For C. Boarding a Plane

I wrote this when you were about to board the plane
We never get to say what really goes on in our heads
I saw through the window the still frozen pond and nature
Does not explain us, does not describe us, just a refrain
Of struggle and beauty if you want, the brown brittle
Leaves contrast in the Breugel landscape that leads
One to associations and dimensions, away from love
I suppose, what comparisons can I draw from the overcast
Sky, except the sadness, the lack of you, and some inane
Simile like something you will surely disprove of, like
The preposition ending a line, I would replace the name
Breugel, as it is very W.H. Auden, with that of a text
Book illustrator, the one who did the Ancient Britons
As they made their way through snow, I feel little
Can be written to express how much I miss you now
As when you were about to board the plane
Instead I in makeshift rhetoric, tend to borrow
From others images and thoughts, scared to lease
My love to a page, to a readership, in hyperbole
I take the seasons and march them to my orders
Winter worries over you, it has begun to melt
And the sun is on the horizon, towards an equinox
Of meetings in cafes and conversations about this
And that, in the trees the green has begun to ease
Its way through the darkness, however that is later,
For this moment, the blackbird sings out of kilter
With the cold reality of a few more days in Limbo.

The Greening of Japan

"The Greening of Japan"
subtitled "Goodbye trees"

i hear robert zimmerman
on the harmonica
singing "goodbye trees",
and then death comes along
and mows them down
and cuts them down at their knees
and their mothers come
to the site every now,and again to place a bouquet
of flowers in remembrance
in front of the "jolly PA-STA"restaurant, and if only trees
were kids, about so high
instead of these green and brown
things that take up space
and not so far away up goes
a block of family "mansions"with the name of "famille garden"
and i hear robert zimmerman
on the harmonica
singing it used to be green and clean
and now its Green and obscene
and all those leafy things have gone
what were they? children?
and up the road there is a garage
with the sign "CLEAN"and 4wds sit there in a monty
pythonesque skit, ready to
pounce upon something green
whether it be a tree, shrub, or
insect, and maybe something brown
like the lizard sunning itself on
the sidewalk, and, and, sounds
like kids talk, but it is the impatience
of watching them grow up tall
and seeing the birds collect in the foliage
and thinking this is GREEN,and then the council
must balance
its books but not its conscience,
so its cut down those things, those trees,
and up it goes the "jolly PA-STA"
a kitsch flagship of convenience
foodstuff, and there should be a jolly
roger flying, with boughs and leaves,
for it is goodbye trees , goodbye trees
and hello Spaghetti Bolognese.

tired of

"tired of!"

tired of
tired of
tired of the prissy and the precious
of those who go round with wicker baskets
and collect adverbs and adjectives
cobalt blue thoughts, arabesque fantasies
which rhyme with expensive wall tiles
and they end up with other polished
artifacts that meet the house styles
of arts council funded magazines
where the finished product reigns
supremelike something out of a Habitat catalog
tired of tired of you want to get an eric partridge
dictionary of slang and at random
without using a condom of conformity
say fuck you, assmunches, you turds!
and party on dudes! party on!
tired of
tired of
the pretence of difference,
the so called eclectic and exotic
who quotes pound who was basically
unsound
and chants something in hindustani
something quite incomprehensible
something like servant boy get me
a glass of goats milk
and the otherness of other
why that's you in the mirror!
tired of tired of
translating English into English

Boys will be Boys

"Boys will be Boys"
for all those who suffered at the hands of boys

boys will be boys
and do you know what they got
up to when you were not there
father
they called me names, they teased
me, they whipped me with towels
and drew blood, they headbutted
me, they twisted my arms, they
took my property, they turned
my bed into apple pies, they kicked
slippers at me, they threw things
at me, they made fun of my physique,
they laughed at my shyness; my
confidence in myself was undermined,
and my sense of inadequacy confirmed,

boys will be boys
and do you know what they got
up to when you were not there
Godthey knocked on his door and dragged
him out into the street, and they called
him names, they taunted him, and they
pushed him into a wagon, and they struck
him for days, they starved him, they made
him do hard labor, they took away his friends,
and took away his family, and they took away
his life, and then they took away
my God
boys will be boys.

Alliteration with Anger

Anger is anchored in the bitter brokered
By bits of irrelevant information inspired
Cravenly cresting waves of woven
Differences dividing the population peopled
Ensuite engaged in their totality
Foreign feigned but backed benefactors
Generously given to the first faced
Harrying horrors upon the innocent idyllic
I idolized once in the past presence
Jinxed japes of the enbloated empirical
Klansman kindly take out the heart heartedly
Lance lovingly the talk trained
Metropolitan mixed on cornered corners
Napalm N and throw out Obama
Promoted proximately to the promised Palace
O O to quote quizzically
Quinine quota is bleached black
Raw rage comes up from sludge slimeballs
Slithering saliva over the spoken speech
Textualised taunts doing the rooky rounds
Universed umbrage signed in higher houses
Valued votes lost in the constitutional crack
Xrayed xenophobically in the fucking facts
You yank from the popular princess
Zero zygotes split the angel angrily.