He sniffed at Miles Davis in his Pompous English way
but doffed his treasured cap to the tunes of Sid Bechet,
who himself was not a stranger to the pulling of a trigger,
though to one as mean as he was he’d have been a lowly “Nigger”
From High windows he could survey other lesser forms of life,
those toads and grubby proles mired in their strife.
In his literary palace alphabetically displayed
he would charge his poison chalice with words so cruelly made.
The skyline spattered by air bursting shells,
canvas of grey, the birds have flown free.
The Belfry relieved of its heavenly Bells
and the crucifix splintered to saviourless tree.
Rats eat bootlaces through to the bone
then we eat the rats and so eat our own.
God has deserted what we now defend
but the Devil is stoic, the Devil’s a friend.
He rides on the shells that fracture the ear
then steers them away tormenting our fear.
though many forget the reasons we came,
we hate those who sent us more than the slain.
We’ve children back home in some other place,
but their voices have faded as too has the face.
We don’t look in mirrors for fear of our eyes,
but see in each other our self serving lies,
that bear us the wounded away from this hell
with silent dead whispers we never can tell,
of how we survived to be better off dead
then to live it again each day in our head.
The face is broke against the wheel,
diamond shard peppered flesh.
Now bloody pulp, once squeezed to life
between thighs of painful birth,
between creation of hope and the damnation of men.
Lips as blue as Iceberg Oceans
cannot one single word now form,
not one goodbye, no gratitude nor regret,
no moment remembered,
nor one remaining to forget.
Yet some sweet Mothers final kiss will brush against its brow,
a child’s unknowing memory
might reminisce somehow,
how once it held the world encompassed in a smile
before ever it was vacant before ever quite so vile.
Shimmering under kindling embers glow with fiery promise,
stoked from lazy slumber they crackle into flame.
Beneath the hollow sky a fine white shroud descends,
vapour trails glide eastward as if searchlights of the Gods.
In moments so peaceful I hope the world sleeps on,
the Sun to lose its wings the waking bells to never ring,
while timber fills where once it stood with scented smoke the soul of wood,
to offer back unto the stars the source of all that’s never ours.
Show me three gift-less paupers and a shrouded starless night
vacant rooms and fears allayed a Royal beauty shining bright
a crown of thorns unpicked of brambles and a covenant of rights
our truth is marching on
Give them all stamped passports with passage calm and free
give them life-preservers on a milky charted flat-top sea
give them shoes and food not fished from bins contamination free
our truth is marching on
Sheath the terrible swift sword to fall un-blooded by your side
and un-blind the blinded eyes for which the saviour worthless cried
then crush the Serpents head tear out the fork with which he lied
our truth is marching on
For my eyes have seen the sadness in the coming of the hordes
who’s minds are scarred with madness only ignorance affords
as the hulking vessels smash their precious cargo on our shores
our truth is marching on
So
Glory glory hallelujah
Glory glory hallelujah
we erased your filthy names before we knew ya
our truth is marching on
I thought I caught a glimpse of me coming back
the other way, a phantom of me somewhere from the future
in a tunnel white with dust, heavy in a veil of blood.
Going this way there is no past. I focus on the boots in front
heels kicking up the sand stone and goat shit,
almost laughing I choke, the voices in the distance sound killable.
Up ahead the sky is flashing white through yellow
the crump comes seconds later,
somewhere a barrel is smoking and a life is gone.
Never more alive than close to death,
let me touch it let me feel the void,
I’m ready to take the sweeping scythe.
How many times did we leap its dripping blade?
or turn a corner one block early to live another day,
then hear the stories of the dead who turned the other way.
And did we care? we did not, we revelled in our life,
we shrugged off death.
I saw in your eyes our luck running out,
as I saw them power down when yours ran out,
in the moment I saw you fade,
I shouted “fuck” then you were dead.
The last sound you heard was me shout “fuck”
I wish I’d shouted something else,
but I shouted that, and you were dead.
I saw myself reflected in a fuselage on the way home,
strapped to a board like an outcast angel
I shouted “FUCK” at the medic, he shouted “Fuck off” back, we laughed.
At the reception centre I saw my wife’s face in the crowd,
it didn’t feel like home yet,
I felt myself break, right there, right then.
I hope Valhalla is hell for you,
for the quiet of this peace is killing me.
Bone white she hangs still in the sky
the eyelid of night half blinking her eye
tracking the quiet of a ghostly terrain
with the cool of a killer who will kill again
Chased every morning as she is
etch-a-sketched out of inertia
does she despise that opulent sphere
that soaks up her darkness when she abandons it here
She shows us her face her beautiful hollow
since the man that once loved her has gone
and the masters of heaven forbid her to follow
now the light of her heart has been shone
