain away from me
Unlock these hands
Drive this pain away from me
I want nothing more than that
Don't need your tears or sympathy.
©
Ray Wilcox
All Rights Reserved
2014
A view from our villa early last summer!!
Four Hundred Days
I took my time arriving
At the place I want to be
Didn't ask too many questions
Didn't need the company
Kept a diary for your pleasure
Full of mystery and lies
But the end has no surprises
Just a stuttering goodbye
Four hundred days
Since I turned my back on you
Finally found a reason
Big enough to see me through
Guess I should have noticed
It was time for breaking free
The voices in my head had said
That you were killing me
Tripping, falling, up again
Crawling in the pouring rain
Never really feeling pain
Never really feeling
Fit to drop a little more
Heading for the concrete floor
Hoping that I won't be sore
Hoping that I won't be
Four hundred days
Since I turned my back on you
Finally found a reason
Big enough to see me through
Bouncing like a rubber ball
Didn't see you take the fall
Time to make that bloody call
Four hundred days.
I wrote this, recently, with a certain heavy rock/blues band in mind.
................................................
This is a poem I wrote on 26 February 2014.
Now
In the midst of it all
Take a breath
Stand tall
When your dreams
Have come to call
The time is now
Our building blocks are ink
Fine wool and strong thread
Ideas will come in waves
Gently lapping on our shore
My words describe a place
Where the bottom feeders swim
Whilst the images you weave
Are full of happiness and light
Our days are full of thought
Where there's nothing set in stone
Pushing boundaries to a place
Where they're never seen again
My words describe a time
Which is lost to memory
Whilst the images you sew
Will grow in form and definition
In the midst of it all
Take a breath
Stand tall
When your dreams
Have come to call
The time is now.
................................................
Miss Clootie Dumpling 2013
My first offering is a salute to Oscar, the artist at Lottus Tattoo in Denia, who decorated my arms and made me want more. Margaret did the translation for me.
Conseguir La Tinta
Su cinco en punto, y estamos a tiempo,
El artista, Oscar, nos saluda con una sonrisa
Los abrazos, y los besos se intercambian
No discutimos el tiempo aqui.
El Sol es el sol, a quien le importa
A uno fondo de guitarras frescas,
Oscar prepara su lienzo.
Me acoste y me relajo
Esto es dermico 'Rock y Roll'
Sin el Drama ha terminado su trabajo
Le doy las gracias y nos dirigimos a casa
Al pasear admiramos su arte
Se pone debajo de la piel.
............................................
This is the last poem written before new year and is dedicated to close friends.
Friends
Our world is full of change
So good, we're spinning in control
What we thought was old, is not
What we felt was cold, is hot
So nice, that we are spending time with you
Our time is now for sure
So good, the air is crystal clear
What we thought was night, is day
What we saw as work, is play
So nice, that we are spending time with you
Our days are long and sweet
So good, there's always more to do
What we thought was wrong, is right
What we dreamed was dark is light
So nice, that we are spending time with you.
Conseguir La Tinta
Su cinco en punto, y estamos a tiempo,
El artista, Oscar, nos saluda con una sonrisa
Los abrazos, y los besos se intercambian
No discutimos el tiempo aqui.
El Sol es el sol, a quien le importa
A uno fondo de guitarras frescas,
Oscar prepara su lienzo.
Me acoste y me relajo
Esto es dermico 'Rock y Roll'
Sin el Drama ha terminado su trabajo
Le doy las gracias y nos dirigimos a casa
Al pasear admiramos su arte
Se pone debajo de la piel.
............................................
This is the last poem written before new year and is dedicated to close friends.
Friends
Our world is full of change
So good, we're spinning in control
What we thought was old, is not
What we felt was cold, is hot
So nice, that we are spending time with you
Our time is now for sure
So good, the air is crystal clear
What we thought was night, is day
What we saw as work, is play
So nice, that we are spending time with you
Our days are long and sweet
So good, there's always more to do
What we thought was wrong, is right
What we dreamed was dark is light
So nice, that we are spending time with you.