Litkicks Message Board Archive


Posted to Poetry


At times like this
I see the hills blur to the western wind.
I see shadow clarify it’s simple life force
And walk the highway, investigating landscape
Through a monoxide gargle
Into downtown delirium
Where I see the last of yesterday’s
Coal blue faces
Throw away paper dreams
Which detonate the gutter, crack the faces.
I see afternoon on fossilized chapel stone.
I see streams heading east in burn out.

I see sunlight hold matter
Agitated by traffic,
Here and there knifing shop doorways
And colouring windows green and yellow
Before slicing away with economy
Into evenings furtive back lane

And now out they come,
Our pale skinned red eyed boys and girls
To smoke grass in the park,
Because they want to.
To slug apple wine on offer at 1-99,
Because they want to.
To star gaze at starry night,
Because they want to.

I see their animation
Affected by booming ghetto blasters,
To rap across childhood’s daisy chained field
Into adulthood behind the library
Under a one eyed bubble moon.
I see them march to the job centre,
Wave g-string knickers and boxers
At curtain chinks, at rooftops,
At choirs of brain dead bingo players.

I see them form a circle as tight as a tree,
Throw unused lunch boxes, credit cards
And worthless government handouts,
Tops, Jeans, slacks, bra’s, shoes, into orange flame.
Lift enigmatic black necks
And dance to the moon, chant freedom,
Urge passing brothers and sisters
To burn their
National health cards, birth certificates,
And youth training folders

And I see the respectable high of office,
The 16 hour a day elders with Florida tans
All nod satisfied heads
To celestial music only they can hear
And having made this place
A better place for our children to live in
Hear no commotion,
Sleep their satisfied sleep,
Because they want to

And on ancestral streets spinning
To the drum, drum, drumming charge
I see children of the revolution,
Pure in their limitation
Ripple away with father’s faces
Into nightmare alley, into small houses
To turn their backs on closed curtains,
Grow beards and become holy,
To chant mantra’s,
Catch glimpses of a Promised Land
Floating on exploding supernova’s
And luminous green crescents,
Hear the cosmic music
And become the cosmic music
To fly off into a big bang sunset
On hydrogen big sky mountain

And I see them coming down,
Defying all geography,
Cup hot sweet tea in shaky hands
And peer over the rim of the cup
At the world outside,
I see their faces, hollow,
Fingering warm half pints
And rolling extra thins
Waiting for their horse to come in.
I see them strain to the tune
Rising from ergotic cakes
Maturing outside takeaways, pubs, clubs,
In bus shelters, at sacred places
Where heaven is sold
In Clingfilm packets, in pills, in powders

And from my candle lit cottage,
In the dynamics of the night
I see the 21st century drain
Into saturated mountain streams.
I hear the hills groan
Under a weight of expectancy.
Under spiralling galaxies
I hear wolf cubs bark,
Predicting the chaos ahead.

last year i was commissioned to write a set of twelve poems on the beautifull neath valley are of wales, uk--however at that time the lonly landscape i could see was this one--needles to say i wasnt paid