I think for hours
Then buy her flowers
I’m glad she made
Fresh marmalade
She is to me
A mighty sea
Of deep emotion
Without commotion
But with devotion
No self-promotion
True support
That’s never fraught
Keep up the trick
Through thin and thick
Just entertaining
While stimulating.
How now, that in the sightless, mean and sooty night
I am besieged with visions that affright me
Choke me, throttle me with their easy might
And curse a dodgy war I waged so morally?
And marching regiments of boys now out of time
Chant and unnerve my drenched, dissembling heart
They brandish severed parts to demonstrate the crime
Wading through sandy blood as recriminations start.
This shameful outcome I neither sought nor wanted
Where prophesying hags reveal a folly and such incandescent rage
Not on some ancient heath where lineage was granted
But here in Britain now, my gift of nightmare to the present age.
Reawakened medieval passions lead to daily slaughter
A fractured, ruptured, broken zone where all can die
How my silken tongue bodes ill for son and daughter
When I heaped on warring Iraqis a democratic presumption and a lie.
2007
Glancing at you sideways when you know it not
Glimpsing fragrant moisture on half-open lips
That sweetest tongue alive with words of fire
Touches teeth a-gleam that sears me with desire.
Your face is peerless in its form so close to mine
As now your nose and eyebrow sweep my cheek
Drench me in warming scents from flawless skin
Stretching my so pulsing heart that beats within.
Those eyes quite glisten and reflect my truest self
Changing the while as thoughts flick at your soul
Agape with love that courses through true dreams
And close now moistly for our love is all it seems.
Those lashes lie awash on beds of deepening tears
As ardent lips are fired with racing thoughts of love
Then drenched am I with expectation quite fulfilled
Our joyous understanding gained and now instilled.
I have compared you with all those summer days that Will has spoken of
And sly-eyed you across the chessboard as you richly mimicked Kasparov
Enjoyed the honeyed, dappled fingers reach mockingly to take my pawn
And burned with shame when first you laughed my poorly chess to scorn.
Those tawny and compelling eyes so brimful with condescension and such disdain
Mock and hoot those thoughts of mine revealing what I would truly, sensually gain
Yet leave the chess forgotten as bishops spill on knights and castles crash to floor
Cascading players vault beyond the candles and twine their burning flesh amour.
Strutting like fascists pumping hard, oozing pomp
Twin leaders, at twin lecterns now stiffly arriving
Muscle-bound mouthings from twins on the stomp
Our language deformed with mis-facts so contriving.
Frozen smiles pucker lips seen on millions of tellies
While out there our lads fear lead in their bellies.
The leaders synthesize speeches with ranting rejoicing
Though casualties leap towards sickening highs
Hugely asleep to the grief millions are voicing
Swimming too deep in a tissue of lies.
Frozen smiles pucker lips seen on millions of tellies
While out there our lads fear lead in their bellies.
2007
Another three, another three
Smashed boys have gone to heaven
While in the dirt and in the sand
There lie remains of someone’s hand.
Surely this isn’t what the PM planned?
And don’t forget the other boy
Maimed and weeping, deep in shock
Splattered with mucus, flesh and crap
Victims of someone’s little trap.
Will this, at last, make the PM snap?
Don’t hold your breath
Don’t think about it
Just thank the Lord that you’ve survived
You’ll see the lads on the other side.
Remember son, it’s the PM’s pride.
Your ears and scalp are now quite separate
Skin’s been torched and seems on fire
Those eyes of yours that once did shine so
“And shall I see my love again though?”
The Chaplain feared it must be “No”.
But when you’re back in Blighty, son
Don’t visit the Clinic with your uniform on
As you’ll offend those separate, sensitive folk
And could be judged you did provoke.
Your plans are dashed, and at a stroke.
Surely this wasn’t what the PM planned
As bullets rip through Iraqi sand.
O Master, lead us to the Promised Land!
This poem was written in July 2002. Since when the British Forces deaths have accelerated and currently [10 Aug 2007] stand at 168…………..and counting!
2007