a special kind of miser,
i detest christmas
and on the feast of saint nicholas
mention neither wenceslas nor little baby jesus.
for me the plaintive note of silent night
is cause for inter-racial fight
heralding the joyful and triumphant:
of the intolerant and pompous.
had your fill of gloria and all those bells ?
and long to put end to all noels ?
then through gritted teeth,
wish the atheist in you
a merry christmas.
away in a manger ?
i place every shepherd in clear and present danger………..
with sharpshooters drawn from the blessed angels:
the wounded get finished off with myrrh and incense.
in all this misery and mayhem,
a bleak midwinter to you in the deserted village
bethlehem.
My Kipling ! My father knew him.
When all was respect and quite amazing !
This was what the fella sung
who knew Kipling at Wembley
“Two-one…”
Shall we come along ?
Join up ? Be part of the song ?
A blank wall into which I repeat English.
Weddings, funerals and all religion.
Comes to Sudbury.
It has respect and will carry on.
To discount mortgages
As from these branches sprung –
Something.
Same as anything that is,
that is
“Two-one” to England.
Called this sun,
This fire in them that’s English.
To whom our blessed daughters
rally,
offer their wombs
to a savage and forgetful get-along.
Although I now remember
where you and shall one day lie
together in the hard cold and still fury
of the sitcom.
Quiet then shall be your English.
With the mental strength of Daniel
And the paws of Samson,
This double of Ben Johnson:
My watchful Boson.
In conversation rare was his rank,
Not just among dogs
But also amongst men.
In dreams, his friends included
Shakespeare, Bacon and Donne.
what we have is faster than travel:
did you call me ?
i thought for a second
of unnamed millennium
where each of us stood
a time-piece
able to control each moment
in time and memory.
did you call me ?
i thought you did.
the light between us constant
it has no date or memory
like the universe
it is an interval
neither forward nor back
but bright and still in constellation.
did you call me ?
i thought you did.
At that moment
we are utterly motionless
And as wise as Methuselah.
did you call me ?
or was this silence
so perfect it went on dividing
unseen and beyond any interval ?
into a chasm of names
not selected/random
but at the appointed time saved
to live forever
although all of us alive –
disappointed
by a signal lit upon the sky:
a great blitz of seats
reserved to hold hands
falling into a minute that seemed like a century
ready to leave
although I would fail to say good-bye
and would be missed and miss-ng
a temporary monument
these temples I wrote of
now silenced as trucks crashed
into our last defence and all the eyes
could not devour in one sitting the sight
of so many;
you can still find me though I am missing
in a chasm of something.
(to) a powerⁿ that makes you feel
on a high walk
connected, really sorted.
without blemish
like i was and ever shall be original
without fault;
both intimate and numerate
to all the above then
sing of where i live
in pure autonomy.