Try to clamber aboard. The ones who scoff,
Who ignore the signs. I have my orders,
There will be no stowaways. No gatecrashers
At my party. A party starting soon.
And the sooner the better. Like a grounded
Astronaut I grow daily more impatient.
Am on tenterhooks. Each night
I ask the Lord to get on with it.
I fear sometimes He has forsaken us,
We His favourite children. Meek, drilled,
And ready to inherit an earth, newly-cleansed.
I scan the headlines, watch the screen.
A doctor thrilling at each fresh tumour:
The latest invasion, a breakdown of talks.
I pray for malignancy. The self-induced
Sickness for which there is only one cure:
Radium treatment. The final absolution.
That part of full circle we have yet to come.
Icarus Allsorts
‘A meteorite is reported to have landed in New England. No damage is said…’
A littlebit of heaven fell
From out the sky one day
It landed in the ocean
Not so very far away
The General at the radar screen
Rubbed his hands with glee
And grinning pressed the button
That started World War Three.
From every corner of the earth
Bombs began to fly
There were even missile jams
No traffic lights in the sky
In the times it takes to blow your nose
The people fell, the mushrooms rose
‘House!’ cried the fatlady
As the bingohall moved to various parts
of the town
‘Raus!’ cried the German butcher
as his shop came tumbling down
Philip was in the countinghouse
Counting out his money
The Queen was in the parlour
Eating bread and honey
When through the window
Flew a bomb
And made them go all funny
In the time it takes to draw a breath
Or eat a toadstool, instant death
The rich
Huddled outside the doors of their fallout shelters
Like drunken carolsingers
The poor
Clutching shattered televisions
And last week’s editions of T.V. Times
(but the very last)
Civil defence volunteers
With their tin hats in one hand
And their heads in the other
C.N.D. supporters
Their ban the bomb badges beginning to rust
Have scrawled ‘I told you so’ in the dust.
A littlebit of heaven fell
From out the sky one day
It landed in Vermont
North-Eastern U.S.A.
The general at the radar screen
He should have got the sack
But that wouldn’t bring
Three thousand million, seven hundred,
and sixty-eight people back,
Would it?
Three Rusty Nails
Mother, there’s a strange man
Waiting at the door
With a familiar sort of face
You feel you’ve seen before.
Says his name is Jesus
Can we spare a couple of bob
Says he’s been made redundant
And now can’t find a job.
Yes I think he is a foreigner
Egyptian or a Jew
Oh aye, and that reminds me
He’d like some water too.
Well shall I give him what he wants
Or send him on his way?
OK I’ll give him 5p
Say that’s all we’ve got today.
And I’ll forget about the water
I suppose it’s a bit unfair
But honest, he’s filthy dirty
All beard and straggly hair.
***
Mother, he asked about the water
I said the tank had burst
Anyway I gave him the coppers
That seemed to quench his thirst.
He said it was little things like that
That kept him on the rails
Then he gave me his autographed picture
And these three rusty nails.
Mother the Wardrobe is Full of Infantrymen
mother the wardrobe is full of infantrymen
i did i asked them
but they snarled saying it was a mans life
mother there is a centurion tank in the parlour
i did i asked the officer
but he laughed saying ‘Queens regulations’
(piano was out of tune anyway)
mother polish your identity bracelet
there is a mushroom cloud in the backgarden
i did i tried to bring in the cat
but it simply came to pieces in my hand
i did i tried to whitewash the windows
but there weren’t any
i did i tried to hide under the stairs
but i couldn’t get in for civil defence leaders
i did i tried ringing candid camera
but they crossed their hearts
i went for a policeman but they were looting the town
i went out for a fire engine but they were all upside down
i went for a priest but they were all on their knees
mother don’t just lie there say something please
mother don’t just lie there say something please
At Lunchtime
When the bus stopped suddenly
to avoid damaging
a mother and child in the road,
the younglady in the green hat sitting opposite,
was thrown across me,
and not being one to miss an opportunity
i started to make love.
At first, she resisted,
saying that it was too early in the morning,
and too soon after breakfast,
and anyway, she found me repulsive.
But when i explained
that this being a nuclearage
the world was going to end at lunchtime,
she took off her green hat,
put her busticket into her pocket
and joined in the exercise.
The buspeople,
and there were many of them,
were shockedandsurprised,
and amusedandannoyed.
But when word got around
that the world was going to end at lunchtime,
they put their pride in their pockets
with their bustickets
and made love one with the other.
And even the busconductor,
feeling left out,
climbed into the cab,
and struck up some sort of relationship with the driver.
That night, on the bus coming home,
we were all a little embarrassed,
especially me and the younglady in the green hat,
and we all started to say
in different ways
how hasty and foolish we had been.
But then, always having been a bitofalad,
i stood up and said it was a pity
that the world didnt nearly end every lunchtime,
and that we could always pretend.
And then it happened…
Quick asa crash
we all changed partners,
and soon the bus was aquiver
with white, mothball bodies doing naughty things.
And the next day
And everyday
In everybus
In everystreet
In everytown
In everycountry
People pretended
that the world was coming to an
end at lunchtime.
It still hasnt.
Although in a way it has.
On Having a First Book of Poetry Published (The day the world ended.)
Oh, what dreadful timing! It couldn’t have been worse!
For that long-awaited, ground-breaking volume of verse.
A title to die for, an immaculate cover,
Cool photo on the back, then Bang it’s all over.
Your publisher hired a publicist to titillate the press
(a review already promised in the TLS, no less).
Fingers crossed for Waterstones and a window display
The launch in Covent Garden, and the following day
a signing at Harrods (you’ve dreamed of this for yonks)
Practising your signature, you wore out two Mont Blancs.
Then the poetry-reading circuit (50 mins, plus Q & A)
Dropping by at bookstores and libraries on the way.
A choice of Literary Festivals (Cheltenham, Hay-on-Wye)
Chats on local radio, and perhaps one day on Sky.
But, oh, what lousy timing, how could anybody guess
Your career as a poet would last an hour or less.
Yes, it would have been marvellous, it would have been splendid
If you hadn’t had it published on the day the world ended.
Let me Die a Youngman’s Death
Let me die a youngman’s death
not a clean & inbetween
the sheets holywater death
not a famous-last-words
peaceful out of breath death
When I’m 73
& in constant good tumour
may I be mown down at dawn
by a bright red sports car
on my way home
from an allnight party
Or when I’m 91
with silver hair
& sitting in a barber’s chair
may rival gangsters
with hamfisted tommyguns burst in
& give me a short back & insides
Or when I’m 104
& banned from the Cavern
may my mistress
catching me in bed with her daughter
& fearing for her son
cut me up into little pieces
& throw away every piece but one
Let me die a youngman’s death
not a free from sin tiptoe in
candle wax & waning death
not a curtains drawn by angels borne
‘what a nice way to go’ death
Summer with Monika
1
they say the sun shone now and again
but it was generally cloudy
with far too much rain
they say babies were born
married couples made love
(often with eachother)
and people died
(sometimes violently)
they say it was an average
ordinary
moderate
run of the mill
commonorgarden
summer
… but it wasn’t
for i locked a yellowdoor
and i threw away the key
and i spent summer with monika
and monika spent summer with me
unlike everybody else
we made friends with the weather…
mostdays the sun called
and sprawled
allover the place
or the wind blew in
as breezily as ever
and ran its fingers through our hair
but usually
it was the moon that kept us company
somedays we thought about the seaside
and built sandcastles on the blankets
and paddled in the pillows
or swam in the sink
and played with the shoals of dishes
otherdays we went for long walks
around the table
and picnicked on the banks
of the settee
or just sunbathed lazily
in front of the fire
until the shilling set on the horizon
we danced a lot that summer…
bosanovaed by the bookcase
or maddisoned instead
hulligullied by the oven
or twisted round the bed
at first we kept birds
in a transistor box
to sing for us
but sadly they died
we being too embraced in eachother
to feed them
but it didn’t really matter
because we made lovesongs with our bodies
i became the words
and she put me to music
they say it was just
like
anyother
summer
… but it wasn’t
for we had love and eachother
and the moon for company
when i spent summer with monika
and
monika
spent summer
withme
2
ten milk bottles standing in the hall
ten milk bottles up against the wall
next door neighbour thinks we’re dead
hasnt heard a sound he said
doesnt know weve been in bed
the ten whole days since we were wed
noone knows and noone sees
we lovers doing as we please
but people stop and point at these
ten milk bottles a-turning into cheese
ten milk bottles standing day and night
ten different thicknesses and
different shades of white
persistent carolsingers without a note to utter
silent carolsingers a-turning into butter
now she’s run out of passion
and theres not much left in me
so maybe we’ll get up
and make a cup of tea
then people can stop wondering
what they’re waiting for
those ten milk bottles a-queuing at our door
3
saturday morning
time for stretching
and yawning
the languid
heavy lidded
lovemaking
the smile
the kiss
the ‘who do you love?’
and then the weekly
confidence trick:
the yoursaying its my
turn to make the tea
and the my getting out
of bed and making it
4
our love will be an epic film
with dancing songs and laughter
the kind in which the lovers meet
and live happy everafter
our love will be a famous play
with lots of bedroom scenes
you are twenty-two you are monika
and only we know what that means
5
when the moon is waiting
for the first bus home
and birds assemble
for morning prayers
in the ticktock blanketness
of our dunlopillolove
you open your secret door
and i tiptoe in
quietly
for fear of waking the alarmclock
6
you give me the eye i sigh
and feign disinterest
you pretend to cry
and put me to the test
(a cunning little ruse)
i think ‘ha ha’,
you wink and far
be it from me to refuse
how you love it
when youre being teased
the eye that weeps most
when best pleased
7
take ahold of my mind
and g
ently but firmly
push it between your thighs
and in that warm numbness
let it remain
whilst you go about the house
doing your sweet everyday things
8
thistime
let there be no goodbyes
letsstillbefriends
parting is such
sicklysweet sorrow
let us holdhands
and think not of tomorrow
but of our dailyselves
for there’s love here
such love
as makes unhappiness
appear to have mislaid our address
9
i have lately learned to swim
and now feel more at home
in the ebb and flow of your slim
rhythmic tide
than in the fullydressed
couldntcareless
restless world outside
10
monika
i love you more
than all my redleather waistcoats
and i will never give you away
to the nastyman
who lives at the end of the road
11
if i were a parkkeeper
i would strollacross the summerlawns
of your mind
and with a pointedstick
collect all the memories
which lie about
like empty cigarettepackets
and in a distantcorner
where you could not see
i would burn them in the shade
of your love for me
12
you squeeze my hand and
cry alittle
you cannot comprehend the
raggletaggle of living
and think it unfair that
Death