Events

Past Participation

what’s done is done

you cannot change the past

it’s laid to rest

history is the cemetery

cast and chronicled 

in its many forms

whatever your opinion

however outraged you feel

it’s buried, let it lie

you might burn books

fell statues, redact names

your cauldron of indignation

haphazardly spilling over 

for what?

nothing can change

consider education

to debate the wrongdoings 

and norms of yesteryear

don’t try to scrub the slate

the past is indelible

it’s in your blood

like it or not, get over it

*

Barack

once more the order changes

newly dealt cards are played

half the world breathes easier

others feel dismayed

the futility of anger

fuels prejudice of race

vengeance reconfigures

to reveal a different face

the citadel stands fractured

a hairline crack appears

now flags wave instead of people

cold snap instead of cheers

get ready for redemption

make ready the battle drum

a skirmish wasn’t all out war

revolt must surely come

gold plates heaped feel warmer

fast-food boxes cool

your father must have warned you

never underestimate the fool

once more the order changes

the new cards take a crease

assassins circle boldly

to eye the golden fleece

the people must decide their fate

sing anthems, dream the dream

re-learn the message of the past

and let the eagle scream.

*

Gandini Jugglers 4×4

silhouettes, smoke, 

suspense

slap-slap! 

Sigh

skittles soar skyward

split-second

stop!

standing 

shoulders squared

syncopated sequences

sssssshhhhhh!

sure-footed, soft-shoe

site-swapping, 

structures

smoooooth!

silence settles 

spatial spirits

somnolent symmetry

smile

*

Christmas Eve 1961

the savings club paid out

and father’s flush,

his Christmas Box,

a crisp fiver

in a snowflake envelope

now tucked in mother’s purse

the long day, just once a year, 

to Northampton

up top on a double-decker

engulfed in Woodbine fog

heavy condensation

on ram-shut sliding windows

same plan every year

market first for the cockerel

department store Santa

posh fish and chips on a plate

a late afternoon ogle at the lights 

in the Co-op arcade

then the bus home

bags, boxes, packages everywhere

under the seats, on laps

the bloody cockerel’s head

swinging from the parcel rack

mesmerized me to sleep

*

Cardiotropic

Somewhere, out of sight

around a blind corner 

in the maze of electronica

a rhythmic frog-noise

burps between two pitches

too loud to encourage sleep

I am wired into telemetry

a racing driver would be proud

but all I can only think of suction caps

tugging at my chest hair

to make me even more 

fucking miserable

heart failure, that’s its real name

better get used to it

that two-pennyworth of muscle

that keeps the lights on

has finally decided to blink 

and ask for help

I’m in the bargaining-chip 

age range, sixty-eight

not young enough for outrage

not old enough for submission

rocked, shocked and desolate

a statistic at last

*

Benno and Osiris-Rex

I kneel in graveside dirt

drop a handful of dust

a mere six feet

and search for a meaning

for this death

elsewhere 

in other news

two-hundred and five million

fifty-two thousand

four hundred 

and ninety-three

miles away

a small machine falls

to the surface of a rock

five-hundred metres wide

and grabs a handful of dust

in the search for the origins of life