Diptych 14.5.15

I'm 42 now...

In the spectral shadow of failure,
This convoluted world, this complicated life,
Hard to come by, easy to go...
Like not finding a suitable tailor,
Or a fitting wife,
And having nothing left to show,
For efforts, which come to nought,
Where success was all that was sought.

And problems seem to abound,
Making all that inspires fall to the ground,


Words...

Forget the meaning:
It's Art concealing Art.
These words are nothing but an array:
A tower leaning;
A place to start;
A place to stay.
And nothing but an impromptu talk:
To listen to;
To walk to;
And something to choose,
Turning off the hate from this evil world.

That Time of Year

It's the indestructible life that I'm after,
It's the 'still small voice' I crave,
It's a candle in the wind that I want,
It's beyond this piteous time of the grave.

I envy those whose lot is done,
I wish I could be with them now,
I'd hate to wait till Kingdom Come,
My transit thence - could God allow?

I'd love to sing for joy above,
My rapture there would ceaseless be,
I can't recall what wrongs I've done,
My death would rather set me free.

Ecclesiastical Woes

This verse begins a tale of woe:
At least one that won't last long.
And before I'm done,
You'll be sorry from top to toe;
And perhaps wanting to take it more slowly,
Before the main events begin.

The venerable Solomon, you might recall,
Had the right idea:
His words most clear,
And written in full,
Says you will be miserable before you're dead and buried.
But anyway, I'm still glad I was born…

I've been around many a cathedral,
And seen many sarcophagi,
And many people die.
I'll try to quote Larkin's poem next to the couple's stony pall:
"What will survive of us is love".
At least that's one I won't be able to remember!

Now, let's change the scene:
Dead kings and queens in Westminster seemed poignant;
With Catholic sleeping next to Protestant;
In life not too keen,
To let the dust settle over them,
Or to allow their mortal remains to push up the daisies.

I've also been to Arundel,
And seen that poor chap Philip Howard,
He, being definitely no coward,
Chose Heaven from Hell.
Now, maybe you can tell where my life went so badly wrong,
Before I go and consult the Black Prince and Becket at Canterbury.

My time began with Archbishop Fisher,
And my "cup of suffering" too.
But at the end to begin anew,
And make this tale so much the richer,
I'll remember bishop Warner's backward-flicking mitre.

So why do I talk of holy places in this way?
It's really the history, pomp and circumstance that makes me stay!

Contact Unum

The wings of the mind:
Whims that we find,
Turning virtue into unkind.

Sound is intense:
Music,
Which means
To find its defence
In life, which never ends…

Assorted Haiku

Late nights and no sleep:
Many years devoted to
Books and one's learning.


No inspiration:
Dig up another's piece while
Composing music.


No clouds and calm skies.
Easy to take for granted.
Hot hours in Spring.


Too often abused.
Cherish always while it lasts:
Your mother's free love.


Abstract emotion:
Another language of tears
Makes music's meaning.


Pay your dues while young -
Treasure stored up in heaven.
Money won't do now.


Try not to bellow
At me. Remember always,
Anger is a sin.


Con-fu-ci-us say,
"This year be year of rat, so
Eat up dog and cat!"


Seagulls through the sky;
Freedom in three dimensions;
Hovering on air.

Jettisoning Polar Barley

You'll never see into my heart,
You silly old fool,
Although all is plain and clear -
All signed, t's crossed, i's dotted,
And written in triplicate.
You make the same mistakes,
Year after year,
As if nothing matters;
Patronising with a broad sweep of the hoe;
Potatoes dug up when they are green,
Dangerously full of solanine -
And left on my doorstep,
As if I've never been fed!
Shed painted just before rain,
And washed away...
At the stroke of twenty pounds.

You, just like the rest,
Spurn, ridicule, belittle,
And burn like hot treacle:
The only reason you'll ever know.
Ripping out bulls in china shops,
Until everything is smashed,
And beyond repair.

The distance between,
Grows day by day,
Hour by hour,
Minute by minute:
You carry on,
Until all lights are extinguished,
All hearts dissected out,
And arranged in childish order -
Just for 'Science',
And the erroneous proofs,
Fed to readers of the Daily Mail!

British Nonsense

My name is Uzziah Uriah Manrael,
I come from London:
Golder's Green to be precise.
I deal in 'Emerald Runes',
Don't you see?
And I am rather partial to Szigeti -
Imported specially by Viennese cousins,
Over yonder in Europe!
I am the local Necromancer:
So just to corral these words
Into the throes of death,
I readied the Ark, the think
And the murder in shoes -
This antediluvian nonsense disaster.