POEMS

What can I say.....

Armchair Revolutionary was the first poem I considered OK . When we are young many of us feel a passion to pursue a worthy cause , to apply ourselves to making a positive difference to the world .The trouble is as we get involved in making a living we get self absorbed and the obsession with image and trivia seems to distract humanity from issues that truly matter . So here's to all the genuine change agents who carry the torch for the rest of us .

Zena was brilliant and brave . This poem was written in one sitting in 1993 .

Armchair Revolutionary

Belt and boots, fire and steel

Forty years chained to the wheel

A Union man , faithful to his creed

To live to work, to serve their greed

The industrial dream , a paragon of beauty

Became the beast of ritual and duty

As the man and machine crushed his hopes and beliefs

Of freedom ,democracy, a generation released

And yet he dreamt of being a different man

A poet, a priest or an artisan ,

But it didn't pay to use his mind

When he had skills of a simpler kind

So resigned to fate, there he stood

And pledged his soul to the brotherhood

Wishing he had the strength to be

More than just an armchair revolutionary .

For me old Dad, Jack, who worked his fingers to the bone in crap jobs.

The Big Chill

The Big C

Spooky ,

Preys gently on the mind

Only coming out at night

In small lumps

It dumps itself without ceremony

On the unsuspecting you and me

The Big C

The unmentionable predator

Runs in quiet waters

Indiscriminate random selection

Its delectation

He sits dreamily deep inside your soul

Poised poison, heart black as coal

The Big C

Gatekeeper

Holds your breath for ransom

Stealth a virtuoso of this genetic technician

Who flips the finger at the men in white coats

And their timeless mission

So Big C

Toe to toe here we stand

Our destiny is in your hands

Hope feels bittersweet

Fear is black and blue

But you will be beaten

This is our belief

For our love and faith

Will come shining through

For Zena , my Princess Warrior.

Resurrection

Knuckle bent,deep into the wire

Faithful to her resurrection,

Culpable, but sensing no guilt

I stared deep into her beauty.

A secretly resplendent victim,

Wanting to believe in nothing

But those wonderful lies

I dedicated shadows to her

And traced my hands across the skies

Threading fingers through the falling rain

Preferring devotion to compromise

I followed every move she made

And worshipped her with jealous eyes

But loving and never desiring

Left me free but not released

An unwilling disciple with no messiah

Stranded in pursuit of some false belief