living poems: some new and alll original work



I JUSTIFY

 

I justify and you indulge

        the day, and day again recounting

of innumerable numbers

        and those sense depriving dreadful words.

 

I justify and you indulge

        the limp madness and lame anguish

of my real-as-magic half-imagined ills

        and my electronic proven fault.

 

I justify and you indulge

        the moss green sulk so cleverly explained

that we, the villain and the victim, swop

        and change the colour to the red of righteous rage.

 

I justify and you indulge

        and see the inward eye confuse the                            message,

but let the inquests in my prima donna brain

        feed the hungry cells of self and doubt.

 

Do not indulge or justify

        the unease, jealousy and spasmodic                                 nausea

even if it seems my groundless moods are only

         the strange product of my love for you.


HOW CAN YOU TELL IT'S ENDED?


Finite, final, finished, flown and gone:

that’s how its described,

     to friends and all and sundry.

But, how can you tell it’s ended?

The grass is as green and the fridge is as freezing.

How do you know it’s up?

Maybe it never was.

Life can still race or drag.

Nothing giant: the differences are minor, even subtle.

 

Saturation is as fleeting as desire,

     and even habit has its excitements.

 

Yet, something has told you it’s over.

Reception is bad, the current is off.

Something has told you it’s ended.

Grass is just grass and the fridge is                                  just cold.

 

It all soured surreptitiously.

Not aiming just doing.

Draining not filling.

Unaware destruction, not even                          instinctive creation.

 

Sometimes, after the break there’s rankling depression

and sick sentimental revulsion..

Occasionally.

Both will wear off anyway, and I’ll soon be aboard again.

One day I’ll forget to get off.


I WILL NOT BEG 

I will not beg from you

   some favour or reward

                that I earn through merit

                or need from desire

                or want for a collection

                or seek for amusement

                or procure with sympathy.

 

And I am not offering

   a prize or present

        that is there for the taking

        or that cannot be refused

        or will blow away your inhibitions

        or will be the right technique

        or give a reason for your life.

 

They’re all one-way traffic.

   But if we are just us

        and there’s no thought of give or take

        or better still no thought at all

        no fencing or manoeuvring

        no plans or stop watches

        no future ties

        or present afterthoughts:

the unity of time and place

is shattered by our union.


CITY LUNCH

 

        Brief longed for interval just slips away

                where millions hunger to partake

        and rush, shuffle, dawdle, struggle for the                             sake

                of mechanical child-forgotten play.

 

        I see some variable habit as they all                                   adjourn

                to carry on, not off, their work in                              unseen cases

        to bars, parks and cafes, where their                                     chases

                to leave are only part of everyone’s                                   return.

 

        In that pin-prick of a fleeting hour

                we sometimes meet and casually                                 create

        a sheltered universe, in a cosmic state:

        all from elements not in any way sublime.

 

        Lovers’ enchantments look banal to                                            others.

                Who cares? Tomorrow then at one?

        In time we can gently mock those others,

       for sadly seeing ecstasy as just a bit of fun.