eye of the cyclone

is there life on earth, or are we just dreaming…

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BULLINAMINGVASE

Posted by lahar9jhadav on August 31, 2012

I used to think I wasn’t mad, but now I know it’s all I had.

When I was a child I heard this voice singing from a million miles away, somewhere in the clouds, I’m sure there was a rainbow or ten… oh how time flies…

Every Wednesday morning, at about the hour of ten, I give the queen my autograph, and she gives me the end. The man behind the counter smiles, the doorman bows again. Just another day down on the dole queue. But the government must love me ’cause they keep me out of work, it must be saving me for something special. Maybe it’s the job of rolling spliffs for Captain Kirk … or giving Miss Lovelace a pubic hairdo.

It’s one of those days in England with a sword in every pond and birds in every garden in the land. One of those days in England when the passion never ends, a slowly moving season by the fire of my friends. And though the time fast slips away, it’s long enough to laugh and play around the fireside making hay dreaming of tomorrow, my love you know there’s no today.

One of those days in England with the willow hanging on, I dreamt I met an old man down the road, whispering the mysteries of patterns up ahead ,and stirring past reflections with the sword of lightning said.

“Alfred had me made from Albion’s everglade, and I made him to lie with me whence all my troubles fade. And you may have read the signs, beware of strange designs, for though the victors write the books, the loser speaks the lines. So let’s now both be gone, ’tis far to Avalon, and though we go our different ways, I’ll see you there anon.”

And so I got on board the bird of the aeons and I rode but everytime I met a prince, a fork came down the road. I kept on thinking that I’d stop once everybody showed and gathered in the myths of our reflection.

But stopping ain’t that possible this far into control This far beyond the non imagination. No more than I can shed the moving forces of my soul the time lords of the slowly revolution.

You and me, mother, we’re gonna raise a ship full of kids and slowly lose them. Why does it matter where they’ve all gone, we don’t even have the power to choose them.

You and me, father, we’re gonna colonise all of the stars with lots of our madness, shooting through space with suns on our hips and guns on our lips to play snakes and ladders.

Oh heavens above, I’m coming with love, all over you.

You and me, sister, we’re gonna plant a bomb in a street to change law and order, and when we’ve killed all who resisted the call, we’ll discover a brand new wall at the border.

You and me, brother, wrapped up in silence, brooding for better breathing spaces. Seeing ideals, we were one time a part of, rip us apart in our holiest places.

Oh heavens above, I’m coming with love, all over you.

Sitting out there with your silvery hair, and your thundery look, when you really don’t care… but I love you.

Dolly blue rivers, foreverness givers, I’ll know without going and go without knowing above you.

Stood on the ship in a dream at third slip with Britannica’s tallons on Albion’s grip, do you need me ?

Looking for you when it’s catch 22, and you’ve never been here, but it’s always been blue up above me.

Oh Mrs. Space took her man to the human race, and together they humped over the edge. Nine months later, they were sharing a brand new face -the latest thin end of the wedge. And baby grew, grew into a space cadet. “Legend lives,” he screamed under his breath.

I’m in the queue, in the queue for the hell of it, some place inbetween life and death.

Oh Mrs. Space, I love you, with your come-home-early eyes. Don’t ever come between us, ’cause times don’t change, they fly.

And it don’t seem long since my life was an endless stream, the future fled into time without trace. I see the end now, but I’ve fallen in love again, with a girl who can travel in space.

Oh Mrs. Space, you lead me a wild goose chase inbetween every line. Well hell, girl, I don’t even know your face ’cause you see you’ve been sitting on mine.

Slowly slipping into history feel us go, with these times another age could never know. See the photos black and white, and quaintly dressed, stood in queues of people smiling, sorely pressed.  Your silent room is the collection of your ways, every shelf is full of all those different days and those much younger cannot understand by half the wireless living room, the faces ’round the hearth. The ration books and Matthews out there on the wing, the corner shop that sold us almost everything, the farthing in the change, the sirens and the planes, Puffing Billies shunting heroes down the lane.

You know we’ll soon be gone from here, year upon light year, we’ll take the stories with us there, the memories are dear

One of those days in England, mum was rustling up the grub and dad was off out propping up the pub. One of those days in England that you just could not forget, from the mists of secret morning to the golden red sunset.

And though the time fast slips away, it’s long enough to laugh and play around the fireside making hay, dreaming of tomorrow, my love you know there’s no today.

 

image 

LIFMASK

There once was a man from the old stone age
And he used to follow the weather
But now he’s got hung up on filling a page
Upon whether to go all together
And he’s been around for so damn long
With his whooping and wailing
Crushing questions between right and wrong
And impaling
The best he can hope and the worst he can fear
On the solstices of this whacking illusion
And massive erection of pushy defence
Up the whole of the prosecution
Ah Great solace the wound, and great relish the pain
To be loosing the reins of a poem
To bleed from the tip of my tongue yet again
That part of my heart that is showing
These children conceived in the womb of this crash
To be  sponsors of nothing much other
Than rearguard directions of crossfingered sections
Of purpose
pot-looking for nothing
But what is this last desperate vestige of heart over head
But another conjecture
No more the tomb of the martyred dead
Than the ghost of our parting gesture
And a hundred billion crystal balls
Represent a remarkable failure
To swell the song each moment long
At the counterpoint of nature
As four thumbs flick the tarot deck
And two tongues fork eight aces
Maybe, sixteen fingers feel
The fool lives in two places
Where rosy lee can read this tea
And leave me living the story
A white dove with a hawks’ head
And an open mind before me
To sail for a land where life is a high
Not a word to be heard or be spoken
But the soul – woven web of the endless touch
Of a child who could never be brok-k-ken
Who sails a new world on the brink of the ebb
As the fish cats prowl in the harbour
And now soars high on the beckoning tides’ long arm
To weigh his last anchor
And the sou’westers sing as the lifeboat bells ring
In the heads on the faces of changes
The heavens collage
on excalibres edge
The star in his movie converges
With fate, in his task, and doom on his brow
And a ship in his eye in a bottle
Who speeds, to force, to want, to have,
To find, to further fortune,
Who comes from the north, south, west and east
Of the passions of a spirit
With all the flight of the wildest beast
To ever spurr a stirrup,

Whose pulse is the master of action
Whose heart is an everlasting secret
Whose arms are desire
Whose lips are welcome
Whose eyes tell stories
Whose head is a journey
Whose hands unfold
Whose feet fly
Whose face is the stained glass window of a continuous orgasm.
Whose being is mine
Whose wounds are precious
Whose poem is a flower
Whose gentleness is the devil
Whose indentity is naked
Whose magic is a gift
Whose power is the transparent tapestry of history
Whose stamp is freak
Whose wits are battles
Whose cousin is dog
Whose times are well fought for
Whose stoneage is clever
Whose poets know
Whose music is barbarian
Whose artists are helpless spherical mirrors spinning on the horns of a tidal wave
Whose information is belief
Whose complexes become religions
Whose foundation is spread
Whose word is god
Whose books are projectiles
Whose message is must
Whose excuse is holy
Who passed it down to me
Whose enemies are landmarks
Whose fear is himself
Whose hope is lust
Whose wish is fresh
Whose position is wary
Whose mottoes are covers
Whose name is hidden
Whose nose is suspicious
Whose technology is a tangent
Whose strategy is dissent
Whose thoughts are games
Who shares his lot
Whose ace is death
Whose fingers invent
Whose tales weave
Whose knots are tied
Whose mouth is open
Whose ears pierce
Whose direction is out
Who is aware of disease
Who feels the need to cleanse his soul
Whose style is disguise
Whose dream is innate
Whose woman is soothing
Whose little children are the delicate blossom of an orchard of electricity
Whose spell is for conflict
Whose quest is strength
Whose war declared
Whose suicide is noticed
Whose shadow is cast
Whose vibes you feel
Whose pedigrees are haunted
Whose age is unknown
Who takes under his wing
Whose freaks are real
Whose reality is hunger
hunger
Whose reality is hunger
Whose words are jagged
Whose tears are shed
Whose sick hang
Whose weak are kicked
Whose cities are bad shelters
Whose sanctuary is an idea
Who sat round a fire
Whose teeth chew
Whose faith is change
Whose old age comes quickly
Whose youth burns
Whose systems are white sticks tapping walls
Whose prize posession is the planet
the poor planet
the big lady I’m playing with
Whose wildest lust is escalation
Whose cul-de-sacs are feelers
Whose main route is massive
Whose run is a dance
Whose vehicle is fantasy
Whose home is high
Whose role continues
Whose bearing is savage
Whose saints are dead
Whose sons bark
Whose daughters play
Whose strength is against
Who grows in the sun and sleeps in the moon
Who roams the deserts, the plateaux, and the ice-caps,
In the mountains, forests and plains with vast armies
Who am I
The spirit of those who were not here
And never knew it
Who left this prayer to elope
A lover’s journey through it
So children leave your windows open
Across the sea
And join your hands across the many lands
You and me
Never grown old
Seeing without ever being told
Something to say
Shut away
Blackboard so grey
Anyway
I’m dreaming
Out along the back row
Out the window
Cast away
Be free with me
Today
Great heart
mean streak
Spare part
speed freak
Great heart
mean streak
Spare part
speed freak
I got myself a problem when I built myself a wheel
I set myself another when I rode a horse to feel
The plains underneath my reins
Just as fast as running water
And the big lady I’m playing with
Has played a game of poker
With me and cat and this and that
Until she scored my joker
Now we ride in chariots
By the side of one another
Her soft side
My rough ride,
Nothing to fear
The unknown soldier’s grave is already here
Is it too late
To create
A world made with care
Is it there
Or fleeting
Here today and gone
Tomorrow’s child
Looking so wild and free
Are we a choice
With no voice
Can it be
Great heart, mean streak
Spare part speed freak

 

BANK OF THE DEAD
Lonely faces
Empty spaces
Hiding places
Nowhere to be

Growing skylines
Spreading street signs
All in straight lines
More everyday

But it’s all the same the world over
Twentieth century
Stuck in the red
In the bank of the dead
Holy Society

Insanity cities
Shitty cities
Shitty cities
Insanity cities
Shitty cities
Shitty cities
Insanity cities

Jesus freakers
Strange believers
Too many speakers

Maybe you’ll catch us
But you know your’re never gonna reach us
Trying to teach us
How to be good

With the civilisation
By population
Moral castration
Taming the flood

Making sure of survivors
To keep money spiders
And moon rocket riders
Rolling in blood

And it’s all the same the world over
Twentieth century
Stuck in the red
In the bank of the dead
Holy Society

Insanity cities
Shitty cities
Shitty cities
Insanity cities
Shitty cities
Shitty cities
Insanity cities

(apologies and thanx to Roy Harper)

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