Wayside Halts

1.    Lofty and sarcastic, proud to start off with

I’d forgotten how out of my brains I was!
writing poetry
knocking on doors of the enigma
the little people
the phone dring-dring oh dull oh-dull
miniature schemes
little work a tax dodge oh dear
what was that?
all day endless long
endlessly moaning.

Kiss off goodnight honey!
That lot make me feel quite easy
I know what I’m doing
look to writing some down
to start with.

2.    Then comes love.

Once a little freer
you can see where love comes in.
Everywhere souls bleed in one
they cannot survive, last be free
until tempered at the forge of love.
Who would be a grumpy cramped-up fool
not to shove this leaping step in black
to be proud be cool
worthy of love’s fussy sweat
in the darkness of night?

Spread your wings lone eagle
and come home to be
as you were before
strong in bleeding dry,
never never run out.

3.    Still remains humanity.

I am fragile eggshell mind
if I have no friends
I am open to blind destruction
at beck of foulmouth headfucks
and if you cut me I will bleed
etc etc all that wimpout stuff.
(What stood proud and free
can be brought to doubt and quiver
by idiot fluster – bill caughtcase
jealous obsession– wotta
lot of pathetic whingers
no poetry no soul
– merest excuse.)
(I say this
defended with unthinkable imagery
impregnable / should I say this /
must work harder
young to keep shape
can you still see me?)
How it unnerves me a little
all this.



       Brighton, autumn 1987