on the journey back
from the crematorium
silent and heavy hearted
I saw a dead cat in the road
its ninth life had been dashed
on the black tar macadam
it looked like it was sleeping
but I knew that it was broken
and was never going home
they say cats have nine lives
while men have only one
yet a man can die
a thousand deaths
before his days are done
.
my grandfather
that beautiful old man
shared such treasures with me
tales of adventure and discovery
in distant dark continents
and the cycle of the seasons
in the land we called home
he named the constellations
and revealed the golden ratio
at the heart of nature’s symmetry
he always maintained
that the universe was made
of those little treasures
he passed along to me
and that knowledge is a jewel
to be prized beyond riches
he was not a wealthy man
some might call him poor
but when he left this world
he had bequeathed me wonders
we were enslaved
by your petty regulations
once bitten
twice shy
was a callous methodology
simply operant conditioning
with a practised brutal flourish
spare the rod and spoil the brat
was the dullard ideology
visited on your youth and mine
I saw the dust behind your eyes
you were old beyond your years
something inside you
had already died
every mother’s child
has a thousand teachers
and I was an early receiver
of your twisted ideation
tuned to your negative acuity
I learned to tread lightly
whenever you were around
she went about her business
with kindness and good grace
and where she trod
little miracles sparkled
as morning dew drops
reflecting the dawning sun
like tiny prisms
diffracting and recombining
into a million rainbows
which lit the hearts
of whoever fell within
the spectrum of her love
everyone who loved her
carries that light still
.
you are not Orpheus
you can save no-one
you are not Christ
you shall not rise again
everybody dies
there are no exceptions
you can’t cheat death
we must live with that
once you’re gone
you can’t come back
it’s a law of nature
you can’t fight it
loss is the price we pay
for the love we share
everybody dies
and that knowledge
costs us dear
* image: Hades and Persephone listen to Orpheus’ song in the Underworld.
5132: H. Bissen, 1798 – 1868.
it’s the strangers you know
that generate the most heat
those that have your confidence
are the most likely to betray you
you held my gaze a little too long
I suspect you’ve made a bad call
the arsehole of humanity
is a regular garden of eden
for the hungry devotees
of the cockroach god
go give your face a wash
you have blood on your chin
rearrange your killing stones
we’re in for heavy weather
you pledged your solidarity
with a murderous mechanism
you tried to steal my name
so you could write it in the gutter
.
ocean child
hear my voice
dry your tears
you have no choice
you’re still alive
you should rejoice
reach for me
it is allowed
don’t be afraid
to show me how
for I am here
at least for now
we had egg and chips
and we were grateful
the children in Africa
had nothing at all
we dragged the low end
because we were brassic
when your stomach is empty
it’s hard to stand tall
the times sure were tough
but the people were tougher
when troubles are shared
they can suddenly seem small
I hate the grim necropolis
that has claimed your bones
there’s nothing here but charnel
and the memories of ghosts
I cannot leave you here
cold and all alone
so meet me in the morning
when the sunlight splits the sky
and we shall dance
in pastures green
like a pair of butterflies
.
they’re out to get me
the gossip mongers
and their lynching crew
I killed two birds
with only one stone
they called me sorcerer
I said I was just lucky
they said I was too lucky
and pointed to my women
they said I’d cast a spell
to bind them to me
and that I was father
to every bastard child
in their bastard town
I said I wished I was
for then I’d have an army
to always stand right by me
because I could not deny
my own flesh and blood
and they would know
their father’s love
instead of the hatred
of the rumour peddlers
and the vicious mob
.
back in the day
we had idiot sanctuaries
moored offshore
on the emerald ocean
where fat cats
would call the shots
for the man
who called the shots
before the last nations fell
the top banana
sat on a gilded throne
while continental flunkies
manned his 24 hour hotline
he had a legal mandate
to commit the perfect crime
no-one ever saw him coming
but everybody knew
from his bloody footprints
exactly where he had been
he was the master of ceremonies
for the great false dawn
they say that it shone brighter
than a thousand suns
.
she always returned affection
she said she felt obliged
I told her she was easy
and she did not reply
.
