Prime Minister's Questions

                                                                                                           
 P M Qs

"If you don't stop picking your hair
you won't have any left to cover anything.
No I think it's slimming,
It's a lovely suit, you can't go wrong
with a dark blue mohair.
Did you bring the black shoes. Grey socks?
Your shirt's okay but the tie's a bit busy.
You're not giving the speech to Cherie!
You'd better have mine
I just put it on this morning
and nobody's seen it yet.
Yeah,  I know it's silk.
No, you look fine, give us a twirl
Oh, hold on a minute.
The severed Iraqi child's arm
in your top jacket pocket.
Here have this handkerchief instead
Ah, that's better.

Now go an' give 'em hell"

"Thank you Peter"

"You're Welcome"

The picture is of Dr David Kelly.

The Clock the Mirror and the Hall

The Longcase Clock

Tick tick tock went the big old Clock
as it stood all forlorn in the hall
then with a shout suddenly cried out
"My God I have killed them all."

The Mirror in shock, said-"Dear Mr Clock
you shouldn't go blaming yourself
because you display the hour of the day
on your handsome face of delft"

"You are in error' said the Clock to the Mirror
They are gone because of time
and I tremble with fear that they would be here
if it weren't for my cursed chime."

The Mirror then sighed and said "I have tried'
To shield you from this truth
I have studied the way time turns to grey
the golden mane of youth."

The Mirror went on - "Now don't get me wrong
I respect all the work you have done
but they are men and time ticks in them
and that is why they are gone."

The Clock said "Dear friend, I knew I could depend
on you to hear my cry
But though I grieve don't expect me to believe
your well meaning but fantastic lie"

The mirror said "Look, if it wasn't for this hook
that pins me to this wall
I'd give you some wit by lifting you with a kick
you an' your chimes an' all."

The Clock said "I see what you think of me
you couldn't be nice for an hour
and all this malice because you are jealous
of my universal power."

The Mirror said "That's great - so this is my fate
it's true that life can be cruel
I'm locked in this hall and pinned to this wall
facing a delusional fool."

The Question

The Question

My spirit is a stranger in a foreign land
wide eyed and bemused by linear time
in a galaxy in a grain of sand
tracing echoes of the divine

My soul in reconnaissance scouts the terrain
it's been around and here it comes around again
moving like a wheel within a wheel
capturing images of the surreal

My mind conceded long ago
at the foot of a mountain
I named - 'Things I cannot know'
on an outcrop I scrawled this graffiti -
'The answer is a question'

My heart is a boy lost in a wood
he thinks it's because he wasn't good
at first distracted in his play
until longer shadows strike his day
he begins to feel hungry lost alone
he cries out-"Father find me and take me home"

My body is my dwelling and my cell
too sinful for heaven too wounded for hell
a little lower than an angel
a little higher than a beast
an ebullience of life soon to be deceased

Sometimes
you think you have everything
and you have nothing

Sometimes
you think you have nothing
and you have the whole world at your fingertips

Sometimes
you get clean away
only to turn around turn around again
like a moth to the flame

Will tomorrow bring an answer
to yesterday's dilemma
the picture's not worth watching
I can't move the antenna
I'm in a dream state
paralysed but wide awake
and in this dream within a dream
events are not what they seem
walking on the mountain
drinking from the fountain
asking the question
receiving the answer
creates another question
why am I told
things I cannot hold
sitting up in my bed
I clasp my hands for molten lead

Such spiritual wickedness
in such high places
camouflaged by airs and graces
the pseudo-socio religious farce
in Sunday best and washed arse
and all the learning
and all the knowledge
and all the posturing
of science and art
have never and can never
wash one human heart

And my own heart is just as dark
and just as ready to kill
and less delusion and less pretence
will not make it white as snow
my knees may kneel upon the ground
but it's upon the mass graves below.

I wrote this a few years ago and decided to repost it.

Mother.

Backtrack

and you were like a wounded doe tangled in barbed wire
and you were like a wounded doe tangled in barbed wire
and you were like a wounded doe tangled in barbed wire

and your big sad heartbreaking eyes knew I was a liar
and your big sad heartbreaking eyes knew I was a liar
and your big sad heartbreaking eyes knew I was a liar

and I would go for your medicine down to hell and back
and I would go for your medicine down to hell and back
and I would go for your medicine down to hell and back

and I would run like an athlete and the pavement was my track
and I would run like an athlete and the pavement was my track
and I would run like an athlete and the pavement was my track

and you would smile when you were troubled and you used to smile a lot
and you would smile when you were troubled and you used to smile a lot
and you would smile when you were troubled and you used to smile a lot

and you would wind your hair and you could put it in a knot
and you would wind your hair and you could put it in a knot
and you would wind your hair and you could put it in a knot

and you gathered all your worries and you placed them in my cot
and you gathered all your worries and you placed them in my cot
and you gathered all your worries and you placed them in my cot

and your trailer became filled with a cloud of white light
and your trailer became filled with a cloud of white light
and your trailer became filled with a cloud of white light

and you were called away in the middle of the night
and you were called away in the middle of the night
and you were called away in the middle of the night

and I have lived in your wake in it's depth and in it's height
and I have lived out each break from the morning of the night
and I have lived for the sake of the return of the light

My Mother died thirty years ago today.

Blind Man Driving

Blind man driving

Blind man driving
directions are helpful
he knows where
you explain the way

Destinations are easy
the mountain or the ocean
the chosen route
can lead astray

From the mountain
you can see the ocean
from the ocean
you can see the mountain

And in between
the shimmer of a car
another blind man driving
another family outing

Evensong.

Careless Words.

They talk about them
like they are not there
they talk about them
like they do not hear
they talk about them
with a wink and a nod
as though everyone agrees
and everyone knows what they mean
when they say "traveller"

They make grandiose statements
career ending statements
hounded out of public office statements
if they made them about any other group
any other group in the world
apart from "travellers"

They would gladly load the cattle trucks
all that's lacking is a law
all that's lacking is the paper work
the corporate abdication of personal responsibility
and the police would obey the law
and the army would obey the law
they could muster an Einsatzgruppen in a day

And if you stand perfectly still
in this slip of the lip
you can feel humanity slip
you can feel the earth slip
toward oblivion.

Evensong.

Give up your Jews
Give up your Jews
Give up your Jews

And your Gypsies too

Give up your Colleagues
Give up your Neighbours
Give up your Friends

Give up them All
Give up Control
Give up your Soul

We have a Law...To make you Obey
We have a Law...To take you Away
We have a Law...To kill you Today

Law is Might...Wrong is Right
Dark is Light...Blind is Sight

No turning back at the Mississippi Turnpike

Now for Evensong.

The Maze.

The Maze.

Too many variables to be very sure
Too many Doctors to find a cure

Too many Politicians mouthin' sound bites
Too many human beings denied human rights

Too many Millionaires applauding austerity
cheering the deepening entrenchment of poverty

Too many sociologists narrowing the gap
trammel through the maze into the mouse trap

Too many Priests going through the motions
reciting liturgical unfelt devotions

Too many Poets who have never been read
lost like pearls from a broken thread

Too many blind to worth - wanting to be rich
Masters of Life in designer kitsch

Too many deaf standing on the shore
there's a hurricane coming and they can't hear the roar

Too many refugees to calculate the cost
country and home and dignity lost

Too many smug regarding their future
counting the cost of a food voucher

Too many young men eager to be brave
learning to fight while learning to shave

Too many being taught in segregation
denied an interactive rounded education

Too many claiming the authority of God
twisting youthful ideals into innocent blood

Too many children cut down while they play
Too many hearts broken like clay

Too many fragments of shattered dreams
caught in the vortex of a Mother's screams

Too many standing in numbed disbelief
surveying the altered landscape of grief

Too many stumbling attempting to regain
a foothold in unfamiliar terrain

Too many walking the desolation
of their social isolation

Too many waiting for things to get better
until it finally doesn't matter

Too many on the outside looking in
on Churches barbed by subtle sin.

One Flew Over.

Bad Egg.

I don't want to hate you
it would be too easy
and if it wasn't you
it would be someone else

There is always someone
a Cuckoo of hatred
laying it's egg
in someone else's heart

Hatching and thriving
demanding and greedy
evicting nobler emotions
from their birthplace

I don't want to hate you
it would be too easy
and that is why
it's so difficult not to.

Harvest.

Harvest.

Autumn is here
and there is no harvest
The trees have leaves but no fruit
The wheat has ears but no grain
and if you should return
I wouldn't know
how to begin to explain

I would offer you a gift
but of all the things I own
all I have is my sin
all I have that's mine alone

Spare me - I pray
another year or two
if you will extend your hand
I will fill a harvest basket for you

I have laboured in these fields
among this bracken, broom and whin
and a lifetime to understand
all you wanted was my sin.

Angel Song

Angel Song

I hear the harmony
of their wings
resonating in the air
like the breeze on my face
I can feel they are there
They are rising in harmonics
turning like a flock of birds
in the choir of their wings
I can hear these words

'The poor man's wealth
is in his heart
collected treasures set aside
a lifetime of feeling and thought
of joys to share and grief to hide

The poor man's wealth
is in his soul
fashioned by a life of care
when there is nowhere to turn
calling out to God from his despair

The poor man's wealth
is in his hope
for heaven's pasture
and a camp to pitch
in the gift of God
who spares the poor
the poverty of dying rich

The poor man's wealth
is in his faith
upon this staff his burdens lean
and walking taps along the way
finding evidence of things not seen

The poor man's wealth
is in his need
though wealth and power
their virtues flaunt
the place where the God is found
is in the sigh of abject want'

Then gradually I became aware
of breathing again
there was less pressure in the air
and the sky just looked like rain
I called out and I listened
but I knew they were gone
so I sat beneath an oak tree
and wrote down their song.

I posted this in March, but you can always sing a song again.

The willow trees

Omagh

A day
can seem like a lifetime
a moment like a year
hopes and dreams
contained and lost
in one exploding tear

Caught
in the freeze frame
moving in slo-mo
another imagined
retrospective scenario

When those loved
more than life
do not survive
the deepest wound
is the hurt
of being alive
To stand beneath
the willow trees
and weep aloud
lost in grief
wander Market street
among the crowd

Caught
in the freeze frame
moving in slo-mo
another imagined
retrospective scenario.

The Gift.

The Gift.

Yesterday morning
I opened my blind
and looked out from a different window
I was standing in the window
of the empty flat across the street
looking back at myself
I was holding up the lid of a shoe box
with these words written on it
"New Shoes"
Someone else was in the room
they came to the window
and looking over smiled at me
he looked like Kurt Cobain

I decided to do four things
leave the blind open
put up a washing line
wash my clothes
and tidy my flat

This morning
I opened the blind
and looked out from my window
A woman was moving into the flat across the street
I went over and helped her with her things
it wasn't difficult

Sitting on the steps drinking coffee
she said to me
"I don't care what I have
as long as I have peace"

I replied

"You know you're asking a lot"

"I know" she said
"But at least I've made a beginning"

"Well you've come to right place
this is the street of new beginnings"

"Hurt" she said
"Is like an opening in the soul
it can be a matter of windows
from one window it looks like a pit
but from another window
it can look like the ground
has been dug out and prepared
prepared for the foundation
of a new beginning

To this I replied

"In my flat I have a sofa bed
I never use it in fact it's just in the way
I'd be grateful if you'd take it off my hands"

"I'll pay you for it" she replied

"Only if you pay me what I gave for it
I got it as a gift'
it's not much to look at
but it's comfortable and practical"

"Comfortable and practical'
sounds just what I need"
she said, slipping off her shoes
and then she said
"Look at my feet'
they look like two victims of trying to fit in
both carrying the marks of the past
I swear if I have to go barefoot
I'll never wear these shoes again"

"I doubt if you'll have to if you're willing to go barefoot"

She looks at me "I'm also willing to get new shoes"

"I know the very place"

"I believe you do and you can take that as a compliment
because right now that is one of the few things I do believe"

"Compliments, that is something I'm not used to"

"Well here is something for you to believe
you haven't missed much"

I looked into the face
of this world weary woman
and could see the eyes
of a hurt little girl welling up with tears
I struggled for something to say
and then realized I didn't have to say anything.

The Greatcoat

The Greatcoat

 There is a big blue overcoat lying on the lawn Jonathan placed it there for Jane to sit upon before he was urgently called away Jonathan did not forget his coat but Jane has forgotten it just as she has forgotten Jonathan Everyone knows he loves her even the boy I have sent to fetch his coat I wanted to tell him but how could I say "Jane is a flirt" to a parting friend Johnathan tonight You play Wars game of chance Jane tonight You will laugh and dance And everyone will notice you and every man will flirt with you and everyone will love you and every woman will hate you I alone will not notice you and you will not flirt with me not even one unguarded glance until I retire to wait for you.

Midsummer Day.

Midsummer Day.

In a brightly printed cotton dress
styled for a Midsummer day
She sat beside me on the bank
of a meandering river Tay

The fragrance of wild flowers
infused the hazy breeze
From the bank across the river
bird song filled the trees

Wisps of delicate pollen
floated along on the air
Leaning back she ran her fingers
through her sun bleached hair

We looked up at the deep blue sky
as a little cloud covered the sun
Then we covered each other's eyes
and listened to the river run

We walked the path along the river
to where the Tay and Lyon meet
then sat and talked beneath a tree
shaded from the midday heat

We talked about the future
we talked about being together
and from the vista of our youth
our future seemed forever

I didn't know how beautiful she was
life and love were all brand new
I didn't know such precious moments
could only be precious few

The elements of nature
seldom by will or chance of play
In moments of alignment
converge to make a perfect day

I thought about her yesterday
while walking on the shore
I thought I'd give
whatever time was left
to live that day once more.

Commonality.

Little Hand

You don't know
you're breaking my heart
or how I wish
it could be me instead of you
I sit at the bottom of your bed
and there's nothing I can do
I pray my earnest prayer
for God to let you stay
but know deep inside
he's taking you away

Carefully structured expectations
unspoken hopes and plans entwined
though struck by such a feeble hand
collapse entangled in the mind

This is the last of carefree days
of youthful jest and childlike joy
but captured moments of these and more
this day will not destroy

And the wounded heart will never
let go of this little hand
still reaching where the treasure is
will sojourn only in this land

And the wounded Saviour will never
let go of our grief and pain
God knows we do not understand
it's hard enough to be sane.

Naive heart.

The stomach is full
the bed is soft and warm
but the soul
is oh so hungry
in the restless night
Everything seems so small
and so far away
the attendant murmur of age
mingles with the distant sound
of children at play
And little lights
almost in view
once cities of interest
now glow for a moment
only to fade
into the dull sameness
of what has been
The naive heart
enquires for purpose
in a frivolous void
of diversion
and the penitent
subconscious soul
confesses nightly
to the God
inescapable.

Lonely road.

O my God
I feel so empty inside
falling through the void
of my own emptiness
there is nothing
only fear
so afraid of living
so afraid to die

The desolation of my soul
has met me on a lonely road
and every way I turn
and all I try to do
seem only moments of distraction
from this unknown life
and knowledge of death

No one is old
seventy is not old
seventy millennia would not be old
and still not long enough
to learn to be a man
We are children
lost in a dangerous world
the present uncertain
the future unclear
and our deepest needs
will not be found here.

The Value of Pi with Delia

The Value of Pi.

"You may ask"
Why I'm lying in bed
I've been thinking
The tree growing in the ground
the rain falling from the sky
the fruit ripening in the sun
It takes such a lot to make
apple crumble pie.

Anyway - I've been all over
I tried to be a soldier
but the trade is dead
I tried to be a farmer
but the crops won't grow
I tried to be a builder
but you can't build on the snow.

It's the same old story
The money men have it all
they've formed a consortium
and are gathered in the square
they're burning barrels of money
and it's warm and cheery there.

We should get ready
and go down
to warm our hands and toes
it won't last forever
you know how money goes.

Delia Smith will be sixty nine
on the 18th of June - I don't believe it!

Summer Walker.

Walking the roads of Argyll.

Sitting in the cart shed
I ate cheese and bread
drank a jug of milk
then lay down my head

I awoke it was dark
the roof rattled with rain
I ruffled the straw
then lay down again

I awoke it was clear
and a beautiful day
thanked the goodwife for breakfast
then went on my way

I walked to the next farm
and knocked on the door
a day in the fields
by Drumlemble shore

Gathering Summer
from the meadows of Thane
up on the big mill
threshing the grain

A girl came to the field
with a basket of food
I thank her very much
and tell her it was good

She is pretty and feisty
melt your heart with a glance
she tells me all are welcome
at the end of harvest dance

The farmer's son became enraged
He said "You had no need thank her
and you will not be welcome
not you or any other tinker"

I didn't answer him a word
I could see that he was smitten
perhaps I had overstepped the mark
in a manner unbeffiting

But words were not enough for him
he pushed me off the mill
then jumped down on top of me
and beat me with a will

I heard the farmer shout "Enough"
then brought me water to wash my face
his son protested "These tinkers Dad
why do you allow them about the place"

The farmer sided with his son
and the workers began to goad
as he handed me my wages
and pointed to the road

The farmer walked me to the gate
then told me he was sorry
I wished him well with all good will
knowing he did not say it for me

I walked to the next farm
battered and sore
The girl from the field
opened the door

I had thought from a beating
could only come harm
not a beautiful wife
and an arable farm

We sit in the church
to worship and pray
the farmer and his son
now stay away

It's a struggle being accepted
by these good farming folk
lives seldom affirm
the fine words we invoke

Some are amused
from some a distant regard
and some could see me
in the church yard

We sit in our parlour
and look out to sea
my beautiful wife
snuggles closer to me

I whisper - She asks me
"What did you say"
I tell her "I want us to sit here
and watch our grandchildren play"

She giggles and says "O old man'
I'll be your grandchild watch me play"
She runs into the garden
jumping and skipping and tilting her head
I hide and she finds me
sitting in the cart shed.

A lull in conversation.

A lull in conversation.

I'm sorry
I wasn't good company

I was thinking
If space time curves
into a fourth dimension
does that dimension
form an umbilical
between time
in the physical universe
and timelessness
in spiritual eternity
and do we
share in timelessness
by being known
in the eternal mind of God
omnisciently alive
born into time
destined for timelessness
from Alpha to Omega

And I lost the gist
of your anecdote.

Wax.

A picket fence.

A picket fence
forming a line
toward the horizon
disappearing in distance
leaving an impression
of infinity

A semblance of love
expresses itself boldly
but in unintelligible terms

A man waiting
to become mature
by the discipline of need
asks rhetorical questions
and receives evasive answers.

An experience in wax.

An experience in wax
melts
in the black heat
of the midnight sun

becoming white
in natural light

articulately endearing
in a display of compatibility
with an endangered species

reacting spontaneously
with all the art
of practiced
self preservation.

Combatants.

Psychological
combatants
an attempt
to dominate
a struggle
to defend
autonomy
Concealed by
camouflaged
emotions
retreating into
three
dimensional
thought.

Mayfly

Mayfly

She's young and beautiful
she doesn't have to
be sensible

It's in the effortless
ability to please
floating ephemeral
on the Summer breeze

It's in the lightness
of not needing to know
the origin of the stream
or to where it will flow

It's in the ambient harmony
of breakers on the shore
the rhythmic universal pulse
declaring:"Life is more"

It's in the unconscious breaking
of another unwritten rule
and the hundred friends on facebook
all whoopin': "It was cool"

It's in the morning's joy
of living for the day
her personal sunrise calling
all her world out to play

It's in the designer handbag
her make-up clothes and shoes
she is ready for her girlfriends
and they are ready to cruise

It's in the natural ratio
of volume mass and weight
she only has to say
"What was the question?"
to transcend the debate

It's in the oblivious flower
thriving on no-man's-land
the fallen soldier reaches out
an Angel grasps his hand.

The picture is of Jade Goody.