Clouds

CLOUDS
Ah, those clouds
Background blue, changing, deepens from the zenith
Out by the horizon it seems clear
The drum beats of my heart
And the snores of the next man
Paint peeling of the window bars
All the guard rails
So carefully decorated, now a patchwork
Left, In the sun
Waiting for the surgeon to cut
Bowels full of fear
Those sun bleached bones
Dry now, stone walls
The rain feeds those flowers it finds
Filling in those ponds
Hunger, then fear
Those alarm bells of ego
Running through the brain
Look at me, the peacock,
So vain and noisy
Plumage trailing in the mud, feeding in the shit.
Those walks through coloured streets
Holding hands, smiling
Those dusty lanes, by the river side
Those flowers, sprouting in the alleys
Reaching tall, shining like the sun
Climb coldness. Soon they’ll come
Take me to the theatre
Cut, look, bleed.
Those cold lights
Naked, shaved, and weak
The sun seems far away in those cold depths
Struggle through the deep
Fight to reach the surface
Smile and become human again
The beauty of the moment
The roar of the engine, the whistle of the radio
The bread on that dusty table
The loaf, not yet cut
The kitchen, stove and range, tea ready to pour
Sit at the table my friend, have some cheese
A HUNK OF BREAD AND LOOK AT THE SCENE
Doorway open to the end of summer
With the fields full of barley
And the wind in her hair
Ready for love, and milk, and honey
Children’s laughter, running, playing,
Those surgeons won’t take me away.
Bed, cold cot of bitter comfort
Lying, lying, there beneath those clouds
I DON’T WANT TO GO
Shan’t work for them
Work for me. Work for Us. Work for all.
Autumn’s first colors
Its long fingers grabbing summer
Those leaves, falling in those back alleys
Feeding the worms
And my eyes with their beauty
I can feel the cold.
Autumn’s freshness, and winters long, long arm coming in.
These days for remembering, forgetting
Their bitterness, their loneliness, their worries.
Stupid socks that stop the clots.
Time to go now, softly, slowly.
Wheel me away to those painful days.
Thank you for those treatments.
That green syringe holder, administering drop by drip
Those carefree days from the summers of yesterday.
Out from the darkness comes the light.
Those bitter hopes of something better
When we changed the world to a better place
Where people had respect for work not money
And the wealth was collective.
Those stupid peacocks, crying in their gilded parks
Hedges trimmed by the sweat of others.
They’ll have their time in the sun.
Ah past the zenith now, my sun, heading to its nadir,
Burning, or shining bright,
In those dark moments.
Days go, days come, and we live in them
Underneath those clouds.

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