Collected Poems Read online

  and left school at 15 to work for his father.

  And talents such as spitting

  are considered unbefitting

  for upandcoming porkbutchers.

  I haven’t seen him since,

  but like to imagine some summer soiree

  when, after a day moistening mince,

  George and his wife entertain tanned friends.

  And after dinner, sherrytongued talk

  drifts back to schooldays,

  the faces halfrecalled, the adventures

  overexaggerated. And the next thing

  that shy sharpshooter of days gone by

  is led, vainly protesting, on to the lawn

  where, in the hush of a golden august evening

  a reputation, 20 years tall, is put to the test.

  So he takes extra care as yesterheroes must,

  fires, and a dragonfly, encapsulated, bites the dust.

  Then amidst bravos and tinkled applause,

  blushing, Georgie leads them back indoors.

  Snowing Down South

  ‘It’s snowing down south,’ one girl would say

  When another’s petticoat showed beneath the skirt

  And, giggling, they would rush off to the Ladies.

  Modesty restored, they would return to the floor

  And dance demurely, with a poise we could not match

  We boys, who stood pretending not to watch.

  Then half an hour or so before the Last Waltz

  The DJ would put on some rock ’n’ roll

  And emboldened with ale, we’d form a ring.

  Eyes closed, they’d spin, those girls, skirts swirling high

  To reveal… Need I go on? Mid-fifties.

  You’ve seen the pictures, heard the songs.

  In the spotlight of our lascivious gaze

  Fired by the rhythm, our whistles and screeches

  Down south, suddenly, everything is peaches.

  An Apology

  Sincere apologies, too late I know, for not getting engaged

  on the night we’d planned, Christmas Eve 1962. I had the ring

  in my pocket, the one we’d bought together that November

  from the little jewellers on Whitefriargate in Hull. Remember?

  After Midnight Mass arm-in-arming back to ours,

  we linger outside the gates of Seaforth Park. The moon

  smiling and expectant. No wind, no people, no cars.

  Sheets of ice are nailed to the streets with stars.

  The scene is set, two lovers on the silver screen.

  A pause, the copy-book kiss. Did angels sing?

  This was my moment, the cue to pledge my troth,

  to take out the blue, velvet box, and do my stuff.

  But marriage was a bridge I feared might be detonated,

  And I had this crazy idea that if I didn’t mention it, then you

  wouldn’t either. That we’d collude in romantic amnesia.

  That life would go on as before. What could be easier?

  Christmas passed. Enraged, you blew up. I felt the blast.

  We got engaged. It didn’t last.

  humdinger

  there’s not a one

  no one

  anywhere/place

  quite like you

  i would follow you to the very ends

  of our street

  and often do

  (discreet-

  ly)

  onallfours

  HUMDINGER

  youra

  Why, everybody says so

  what i wouldn’t give for an excursion into your darkest africa.

  Man the Barricades, the Enemy has let loose his Pyjamas!

  yesterday

  secure behind

  your barricade

  of polite coffeecups

  you sat

  whittling clichés

  but lastnight

  slyold me

  got you up

  some dark alleyway

  of my dreams

  this morning

  you have a faraway look

  in your

  smalltalk

  Shy

  The shy girl at the party

  turned out to be

  the shy girl in the car

  turned out to be

  the shy girl in the bedroom

  turned out to be

  with the light

  turned out to be

  shyning!

  Rainbow

  With a rainbow under your arm

  you came a-calling.

  A home-made cardboard cut-out.

  A spangled boomerang. A gift.

  That night we put it on the bed.

  Made love, a wish, and slept.

  (Later, your rainbows would appear

  in bedrooms allover town)

  With a rainbow under your arm

  you came a-calling.

  A two-dimensional cartoon of the real thing.

  Tongue-in-sky. Our love.

  Poem on being in love with two girls at the same time

  i have a photograph of you

  in the insidepocket of my head

  a blurred photograph

  a double image

  is it one girl or is it two?

  is it her or is it you?

  Damcamara

  Damcamara

  Comeclose and Sleepnow

  it is afterwards

  and you talk on tiptoe

  happy to be part

  of the darkness

  lips becoming limp

  a prelude to tiredness.

  Comeclose and Sleepnow

  for in the morning

  when a policeman

  disguised as the sun

  creeps into the room

  and your mother

  disguised as birds

  calls from the trees

  you will put on a dress of guilt

  and shoes with broken high ideals

  and refusing coffee

  run

  alltheway

  home.

  A lot of Water has Flown under your Bridge

  i remember your hands

  white and strangely cold

  asif exposed too often to the moon

  i remember your eyes

  brown and strangely old

  asif exposed too often and too soon

  i remember your body

  young and strangely bold

  asif exposed too often

  i remember

  i remember how

  when you laughed

  hotdogmen allover town

  burst into song

  i remember

  i remember how

  when you cried

  the clouds cried too and the

  streets became awash with tears

  i remember

  i remember how

  when we lay together for the first time

  the room smiled,

  said: ‘excuse-me’,

  and tiptoed away.

  but time has passed since then

  and alotof people

  have crossed over the bridge

  (a faceless throng)

  but time has passed since then

  and alotof youngmen

  have swum in the water

  (naked and strong)

  but time has passed since then

  and alotof water

  has flown

  under

  your

  bridge.

  Aren’t We All

  Looks quite pretty lying there

  Can’t be asleep yet

  Wonder what she’s thinking about?

  Penny for her thoughts

  Probably not worth it.

  There’s the moon trying to look romantic

  Moon’s too old that’s her trouble

  Aren’t we all?

  Lace curtains gently swaying

  Like a woman walking

  A woman ina negligee

&
nbsp; Walking out through the window

  Over the sleeping city up into the sky

  To give the moon a rest

  Moon’s too tired that’s her trouble

  Aren’t we all?

  Wasn’t a bad party really

  Except for the people

  People always spoil things

  Room’s in a mess

  And this one’s left her clothes allover the place

  Scattered like seeds

  In too much of a hurry that’s her trouble

  Aren’t we all?

  Think she’s asleep now

  It makes you sleep

  Better than Horlicks

  Not so pretty really when you get close-up

  Wonder what her name is?

  Now she’s taken all the blankets

  Too selfish that’s her trouble

  Aren’t we all?

  after the merrymaking, love?

  after the merrymaking,

  love.

  Back to my place

  it’s not far

  a little shedevil

  whoever you are.

  It was great fun while I lasted.

  after the love,

  sleep.

  In the onrush of its lava

  we are caught

  side by side

  arms entangled

  carcass to carcass.

  after the sleep,

  emptiness.

  The sweat dry

  and a little nearer death

  we awake to meet the day

  I pretend it’s not goodbye

  You pretend you’d love to stay.

  The Act of Love

  The Act of Love lies somewhere

  between the belly and the mind

  I lost the love sometime ago

  Now I’ve only the act to grind.

  Brought her home from a party

  don’t bother swapping names

  identity’s not needed

  when you’re only playing games.

  High on bedroom darkness

  we endure the pantomime

  ships that go bang in the night

  run aground on the sands of time.

  Saved in the nick of dawn

  it’s cornflakes and then goodbye

  another notch on the headboard

  another day wondering why.

  The Act of Love lies somewhere

  between the belly and the mind

  I lost the love sometime ago

  Now I’ve only the act to grind.

  Dunenudes

  a pinta makes a man

  thats so very true

  i know cos i’m a milkman

  and my friend is too

  a pinta shapes a girl

  thats so very true

  we found her on a sanddune

  the sky a poster blue

  milk will soon turn sour

  thats so very true

  so we lay among the pintas

  without anymore ado

  the bottles now are broken

  the milk has slaked the sand

  and we walk into the sunset

  hand in hand in hand

  My little plastic mac

  Teach me, o Lord, to be permissive

  the sixties way to save the soul

  three leers for sexual freedom

  let the good times rock’n’roll.

  Tired of being puritan

  and living by the code

  I learned the New Morality

  and shed my guilty load.

  I read the kinky magazines

  to gain my evil ends

  scanned the personal columns

  for interesting friends.

  And now I’ve got the taste for sin

  I know I’ll never stop

  just can’t wait to get married

  so I’ll have a wife to swap.

  I’m all for divorce and abortion

  and the contraceptive pill

  let’s hear it from the audience

  for the homosexual bill.

  Here’s to the New Morality

  pornographers may they thrive

  when there’s blue films on at the Odeon

  it’ll be good to be alive.

  And once the ball starts rolling

  who knows very soon

  there’ll be a complete set of the Marquis de Sade

  in every hotel room.

  God bless the new reformers

  let them make our island home

  a country fit for psychopaths

  and nutters like me to roam.

  You see at bedtime when I’ve put away

  my flagellation kit

  I often shed a silent tear

  and I’m forced to admit

  that it isn’t always easy

  being a sexual maniac

  as I slide between the rubber sheets

  in my little plastic mac.

  Discretion

  Discretion is the better part of Valerie

  though all of her is nice

  lips as warm as strawberries

  eyes as cold as ice

  the very best of everything

  only will suffice

  not for her potatoes

  and puddings made of rice

  Not for her potatoes

  and puddings made of rice

  she takes carbohydrates

  like God takes advice

  a surfeit of ambition

  is her particular vice

  Valerie fondles lovers

  like a mousetrap fondles mice

  And though in the morning

  she may whisper: ‘it was nice’

  you can tell by her demeanour

  that she keeps her love on ice

  but you’ve lost your hardearned heart

  now you’ll have to pay the price

  for she’ll kiss you on the memory

  and vanish in a trice

  Valerie is corruptible

  but known to be discreet

  Valerie rides a silver cloud

  where once she walked the street.

  Who was the Naughty Girl?

  Who was the naughty girl I saw combing her hair with a bluebell

  Who was the naughty girl I saw paying her fare with a seashell

  Who was the naughty girl I saw sawing the seesaw in two

  Who reported Dr Barnardo to the NSPCC

  Peter Scott to the RSPB

  Who sent the Pope a Playboy key, Jack Ruby a get-well card

  The Elephant Man a Valentine card, Pontius Pilate a Xmas card

  The Boston Strangler a calling card

  Who was the naughty girl who passed Lot the salt

  Who went to lunch with William Burroughs, naked

  Who fed foie gras to the geese

  Who helped the blindman into the ladies

  Who snitched on Guy Fawkes

  Who switched on Caryl Chessman

  Who knitted socks for the Viet Cong

  Who was the naughty girl

  who put L.S.D. in my Horlicks

  Evostick in my contact lenses

  Chloroform in my handkerchief

  Pig’s liver in my pockets

  Ants in my gants

  Who was the naughty girl?

  Why, you.

  Contact lenses

  Somenights

  she leaves them in

  until after they have made love.

  She likes to see clearly

  the lines and curves of bodies.

  To watch his eyes, his mouth.

  Somenights she enjoys that.

  Othernights

  when taken by the mood

  she takes them out before

  and abandons herself

  to her blurred stranger.

  Other senses compete to compensate.

  All is flesh. Looks bigger too.

  Near to You

  America’s the land of milk and honey

  Australia’s healthy and continuall
y sunny

  The living in Sweden is clean and sleek

  The food in France is gastronomique

  Japan’s got geishas and the fastest train

  China’s got oodles of chicken chow mein

  If you want noodles you can’t beat Hong Kong’s

  Brazilians samba on beaches in thongs

  Africa looks to a future exciting

  Spain’s got sherry, el sol and bullfighting

  Eskimos are tough and used to roughing

  Turkey is full of chestnut stuffing

  The Belgians invented the Brussels sprout

  Germans lieben lederhosen und sauerkraut

  Greece abounds in classical ruins

  Russia’s violinists play the loveliest tuins

  In Bermuda it’s swaying palm trees and foam

  In Switzerland it’s gnome sweet gnome

  Italian girls make a di fantastic lovers

  Danes are mustard under the covers

  From old Hawaii to New Nepal

  Foreigners seem to have it all

  So if everything abroad is as good as they say

  Why do we Britons in Britain stay?

  The answer is (and I’m sure it’s true)

  That all of us want to be near to you

  Sundeath/greentears

  when you said you loved me

  the sun

  leapt out from behind st georges hall

  and ran around town;

  kissing younggirls’ faces

  exposing fatmen’s braces

  freeing birds & chasing flies

  pulling hats down over eyes