I’m not a puppet to be played with I don’t dance to the tunes that I hear I close my ears to make them disappear. Listen to the orchestra playing Tunes to hold a person down Raucous words – a sticky sound Where my strings have been severed You can’t control me master conductor Although you try over and over again Where the message bores me frightens me There is nothing that makes me follow you Because you have not sought my consent If you had tried then the effort I’d resent War blasted bodies, to you, I’d present People sleeping outside near the Palace pavement The sounds from BBC News sets out to confuse Not me, I am not a puppet plus I will always refuse To take part in the Show that drowns lives In lies, scandals, made up news, drab views Don’t look at me for cooperation Don’t treatment me like a puppet If you do I will string you up binding Your hands over your ugly face Pointing a finger at your disgrace.
There was I, a man standing at the bus stop But I was going in the opposite direction; I did not know, because I could not remember. “Can happen to anyone really”, forgetting your way. I stood for hours in the cold wind and rain Because the last bus had already passed this way. I was dripping wet and was shivering away. No one really noticed me standing in the rain, Waiting for a bus that was going the opposite way. I spoke to no one, no one spoke to me. As hopeless as this task seemed to be I stuck at it until every drop of blood Ran out of every orifice into the road. Drained and realising I was foolish To stand for so long for a bus going the wrong way and on the wrong side of the street, people with stretchers decided to take me away into the rising moon.
If drifting caught the latest song Words were especially important Then each dimension within a note Would resonate Loosely vibrate Overly sensate Where there were no words There were no dimensions.
Falling scales where music reins Making musical tapestries strain Never mind watching the writers drain Their deepest thoughts Their opening sought For no one for nought Measuring each rhythm or tone Has led us nowhere no dimensions.
Floating operas and concertos Spraying sounds over our walls Redecorating rooms and cold halls Emitting beats Moving itchy feet Giving us a treat Presenting no real problems Not looking for solutions Not looking for dimensions.
I’m not fencing with the moonbeam world Where black ink nights trickle passed While leaning against this wooden frame I feel the brightness I’m learning to sing again I am swimming with the tide in a light of depth Where shadows are fading from living flesh Where flowers curtsy easily so fresh, Brilliant in the welcome shafting light Sing a song when the moon is bright. Ward off where darkness spills coolly in Let it flow passed for I can control within That which threatens to make me overload.
Signs on signposts nails within fences My barriers are mere defences That shield nought but my confessions Relieved as I am of pretentions, Facets of golden light pierce my eyes Fractionalise my inner senses Feeding them light makes them grow It is relentless healing I cannot forego, It makes me ready to go up for a climb To the tops of hills, and tops of trees It energises the roots branches and leaves, Time flows slowly, easily into my brain Captures the moment and holds it again.
I’m gonna tell you fascists You may be surprised The people in this world Are getting organized You’re bound to lose You fascists bound to lose
Race hatred cannot stop us This one thing we know Your poll tax and Jim Crow And greed has got to go You’re bound to lose You fascists bound to lose
All of you fascists bound to lose: I said, all of you fascists bound to lose: Yes sir, all of you fascists bound to lose: You’re bound to lose! You fascists: Bound to lose!
People of every color Marching side to side Marching ‘cross these fields Where a million fascists dies You’re bound to lose You fascists bound to lose!
I’m going into this battle And take my union gun We’ll end this world of slavery Before this battle’s won You’re bound to lose You fascists bound to lose!
Satin Black sky revels in wind and moon Cold cold moon, craters and valleys showin’ Walkin’ in moonshine Shadows of the evening Crawlin’ across the fences Stabs of white core light as stars Glint like fireflies in the Amazon Rushing forces benign entities Feel the power of movement The mass’s tranquillity Stone rock dust orbiting swiftly Though we perceive only The slightest move – yet ice cream clouds Scud blithely onwards on to oblivion The speed confounds the weighty orb.
Though the darkest satin like night Can cast the deepest shadows What can but a night hide from us? Among moonbeams stars streams Did I see a face Of nature that stetches the mind We relive the fears That stretch way back in time We link up with the past We realise that cavemen spied The wonder of moon, wind and the black satin night.
I just missed jumping on the bus But I have the wrong trousers on So I let it go passed me really Crossing the tracks so early in the day Never mind it is not due Sad old hag on the line I won’t wait for another bus The embarrassment is too much, I have inkwells in my pockets They are filled with feathers What do I do with them – red faced am I Never mind it is not due, But etching in the sand will never do Because each character is only half seen My ears are full of ice cream And my desk wants to sail away at noon But the sails are not ready Besides I have lost my compass So I will go Sainsbury’s instead I will make a nest in the middle of my bed And invite the pigs in for a party, Did I really have my hair with a middle parting Never mind it is not due But then neither is the glue When it is stuck inside the tube I have given my television A nice set of floral curtains To match my thinning hair Well, that is what I think, I don’t care There are beetroot stains on my underwear Don’t ask me, I don’t know how they arrived there Sitting in the sky avoiding the kites I laughed out loud The trees joined in too My shirt has baked bean sauce all over them I am not amused I take off my clothes and sing the National Anthem Saluting as a I go Never mind it is not due. With pencil gripped in the wrong hand I am poised to spew Out words that are anchored in anger In deepest rancour I spit out the words I drive my car into the buttercup field And I briefly watch the lovers I turn away looking for sanctuary There is an oak with green tassles Beckoning to me “Turn on your smile, ignore the hassles” What? This tree is talking to me, Too many pills that is the cause Songs were seeping from behind my back I really must find my new desk It is somewhere out to sea I need the shipping forecast beneath me In straw hat cane in hand I hear Leon sing Ain’t Misbehavin’ now there’s a thing Ain’t possible because I only want to sing, I have a ladder in my inside pocket I am going to paint the Pope black See how he likes that Never mind it is not due. No new prescription for me It is too much trouble anyway, There are songs attached to my feet I lift each one and a different lyric I can see Meet me on the corner, treat me, There are verses in my hair What the hell are they doing there I will place each one where they belong Each with their own rhythm sublime I am gardening with my teeth But it is taking too long I will nod out On this string of white powder Never mind it is not due, Did I write to myself today, Must be a bad memory, My toes are like bright torches Showing me the way in to the darkness I am whistling, hands in pockets Nonchalantly without a care Touching each bud on the rose tree I praise their effort and they believe me never mind it is not due, this treasure we call air might one day disappear watch out be careful don’t let the bastards take it away. I can’t use plastic daffodils As love tokens for Christ sake What was I thinking of – oh the insult, Maybe they should be plastic red roses My calendar suddenly caught fire I just stared in awe, drooling. Each cigarette was painted in bright pink But when lit they turned green Strangest thing I have ever seen With my calculator in my hand Mobile phone in my mouth I feel I am now ready to take on the world God forbid, are you just talking nonsense? Never mind it is not due
Biographer of the Beats and co-founder of the counter-culture newspaper, International Times, Barry Miles joins Camila Oliveira in conversation about how, through Zapple Records which he set up with John Lennon and Paul McCartney, he came to record Allen Ginsberg’s settings of the poetry of William Blake’s Songs of Innocence and of Experience. In this fascinating discussion, he also reminisces as to how – with Ginsberg and filmmaker Barbara Rubin – he was instrumental in helping to bring about the International Poetry Incarnation at the Royal Albert Hall in 1965.
Like the unfurling petals Of the spring flowers I feel the progress Of sunshine, approaching. I stay silent As though in a dream Words only being transitory Become quite useless
Lifting the heavy leaves Of autumn Storing the energy Of a million rays of sun I give a voice. The language being attuned To the warmth And radiance of summer.
The light Is cool when time is ignored The feel of winter Entering the mind When the turning away Slows time to a gradual halt It’s as if fast time Generates heat
No one notices it at all It’s as though The clouds hold secrets That no one wants to hear about Very like petals When they close up at night Hiding their heart Everybody brushing the flowers aside.
Foolish people With pride and honour As their credits cards Help them fly from crisis To boredom In split seconds No use waiting for the monthly statement Because our seasonal Journey Takes us many miles away from here.
II
The trees where knowledge is stored Stand where they ought They guard the weakest of souls Do so in rapid and routine thought.
To take root Play with the tangle of time Is like using an abacus to calculate a journey to Mars But to take the idea seriously Is like wanting Eric Morecombe To rescue Ernie Wise.
When I watch the birds in their daily exercise I’m reminded of hazy glades That still the silence Moves my mountain of arrogance Ever nearer the edge of a cliff I never wanted a large baggage to shift Nor was I willing to sail into heavenly bliss.
What in the universe would be the meaning of those moments When a fluttering sensation mild almost unfelt crosses the face A brief sparkle that dances in pinpoints of light in nearby space Those moments when an indescribable sensation passes close An interlude so short as to almost seem like a ghost.
Those moments when in the deepest laxity A hand floats into the mind and strokes your ego Those moments in the deepest quiet, produce the clarity Of rainbow colours and a known child-like simplicity.
Those moments bring a sense of connectivity When a speck of dust is given greater objectivity Those moments when a healing hand is your own soul Where distance shrinks, love increases as you find your goal.
Those moments in touch with the other seeps deep inside Giving clarity, charity love understanding, more besides Those moments spoken in every book of religion For the contemplative is not restricted by region.
In this universe we all seek the real meaning of life Those moments where care and sympathy reign supreme Where truly heroic deeds are shown to us in dreams Those moments as we seek an inner hidden truth And we find the meaning of sitting under a roof.
Those moments as we feel the agonies of poverty We realise our stomachs ache with over use Those moments are pieces in a massive jigsaw of life To ignore even one small piece causes untold strife.
DISSENTERS VOICE 