....
to me - we were the centre
and the sign to london was 98 miles
on dark evenings when stars did not shine
and the black fen dog was abroad
that sign and it's baggage of royalty
and all we were not
would loom large in yellow illumination
....
and the names prove it
the secret names that proved
our knowledge of all things
of our ways
...
but didn't all roads have hedges
were not apples growing in every field
boys were different to girls
we knew that - each race we won
was sweeter and each defeat more bitter
as in that playground of bells
we carved ourself wth a chistling definition
of the mason on the cherub
but didn't everyone understand
see our world as we saw it
when entrusted with two shillings
solemnly we dropped it through the slot
for an indian boys schooling
once a year he would write to us
....
once a year - in early summer - a letter
would arrive from india - the stamp
exotic as yoghurt or hamburger
it was from our boy - for whom we dropped
ten pences in the box - with a photgraph
of a smiling nun - he thanked us
we if we ever thought at all - we liked this -
for children have an innate sense of justice
it was right that a child like us
should be schooled - and we liked
to be thanked - but more than this
we liked the sound of the coin
dropping in the box
.....
it was a friday, the last day of term.
when out of the blue someone said
that we were at war
we were always at war but this time
it was different and though the jingos
sneered - we cheered
the ships from portsmouth and felt each death
for with the fleet went something of ourself
that part of us
which fought for right above the din of politics
for what is england worth or what of freedom
for which you will not fight
....
mr hollande hangs on the wire
for a call to act in independence
of reason for rationally
this thawing makes little sense
but in private
well in private all things are justifiable
especially if nobody knows
or cares
to join the dots
bouncing off the north sea coast
....
not knowing is the real fear
that little me in my ear
niether genius nor a sear
that nags and nags
for what can modesty do
when faced with the big you
but nag and nag at you too
for you are just mortal
who cares for our small ascents
when we get that for which we bent
ourselves to achieve etc
....
when the fire cracks
the craic flows
blonded hopped
and twice as strong
tight with warmth
souls exchange
'I know I said I'm going'
but so want to stay
....
ee how gran
in m&s for tea
and teacake
I didn't have a barm
though
but I nearly had an orgasm
when the girl said '£3.20 please'
....
business ladies folders laden
seat themselves to chew the fat
stroke their hair when talking
preen twice more when man sits down
nothing can be uttered without laughing
for agreement must be found
ring bound papers fall and rising
lanyards jiggle on giggling breasts
oh business ladies drink you latte
do please leave you hair along
don't you know there's someone dying
nor do I - but I'm sure there's one
....
tracksuits skinnier than jeans
haircuts shaved into shapes
as fierce as the dog - even the busker's
recorder has lopsided airs
...
rolling out of manchester
beyond the high rise glass
of the new build quays
one enters the sprawl
of failed grand design
the proud red brick warhouses
and the grander piles to god
mix with the asbestos
and the rubble
and erected steel
of business and commerce
always moving away form the centre
dragged by the iron of the hills
the green of the land
to come away
from the grand designs of money
....
these hills over which pylons march
lack the charm of yorkshire
a symptom perhaps of the illness
of place - they are too grey
too bare too stamped by men
yet his malady infects
no matter how hard I fight it
only when the light shifts
to the bleakness of beauty
of single windblown trees or jagg'd rock
do I feel the pull of home slacken
for I am home
that place in my heart
that poem which can not be erased
or removed
.....
she has that certain strut
that will not be shut up
and everything she says
is me, me, me
among the dribbled words
concerning projects and pormotions
it's pretty bloody obvious
she works in tv
....
The Blue Book
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