Atomic Ironic

They asked us to build
An island to build a base to
Build a gun on
Then
They asked us to build
An island to build a town on
To get blown up
They got us to build these
Far from home
On the other side of the planet
An impossible task
Taking miles of man hours
And costing an aeon of money

We spent our time
Ingeniously
Breaking the codes of the atom
Building the biggest
The wildest, the newest
Securing our seat
At the side of the mighty
Wasting our atmosphere
Nuking the air
To check
That no further threats
Grew anywhere…

Why we poppy

A red flower on your breast
Feeding thoughts of war
A century of life lost young
Defending freedom

In European mud the first seeds
Bloom among youths’ blood
Ensuring rights and laws upheld
Defending freedom

Yet wars and wars again
Beset our Earth, doom our kin
Piling dead poppies on the pain
Defending freedom

As a century of poppies passes
Blurring right’s, a little out of focus
Battles reign for Aurelian
Defending freedom

2017: January Pre-Mourning

The night before the work starts
Our streets echo with lone travellers
This night of cold clear dread
As the new year shakes free
Of it’s champagne and fireworks
A mighty muted still
Fills up the dark

And in the raging dreams
Of all these people in their beds
Uncertain and alone in today’s cold sleep
Questions of fragility
Feed our hunger for dread
Spoiling this last bedtime
With what tomorrow brings

Outside in some dark corner
Of a Southern London home
I ponder how few deaths make many mourn
The slaps of conflict beat
Fresh tears from more bored eyes
Yet each hour too much life
Is bled and crushed in horror

For one more year has come on us
And forseers contort with doom
Such angry rhetoric, such mounting gloom
Yet this new year is not foretold
And harbours chances new
There’s not time to conjure lies
Just time to start the world.

The end of the world news, Ankakay via Flickr

The end of the world news, Ankakay via Flickr

Silence

You, my blue lipped beauty
Stare glassily at this sky of fading fluorescence
Of panels and screw coverings
Sharing your long dead warmth with steeled neighbours

In my head your laugh is raucous
As I trip,
or burn another meal
Like how you snorted that day Paul fell off his new bike
Poor Paul
Or when Isobel helped us to decorate;
Daubing delicate pink prints on your mum’s new faux mink jacket
Hilarious

Noisy
Always
Laughing in my head

Not now
With that fine sheen to your fading makeup
So as you stare on
At your terrible cocoon
The silence left is closer

The noise in my head of you
Is loud
Ringing
Deafening
And eternal somehow even from your beautiful blue pout

Another 1

Screen Shot 2016-07-20 at 16.47.55

Text: Adam Bujons, image (c) http://www.shutterstock.com/th/video/clip-7402507-stock-footage-white-feathers-spurt-alpha-fast-flying-animation-with-transparent-back-as-transition.html

Red Sunset

Damn that deep red sun sets hard

Drowning days light in the tide of the dark

Sending in pink blushes of clouds last breaths

Triumph eternal in hourly deaths

Hear that noise

Standard background sound radiation
perforating your life with hum
No screaming panic
Nor muted fear
Your lucky ears, in safe warm heads
Collecting your
Connected thoughts
Your fucking lucky ears

And in some world –
not far enough away from here –
Built of a soundscape you may not bear
Our brothers and mothers
Tune in daily
To that other mess
Cacophany
The daily execution
of sheer abhorrent sounds
A torrent of noise

Cranky Old Man

Having been duped by a touching ‘story’ with a fantastic poem at it’s heart, I made further investigations and found, what I think is, the original source of that poem. It has captivated me so is my first pressing of someone else’s work.

The original version of the poem:

Crabbit Old Woman

What do you see, nurses what do you see
Are you thinking when you are looking at me
A crabbit old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes,
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice –I do wish you’d try
Who seems not to notice the things that you do
And for ever is losing a stocking or shoe,
Who unresisting or not, lets you do as you will
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill
Is that what you are thinking, is that what you see,
Then open your eyes, nurses, you’re not looking at me.

816px-Elderly_Woman_,_B&W_image_by_Chalmers_Butterfield

Photo by Chalmers Butterfield

I’ll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
As I used at your bidding, as I eat at your will,
I am a small child of ten with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters who love one another,
A young girl of 16 with wings on her feet
Dreaming that soon now a lover she’ll meet;
A bride at 20 – my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep
At 25 now I have young of my own
Who need me to build a secure, happy home;
A women of 30 my young now grow fast,
Bound to each other with ties that should last,
At 40 my young sons have grown and are gone;
But my man’s beside me to see I don’t mourn;
At 50, once more babies play around my knee.
Again we know children, my loved one me
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead,
I look at the future, I shudder with dread,
For my young are all rearing young of their own
And I think of the years and the love that I’ve known.

I’m an old woman now and nature is cruel
’tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body it crumbles, grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone where once was a heart
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells
And now and again my battered heart swells
I remember the joys I remember the pain,
And I’m loving and living life over again.
I think of the years all too few – gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.

So open your eyes, nurses open and see
Not a crabbit old women look closer – see me.

Phyllis McCormack, 1966

*

Amazing right!

It has, apparently long been circulated online as some remnant of a forgotten life of presumed little value, found by nursing staff checking a checked-out patients belongings… However the true history and author are explained via http://www.hoax-slayer.com/cranky-old-man-poem.shtml.

 

Skeletal Beach

dead trees

 

Image: Keith Evans, http://www.geograph.org.uk/photo/4669041. Words: Bujonswords.

Polisylum

Standby…
Standby.
Standby you!
Can’t get enough of that magic you do!
Stocks are broke
Oil’s all down the drain
you too get the feeling you’re here once again?
Standby – hold tight –
We’ll shoot when it’s time
wait for the clamour of bangs on the line.

Here’s the latest
broken news
We’ve forgiven Iran
The Soviets too.
Out of their madness and out of their heads
Our greatest have failed
to lead us to death.

Standby anxious
You’re not due yet
There’s time to drop bombs
Our gods hedging his bets
Stately you wait on
The pride of good taste
Please be in no hurry
to rush with the race.

Part 26 (Likol Mouses)

A play on words, rather than an admission of guilt. Part 26 of Played at a different speed:

Whip it up sliced
like some nice
mice
caught within the hands vice
– power gripping
(evil trip).
The mouse runs;
tries running
– caught tight –
this could be
the last fight!
Struggle free to run
mice,
struggling cannot go,
mice.
End coming here
and coming near to you
Mice!
You’re small
and hand’s so big –
to fight free
gripping,
squirming,
never leaving here alive
mice.
You know it.
Never try
to get our food mouse
(it’s our food mouse)!
Never eat again
dying mice!
This crippling grip,
smell’s evil here.
Mice –
you’ll not go far –
mouse!
You’re dying
dead.

Tomorrow: Part 27

The Tales of Fires Life

You were the débutante;
you were the flyer!
The one with the dream to be –
The child to reach higher.

You always knew it:
Your effortless charm.
A cherished companion –
the blaze on my arm!

I felt you glowing –
the heat of your soul.
I thought you were growing,
yet doubted you’d go.

Imbibing this anodyne,
I was Earth wire, while
thru tricks; thru entrancement,
you mastered the fire.

I staid your energy:
Was I the downer?
When you danced searingly
were I your drowner?

Always you knew the truth.
Always you’ll know me.
I found a route to you
and died directly!Night fire

Aspiration

I’m gonna get so stoned that
I
don’t
breathe
right
I
don’t
think
straight and
I can’t talk
bright

I’m gonna get so stoned till I can’t see clear
So I
can’t walk
fast
where
my mind
is
near.

Lady Sight

When you see the sky
you do not ask for why?
You see the birds fly by
not swarms of insects die!

The pleasantries you point at
are there to catch the eye
but through by haughty bias
I refuse to see their lie!

I reflect on the deaths
the blistering sun inflicts
You reach out and prove the breaths
of life’s recycling instincts.

From your love for life you show
how to see the real reality
when I pass the dying fields now –
I too feel their creativity…

Avenged Beast

Suffer in silence
insolent pig!
Grovel your sorrows
tragic cow!
Pray for forgiveness
wretched dog!
Show not contempt
pathetic beast!

When you were not so lowly
not cowering on the ground –
you spat upon my helpless corpse
I needed not your curses;
so when your dying starts to bite
how can you expect forgiveness?

Now you are going, insolent pig.
I know not where
tragic cow.
I will not watch wretched dog…
I do not care.
Pathetic beast.

Memoirs

I rode, one day, in summer
to the house where she was found.
The lawn was high from growing;
tall grass hushed me all around.

Windows, light and open,
bade my wary body in,
and that door (once black and solid)
graced my entry with its grin.

On the well-bleached floor,
still stains of blood sang red and proud,
stenches rank and pungent
forced my lungs to whinge aloud.

Where the log fire once warmed
was now a pit of fears,
as I walked about that friendly room
I could not dam my tears.

Once bright curtains – long and green –
would soak salt spies away.
Alas no grown-up hand
would draw drapes from my eyes today.

I sat for minutes,
hearing every creak and squeak and drip,
whilst in my head the flood of thoughts
got all my brain to rip!

So as my new blood mixed with hers,
all gushing through my nose,
my last thoughts were of how we change –
how quick dead memory grows.

I left so slow and choked up
that I found a memory then,
and though I try and halt it,
still flows freely – from this pen.

Broads House

Bubbles and Ducks

The sun was cold
(a fresh wind thief stole all but light)
as she reached the freezing pond.
Waiting,
watching bubbles and frogs,
ducks and other birds – mindless
to the observations of a pretty girl.

No one here;
nobody to hear the still waters part and
feebly argue this alien entrant any room.
Nobody to see
a sad pile of clothes – abandoned, desolate,
left ashore – weeping for a body to wrap?
This body is wrapped in a garment complete.

And there is nobody,
by the pond.
Just bubbles and frogs,
ducks and other birds – mindless
to the vacant clothes and lost breath.

Cracking Up

Once a soft touch gliding skin
Wrapped taught, fit bones and twine
Beneath a splendid epidermis,
Free from graze or aging twist.

Then swift as time
The cuts catch up
Wreaking havoc on hands in slices;
Ripping skin, boring within
Roughing freckles, knuckles and digits…

So now.
So now split skin cracks on
These gaps in the cover tell stories.
And under the layers
For no other reason
Blood flows, clots up and scars finely.

Put in the boo tin

Golf car
Gulf war
calf gore
golf war
wolf car
Wolf wore
calf sore

In our shapes of desire
Even chased dreams tire
And cows and wolves flee
From the roar of free machinery

Questions of oral tormentors

One by one you break me down
Call my bluff wreak havoc around
Dish my dirt
Break my heart
Calamitous felon
Where have I left, to start?

Oh great red mouth so close to death
Why my heartache each jibe you jest?
Every breath your voice emits
Falls
Through candour
Drenched in shit!

From where do your great statements spring?
Lost reality (or let it free?)
So stuck just west of truth you craze
Lost and circling in your own wasted maze
Even my coarse questions fail
Why am I asking?
Who cares at all?