Saturday, 17 February 2007

This is not a political poem

This is not a political poem.
My basic attitude on life is if anything anti-political.

My main political proposition is a world without politics or politicians.

If you are a politician, you call that anarchy.
Which it absolutely isn't.
Anarchy is just another type of politics,
and I'm talking about a world without any politics.

This is outside the box of most politicians, so they either try to point out
how what I'm saying it insane, or impossible, or they
give up and go away.

Whereas if you are a poet, you can conceive of anything.

Any world.
Any universe.
Any impossibility is just fine.

Call it a fantasy if you like.

Like the fantasy of going to the moon was,
before we did it.

Wednesday, 14 February 2007

Juliet, when we made love you used to cry

(bits i like / can remember)

Love struck romeo
fills the streets with his serenade
laying everybody low
with the love song that he made

finds a convenient streetlight
steps out of the shade
says something like hey babe, you and me,
how about it?

....

You promised me everythin
you promised me thick and thin
now you just say Romeo, yeah,
I used to have a scene with him

....

You shouldn't come around here
shoutin up at people like that
Anyway, whatcha gonna do about it?

....

Juliet, when we made love you used to cry
You said I love you like the stars above
I'll love you till I die

There's a place for us
Goes the movie song
When you gonna realise it was just that the time was wrong

(Dire Straits)

Sunday, 11 February 2007

Guiding Star

For reasons known only to google, they have not indexed this poem on e24mp, so I thought I would link to it here, just to make sure everyone can find it... Guiding Star. This poem was a written as a commision, to celebrate the christening of a new born babe, to a very lovely mother and father. Hopefully you and the baby, young child by now, are out there somewhere enjoying your fabulous lives. Love and best wishes to you.

Wednesday, 7 February 2007

Conversations with my son

Although in a sense
my unborn son currently never existed,
sometimes I have conversations with him,
apologizing for having split up with his mother,
or else having not worked hard enough at meeting and seducing her,
or else having been too diligent with condoms,
thus preventing his conception.

He tells me that he forgives me,
just like I know I must forgive my father,
and he must forgive his.

In the end, that is all you can do.
It is the job of all sons and all fathers.

When we talk, I tell him about how beautiful life is,
how I'm sorry I never managed to give him that.
I tell him how I loved my life,
even when it was the saddest
or most frightening, when I feared imminent death,
or imprisonment, or serious illness,
or blindness
or most embarrassing
or most painful
or most lonely

When I felt most utterly and completely lost
and without a friend

Even in the worst times I loved my life
and was bottomlessly unfathomably grateful to my parents
for giving it to me.

I tell him this but he just smiles at me and says
I love you, dad.
I love you and respect you.

Because I know you gave your life for the sake of love,
and that is all any child could hope for in a parent.

And because I would have done the same with my life,
if I had had one,
in my non-existence,
I am at peace,
my life is complete,
in a sense, I already did.

Thursday, 1 February 2007

Political Correctness and the Alter of Pretty

Religious Ferver, Political Correctness, and Market Branded Gods:

She worships at the alter of semblance
Offering her soul as a human sacrifice
Berating herself (and others) for failing to keep its commandments:

Thou shalt be thin
Thou shalt be sexy but mostly unavailable
Thou shalt be fashionable
Thou shalt drive small fast cars
(Thou shalt know the signifance of car registration plates,
to determine just how new and enviable thy neighbour's car is)
Thou shalt know who is in thy top 40 album chart
Thou shalt go on 2 or 3 foreign holidays a year
Thou shalt work for a major corporate
Thou shalt upgrade thy mobile phone on every contract renewal
Thou shalt have a kitchen and bathroom like the ones in the property makeover shows
Thou shalt replace thy lounge suite biannually
Thou shalt smash thy brain out with alcohol Saturday night clubbing, vomit over thy bed and defend thy right to have "a good time", regardless of suffering from thy alcohol related health issues
Thou shalt know the names of all premiership footballers, managers and their wives
Thou shalt shop for clothes that thou shalt wear at most once before selling them for 50p on car boot sales
Whilst doing so, thou shalt accumulate unbearable credit card debts at extortionate interest rates that line the pockets of the wealthiest members of thy society
Thou shalt enjoy Robbie Williams and Take That, every time they have a revival.
Thou shalt consider Posh and Becks to be admirable, and care who wins big brother.
Thou shalt keep up with celebrity gossip, and really believe that it is meaningful.
Thou shalt hope for a way out of thy missery based on the the 10 billion to one chance of guessing 6 random numbers, and call it Saturday night entertainment.

I wouldn't have minded.
Her skin was too soft and lovely,
her flesh too warm and intoxicating,
her manner too generous, too approachable,
too welcoming, too friendly, too straightforward,
her delight and celebration of simple pleasures,
I could wrap myself up in her loveliness,
and live in her arms forever,
the lick and smell of her,
between her legs,
like tasting god.

Budhism teaches us to find a balance between the polarities;
I am not gay, but I don't mind the odd homo looking at my crack.
I have no holy book, only a holy idea: love above all else.
Reality above appearance.
Our own fantasy in preference to someone else's.

I wouldn't blow myself up in a crowd of strangers so as to defy
republican oil imperialism.
But I would put up with listening to Robbie Williams sing angels
to someone who I doubt could spot an angel even if he was wearing a halo with "Angel" written on it in flashing neon.
(Time square style) ... I would bare the idolatory of surfaces,
if you would bare my idolatory of you.

There is no way out of the prison.
Fortunately there is another you, that is already set free.
Leave the one that's in prison where she is,
and be the one who is free to worship
a God of your own invention.