Why not phone a friend when
The boys go into war
You can’t envisage peace any more

Why not phone a friend tell them
You are slowly dying
The weight is crushing you.

Why not phone a helpline when
The men are fried
In prison electric chairs

Why not tap a hotline when
The bombs rain in
You have no shelter to find

Why not sap the phone power when
The remains of the unborn
Dragged into this world dead

Why not talk to Childline when
The children are shredded
The TV ratings come in late

Why not contact your head when
The body bags are shipped in
Along with worn out guns

Why not telephone your heart when
The bloodied hand taps you on the shoulder
Asks you to send in more men, but bolder.

Why not phone your own bed when
The smoke of war and censors clears
You see the writing on the stained wall

Why not phone the bank when
You see the dollars clouding the skies
Ask for a permanent heart-loan

Why not phone the world’s leaders when
They heartily banquet themselves on death
Ask them not to send you their crumbs

Why not phone the world’s starving millions when
The next gun shipment leaves for their lands
Let them know that development aid is on its way.

Why not phone a friend when
You need the comfort of human warmth
You see only the dark clouds every day.

The newly damp
Unkempt road where layers of darkened leaves lie
Seems to invite the emerging sun

For it to burst into brilliant calendar colours
As beams shoot their laser light
Into the trees

Crossing the deserted lanes
Marvelling at the aroma of rain
Waiting for it to begin again.

The unkempt damp of a new road
Where the travesties show
In large potholes.

Letting the light win the battle in time
The evening rain was brief the colour aroused
The towers were bristling with leaves.

No one was sure of the travelling
For no one knew the secret of moving,
In times and places when it was raining.

Reaching down into our reserve pockets
Not expecting to find a song.

Not listening, but only riding every sound we hear
We sketch our plans
We dig our graves
We build our towers
We hide our bodies
We paint our pockets
We write our songs.

Chanting down the history of our cells
Who can really tell
Where the rhythms started
But have they yet stopped?

Reaching upwards pushing open the roof
With our tongues
Putting down the pens.
Sharpening every page
Not forgetting the colours

When filling in the empty spaces
Knitting complicated laticed worked motifs
We knit lace
We emit silence
We cage emotion
We build walls
We sketch agony
We die slowly
We live in our pockets.

They came crashing in my door
Machine guns in my kitchen
Blasting blood onto the wall
Coming and fetching
The actively mobile and the poor

Boots in the throat-my-eyes
Rifle in the groin in my kitchen
Igniting flames in my legs, my insides
Retching and all the while fetching
The victims, the prisoners, the dead.

The shouting and swearing
As fierce as the sound of gunfire
Bellies split open smells gushing
The Shits on the Kitchen wall
Grinning dead head knives embed.

We stand braced against the wind of words,
Watching them felling trees as they go….
In the evening rooms,
The silent smiles reach my gaze and go in
We stared into what is behind the words
Looking into them telling me as they go
In the evening tombs
Flashing TV smiles into our silent rooms

Gunning for my hours, reserving war
The wordings are far from the ceiling
In the evening rooms
We are burying the TV
But the sound is escaping and we smile,
Not embarrassed but surprised
Looking into the rooms next door
As the evening looms
The silence is in the carpets, the curtains, the glass.

We wait in bunches in the streaming words
Listening for the only sound that moves
In the evening rooms
When the envelopes fly through all our windows
No longer silent, we smile with teeth
No longer shy we breathe our belief
No longer on TV
The silence leaves our evening rooms.

The sky looked steel grey above
And roses with swords for thorns
Rocked against the skyline.

Your cities of old with steel caps
Are nought but dreams with taps
Their rolling fancy is never mine.

Watching the aeroplanes overhead
Cast shadows over the hills and rivers
Their motion is anything but anodyne.

The interest of the shadows subsided
As clouds assembled their old darkness
Without exception no one was bothered.

Would it stir us given a handful of roses,
At the point of a sword pointing skyward,
With a slash only scattered petals remained.

31Dec89

Cool subjective looks go deep
The languishing desert – so bleak
With time like a dagger in the hand,
This moment makes impressions in the sand.

The ridiculous smile inside a tomb
The laughing – coming into this room
And the look – rapidly ageing
The minute – watching, not sleeping

	II

The cool look buried in the sand
The lively legs, moving too grand
The lying sun, giving without measure
As the tomb moves to the edge, closer, closer

A door opens and a fraction of light enters
The window shuts and the wind gentles
The cool looks go deeper, deeper
But the impressions fade slower, slower

Being close to the edge, into a winter
Where the air is gentle and thinner
Looking over into a slowing tomb,
I’m listening, to the falling snow, in my room

	III

Closer, come closer the edge ever closer
Look down the outlook forever
Subject the moment in time, to a smile
Impress the desert sands to new time
Measure the sun’s giving .. closer, closer.
Closer to the edge – listen for the words!
Close to the edge – giving back the clouds!

26Dec89

Long distance
In the side of
Expanding time
The sharpness
Not showing the other side.

Long distance
From the above position
Expanding time
Empty the eons
Thoroughly over the side.

Long distance
March out of time
Expanding Time
Sharpening expanse
The ever revealing side of God

Long distance
From this lofty height
Expanding time
The limits marched against
The never to be seen, other side.

Long distance
The untroubled mind
Expanding time
Wearing out the sands,
Not wanting to be seen on this side.

Long distance
The suffering goes on
Expanding time
Lost in smiles – cried,
Sharpening not the other side.

Long distance
The gap will yawn
Expanding still in time
Then will you reveal
You’re near the other side?

Stalking the outer reaches
The dark stranger approaches
As the knife is plunged
The girl is raped
Or the old man is robbed
A cloak is thrown into the wind.

Create the circus build the frame
The dark stranger creates the game
“Find the likely party in this
For the day will judge for justice”
The spittle on the lips fries the veins
The guilty are death’s servants.

No hold will stay the axeman’s hand
The dark stranger left a last command
The moral audience is lively tonight,.
As death is the main attraction alright.

08Jul89

When we cry Justice!
Is the meaning at all clear;
Is the backdrop, that’s always so near,
The unworthy look of revenge?

The Old Testament vow
Shows the message here
A temptation, so simple, so clear
The worthless word is revenge.

The forfeiture is the falsehood
The damning of all people here
That stand watching death so near
The swinging feet is revenge.

When we cry out for justice
The moral audience will shrink
The on-stage ranters talk of fear
Too many throats have grinned revenge.

When I see the dark side
As the grip of temptation strangles
words evaporate, although they are near
They don’t explain the feeling of revenge.