Month: March 2014

 

To the tune of – Do wa diddy diddy

There she was just walking down the street

Thumbing text twitter, twitter text, text twitter tweet

Then, phone to ear like a clamp – pad on a bleed

Thumbing etc

She looked good, she looked the same

As information straffed her brain.

 

Before I knew, she was twittering to me

Thumbing etc

I hate my hips, I need botox in my lips

Thumbing etc

She looked mad, she looked sad,

Underneath she’s not so bad

 

Sometime later I saw her in the street

Twitching, jerk jitter, jitter jerk, with fidget flitter feet.

As desperate as a lamb upon an empty teat

Mumbling text twitter, twitter text, a flapping sort of beat

Hands free, ear grown

All the way around her phone.

 

Oh, Oh, I’ve seen the new breed

An ad-man’s puppet on information speed

 

I want a free range woman with a free range mind

Living with the rhythms of the natural kind.

Not a battery-house chick – like a fashion house stick

Crying, text twitter, twitter text, twitter, twitter, tweet

But earthy – sexy

Natural – friendly.

 

The wind blew open my heart’s door

I cursed, and slammed it shut once more.

I cried atop a ravaged hill

Till only silence made me still.

And in that silence grew a voice –

Victim or victor was my choice.

In the timeless ground of being

The living water

Swimming with nutrient thought

Picture-filled ideas

Rises up the spine

Through the semi-conscious limbs

To spark the synapses

Of the brain

And express a new creation

In the time-slicing, exiled world

Where every hour is counted

Every minute chased

In the race to squeeze a second

Off another competitor,

The fevered brain

Analyses, assesses

Computes it’s options

Shielding it’s inner eye

While picking from the torrent of information

Rushing by.

The spine curves towards the screen

The heart wilts in the spiritual drought.

The self-defending person

Has nothing new to say

Nothing new to express.

Asleep – it is disturbed

Awake – it strains to survive

Keep it’s senses alert

Blindly seeking communion

Through an exchange of images

Before it falls back

Into the dark.

Ah – if it had only trusted,

Stopped spectating,

Thrown itself from the mythical bank

Into the stream

Where the springs of the untimed world

Of the quantum plane

Lap at the citadels of illusion

Ever creating,

Renewing the life of the world

From the boundless kingdom within

Calling the life-lonely spirit

To dance with the eternal.

Now hanging above the earth

Mindful only of a swirl of images

And spiritual drought

I have become dis-eased

Conscious of my acidic, bill-filled stomach

Car seat body, screen-screwed eyes

Tense, twittering neurons

In semi-sleepless nights.

This aging image needs Viagra,

The regular pump of a gym treadmill

A bronzing holiday or big lottery saviour.

I saw a hearse today

And wondered about the empty husk –

Those suited remains within that polished box

With it’s gilded handles

Transported in a black-bright limousine

Adorned with dying flowers

To an industrial burning centre.

What do I live for?

To whom do I give my allegiance?

Where and when did I lose

My child’s heart’s vision?

How much have I really love

She told me she’d scored

Last night

But underneath

She looked scarred

And her need was so acute

It pierced my senses

Demonly desperate

Helplessly homeless

Aching for acceptance

Running on empty

She’d not yet hit twenty.

Once again

The bull had scored.

Hold me in the healing hour

Touch my self-inflicted bruise

I am terrified of love

You draw me on, but I abuse.

All the resurrecting loving

All the mysteries unfolding

All the hungry, urgent calling

That lights the knowledge I’ve been trawling.

Shall I worship you as God?

Yes, you are my most trusted friend

You walk with me along life’s path

And light my way, and light my end.

 

Grandparents, two grandchildren

The latter skipping, the former stiffening

But not as solidly ageless as the cliffs,

Battered, weathered, gouged and mined.

They are the stage on which these two brief generations

Are looking out from, over the sleeping sea

Nuzzling the towering ravaged ramparts.

Their dog sniffs, the girl points

Her brother waves

At the gliding gulls.

The grandparents ponder decaying erections,

Those solid wheel houses

Beneath which, sweat and straining muscle

Picked and tunnelled

Expending it’s ore – lust

In a mere 200-year old orgasm.

Now these decaying ruins are romanticised,

Weathering more slowly than the grandparents,

But not as slowly as the ageless granite

Glinting in the last sun-spill from the sea

While the tender children laugh and skip

Unconscious of eternal bruising.

When the arc consumes

The wine in the cup

The bread on the platter

Then the Royal Arch

Opens up it’s sealed doors

And the temple curtain

Is torn aside

And through that holy gap

Streams another fire

A timeless resonation

Through this dense excruded gravitation

This outlaw – rogue dimension.

When the arc consumes

The wine in the cup

The bread on the platter

Then the Royal Arch

Opens up it’s sealed doors

And the temple curtain

Is torn aside

And through that holy gap

Streams another fire

A timeless resonation

Through this dense excruded gravitation

This outlaw – rogue dimension.

The warmth doesn’t seem as warm as it was

And the cold’s like a wintering tide

But I remember long summer spells

When muscle-taut skin glowed with pride.

Though the winters were sharp as icicles’ spikes

That pierced every bone to the marrow,

I grew in it’s grip, and drained every drip

Thirsty and eager and callow – but

Now my old body can’t capture the warmth

Dance and play in the green’s dripping dew

But deep down inside, there’s still a spring tide

In the life that I still share with you.