If only

If only

If only I’d had one moment
if only I’d had some time
if only you’d let me make some still small sense
of this imaginary rhyme

Sleep

Sleep

If I go down to the water I can see it,
momentarily –
It reveals itself in the ripples, as if it’s winking,
slyly, at me

They gave him a medal

They gave him a medal

They gave him a medal for his ideology
for the bile that laced every word
They gave him a medal for his own theology
and the poison that his vitriol stirred.

The way we live

The way we live

Fires are burning, faces tracing
Nights in silence, hearts are racing
Tongues are wagging, throats are choking
Noises ceasing, voices croaking

I’m not here

I’m not here

I’m no longer here –
I’ve been in the papers, they use the word “tragedy”, a tragedy of sorts –
no longer able to breathe, that crash, others thrown clear –
a moment’s indecision, words that mean nothing, the prayers and the thoughts –

Somewhere in the world

Somewhere in the world

The mattress is comfortable, our neighbours are kind –
they gave us some spare clothes to wear –
our Father went over to the promised land –
he told us he’d wait for us there.

The Road

The Road

The road is filled with burning wood
people leaving, told they should
grab some clothes and hit the road
and hear the windows behind explode

Pigs in the barn

Pigs in the barn

Pigs in the barn
the farmer’s gone out for a spell
his Niece is covering for him
she’s had to lay down, she’s not well

Castle in my mind

Castle in my mind

My neighbour, with his driveway entrance,
hardwood double doors
and the multi-level rooms,
over gleaming, silk-screen shores

Freedom

Freedom

This freedom of speech, how do you defend it
is it so close to your heart that you need to befriend it
dignified silence, jettisoned, forgotten
views contrary, sullied, putrid and rotten

The Writer

The Writer

My days are numbered I know that well
it is why I’m stuck here in this living hell
the biscuits stale, the tinkle of tea
and the nurses told not to bother with me

Hell

Hell

In Dante’s Inferno, when trying to describe
the houses of Hell’s lamentations 
the torments, the trials, laid quick to ascribe
amidst the curses and blessings of nations

I was only trying

I was only trying

I was only trying to be sensitive, my Mother always said
be mindful of others, offending
but she was good at it, she didn’t hold back
lived a  life she did and if others

Clive James

Clive James

To parch me worse than all the ills that waste
My features.
The unbending justice which
Examines me and makes me breathe in haste.

Where were we?

Where were we?

What was it? Where were we? Yesterday?
that made me stay away,
reined me in, stopped me calling,
not that you could hear me