Hither and thither
Over the heather
Flits a plastic bag
With a broken wing
November 6 2015
BULLSHIT EVERYWHERE NIGHTMARE
There’s bullshit on the chair and bullshit on the floor,
Bullshit on the stair and bullshit on the door,
And bullshit in my hair… Why! there’s bullshit everywhere!
There’s bullshit on the street, in every face we meet.
Bullshit when we greet and bullshit when we tweet
Polluting sea and air: yes, there’s bullshit everywhere.
There’s bullshit in the church and bullshit in the school
And bullshit in the Commons, where they treat us like a fool.
We’ve enough bullshit to share, so much bullshit everywhere.
There’s bullshit in the park and bullshit in the pub,
Bullshit in the booze and bullshit in the grub,
But we don’t fucking care, so there’s bullshit everywhere.
We have a bullshit job and we lead a bullshit life.
We have some bullshit kids, ditto a bullshit wife.
So perhaps it’s only fair that there’s bullshit everywhere.
Bullshit under my skin, bullshit in my head,
Poisoning my thoughts as I toss and turn in bed.
Even dreams fill with despair when there’s bullshit everywhere.
November 19 2015
INTERVIEW WITH THE DOVER WOLF BOY
I was raised by wolves
At 23 Lavender Avenue in Dover
An only child
My parents ate the others
During the long winter of ‘62/63
The hunting was thin that year
Many wolves died
Whole dens wiped out
I’ve never suffered from survivor’s guilt
And I have no idea why I was spared
I didn’t realise my parents were wolves
(or rather that I was a boy)
Until I was eight years old
I saw them returning one night
After a hunt
Each carrying a bloody bone
In its jaw
That was my breakfast
But my discovery came too late
I had already started catechism classes
I was wary after that
Although I was always treated with affection
And willy-nilly returned my parents’
Enthusiastic licks
And so life proceeded normally
I did all the things that young lads do
Of course, I could never bring friends home
Then one summer night
I saw them leaving under a hunter’s moon
Silver-grey silhouettes loping over the back lawn
Disappearing behind the potting shed
They never returned
Now I sit on the living-room carpet
Howling at the TV
November 2015
NATURE’S JUST NOT NICE
They’re all driving to the mountains
To get away from it all
Hiking rocky hillsides
To answer nature’s call
Anyone would think
They’re on the way to paradise
I guess they’ve all forgotten
Nature’s just not nice
No, nature’s just not nice
Nature’s just not nice
Look in the bathroom mirror and you’ll see
Nature’s just not nice
Nature’s just not nice
So culture’s not much better either
Only last month did I see
A corbie raid a robin’s nest
And when it flew away
It had yolk smeared on its vest
I’d say that there crow
Had found its paradise
But crows don’t seem to care
That nature’s just not nice
No, nature’s just not nice
Nature’s just not nice
Look in the bathroom mirror and you’ll see
Nature’s just not nice
Nature’s just not nice
So culture’s not much better either
Walking in the mountains?
Inside yourself you’re walking
Talking about nature?
About yourself you’re talking
Say, how can you be far
From where and what you are?
No, nature’s just not nice
Nature’s just not nice
Look in the bathroom mirror and you’ll see
Nature’s just not nice
Nature’s just not nice
So culture’s not much better either
October 25 2015
PENCIL
When they drew the line
Everyone insisted on holding the pencil
But there were too many hands
So they tried making a bigger pencil
But there were still too many hands
Or the hands had grown bigger
So they made still another pencil
But again the hands were too many
And too big
And because there were so many huge grasping hands
Each time they made a bigger pencil
It was always too small
And this went on and on and on and
So now the pencil is so big
That even with all those hands
Those huge grasping hands
It’s too heavy to hold at all.
