I’ve seen hills topped with purple heather, where bushes turn greener Because the sunlight is constantly changing its angle – now keener And droplets of rain make the purples stand out in starkness But they become so much dimmer in the night time darkness.
These hills are in my mind more or less, it seems, all the time Begging me to walking amongst the flowers and to climb On upwards to smell the scent – did I miss any of them, I can’t be doing with collecting flowers cutting their stem.
There are the hills we erect in our hearts to stop us from feeling, But also there are those that encourage us to do more walking Get in amongst the wet leaves and petals and sing with the birds Their songs seem earnest – honest as the day but a little absurd.
Come to the edge of the hills and look on down at the houses, People going about their duties pretty women in white blouses Handsome men with shirts sleeves rolled up their arms Calling to the ladies and laying down their natural charms.
From these hills you can see cars scurrying about all the roads The shapes of some of them look just like fast moving toads, Where are they all going now and why at such a speed, Shopping, visiting, going to hospital doing what they need.
The hills with heather there in abundance changes colour With excessive sunlight, or moonlight or the cloud cover, It is a never ending change that disturbs no one else nor me, But I admire the colours and the perfume so readily.
I’ve seen hills with rugged rocks crags and barren land A person would be foolish to wander without a helping hand, Unless you were born amongst the impossible scattered stones, To be as relaxed there in the thickets as you would be at home.
My hills are my targets that I know I will, one day, reach And I will learn to listen to the trees as they give their speech Of rustling leaves and breaking twigs in time to the music Of time where each step is ably assisted with a wooden stick.
I’ve seen hills that resemble something like gigantic dunes sand particles whipped up as we move towards another tune where each note represents a grain of sand like an Overture in complication and context with instruments that endure.
The desert gas station Blasted by sun with sand Lifts the eye from out of the ground, 250 miles across Arizona, The day has melted down, Cooling tha engine while legs are stretched Looking out across the savannahs Wondering how wide the sky is Why we never have the clouds visit ... Coasting towards the sierras Blinded by the light Seeking our horizons wanting a brief respite, We are near the motel Or are those lights another dream, The next morning The searchers’ arms wrapped Themselves around the car As I sped Head Long Into another session of driving – Through breathless are diving Through sunlight, dryness jiving For the ache of travel Is the ache of searching Despite the spectacular surrounding The greyness of not finding Is the lead weight of expectation. The desert high jinx swallowed me whole The smiling spirit of the plateaus Point a wary finger at shimmering hotel bars My mind’s eye pierces this nonsense As we cruise at 60 mph As we search for the road covered in sand As we dissect this moonscape land As the spirit of desert puts out its huge hand Feeling the forced of circumstance Knowing the journey to be wise. I’m able to ignore the reluctance, Give out each day so much more. We glide across Arizona We sweep into the Texas range For help is always around me, Never once did I find this strange. Listening to Chuck Berry On the local radio We swing across the highways With no particular place to go? We Jim Reeves into Huntsville We have come Listening we’ve always done To the sound of distant drums. The electric man was asked to go The gas man not allowed We meet the medic With the devil in his hand. The smile of death was in his head As he administered midazolam Plus the last rites into those – Who in their dread In their prostrate stranglehold Struggled no more, The Lord’s work for sure Yup the comfort of only doing what is right With God on your side You can drug the murderer outta sight. With The Move drumming out its sound I’m a California Man We swing our journey to the Golden State Lifting the murky carpet high We have the electric date Of – let’s see ‘em when they fry. The love and peace of Frisco Seems like a pathetic disco Where the decks have exploded The discs were made of ice Sizzle ye your citizens But not at all very nice For although God is on your side It’s the other side you have to abide Listen not ye to duty’s fame Watch out for damnation’s flame As you – American kill off the lame Electrocute gas hang shoot shoot up Unrelenting God’s work Revenge, bathing in blood The downfall of empires Sent from above. You who have killed love You who drink the blood You who deny the spirit Your rewards are centuries away, You reap only what you sew Watch out when you go For you’re dealing in death Won’t let you go Your duty to the State Will diminish your own fate You will return to this Earth Stay here till you have learnt The wisdom and love Of the Universe Not getting out of the plane As we touch down again In the middle of Arizona desert For all I can see through the sweat Are plateaus, sand and blazing skies I’m bored by the red and blue But I’m buoyed by the coming hue That reflects the ancient eyes. Oh Arizona! Your Indian braves Your men and women of fame Have a pocketful of stars Give us this day our daily blame Forgive us our stupidity As we forgive those That are stupid towards us And lead us not into execution Deliver us from duty For thine is the kingdom The Power and the glory Forever and ever For all men.
You can put your money down and take away your useless goods At leisure you ruminate over what you have acquired, afterwards, Did I? With a smile withering from my lips, I asked the question. Give me back the time I have used buying so many things unused, Dance in the fires of anguish over the worth of what I now own.
I have raided my bank and used up all the funds, there is no payback. I have gone into overdraft – I’m watching the balance go into negative Listen to the sound of shillings and crowns spin out of control, no lack Of the chinking of coins, never counted correctly piled into hessian sacks Afterwards, I was not counting up the use of money just its evaporation.
Queuing in bank lines irritated by the tellers slow progress, the day went by Was the waste really worth it, who can tell, stacks of golden coins gleamed The attraction of wealth became an uncontrolled drug and we mainline The consequences of pursuing the feeling of being well healed, clings To the way to explain why the pursuit of wealth vomits, slighted credits.
Down in the vaults where people swim in the seas of making money There are people who spend every day and every hour making lucre With computers attached to their penises erections sporadically occur With semen dripping from each bank note satisfaction was accomplished It was a love affair made out of necessity and perverse expectation.
Afterwards when all the money dissolved into misery, sweepers cried They stacked the remnants of the cash into the bank manager’s office, Ordered from the building each sweeper was forced to reveal their profits, It was not a self decision, it was imposed upon them they bled balances They wished the piles were so much larger, more colourful and useful.
Money markets, are not like covered markets in the middle of towns, Ordinary people sort through the goods they want to put their money down The money lenders in the temples stood back amazed coins everywhere Get the bastard who over turned the tables, crucify the fucker they cried Money is their life their blood their reason for getting up every morning.
Stone faced billionaires rejoiced when money was ejaculated into their coffers Filthy sounding words accompanied their joy they relaxed into a climax Such is love of money, keeping people shackled to wasting their time, For fucks sake they can not take it with them when they entered their demise, There is no such thing as spiritual cash, but such wealth is better to accumulate.
The definition of money love is to speculate to accumulate, but money hatred Was the spur for condemnation by clergy, they did not need they pretended, Living in four bedroomed house rent free, council tax relief and no landlord, Why pretend to despise money when being propped up for credit and more, Hypocrisy lies down in the sun trying to create a new colour skin and hair.
Scraping a living, using the benefits prison, taking away pride and promise, Where is the hope applying for meagre “hand outs”, can you stand this? Poverty eats at the very soul laying waste to what was planned – expected, Doled out support that has strings attached, a contract of dire oppression. Feeling hemmed in the recipient feels diminished, shelved humiliated.
Find a space from where you want your money to be collected, Don’t tell your relatives just how much you are worth, rejected Their interest is sterling shaped, they are waiting for an activated Will where sharing your body worth by tradition is separated, Your death could release worth, but then who is counting ?
A trembling hand Resting on a rounded shoulder Like an ancient sage Glimpsed a flash from another age.
His eyes glistening in moonbeam smiles With words that had sped the miles Across the universe In rhythms and light verse He spoke unto a youth Who’d proclaimed his search For the knowledge that exists inside.
You are your own person Never forget who you are Spoke the sage to the youth, Let no one mould you As they desire and in their arrogance They destroy the uniqueness That make the essence of you,
Whether by schooling bribery or trickery Their efforts are comical and puny. In the face of the energy That drives the life force. You will win because, these words you say I think I can I will.
The ancient leaves the young man He disappears into the golden light The youth is singing and smiling The day is no longer a night.
II
Embers cooling beside the river bank As I lie in the windless air and thank The sun, the rain, the moon, the earth Because a forgotten element May as well not be there If we haven’t the time to care In the time it takes to offer a prayer.
A dozen petals would have Opened in your mind’s eye A penetrating light Would have shone into the I.
Gratitude falls not upon the stony deaf But upon the leaf covered ground At the feet of the Understanding They will nod their heads As you say the words That will bless your soul Which brings the joy that comes from giving.
Your eye sees the absent living It weeps in the darkest despair For you know that ignorance Is like a gigantic lair That ensares the weak, the bigot, the fool.
Throw away your cloak of darkness That lays across your mind That was born of television strangeness. Make your heart for ever unbind By throwing away the barriers erected between us and the truth. You will enter a new world One that has existed before this Earth.
The cold wind from the trees The search for lost leaves You feel the wanting You hear the calling As you stand near oaks and willows You dream of falling leaves on your pillow You sleep in your free breezes You sense energy releases But you won’t tell anyone You won’t dare to be undone Are you scared to be the one? Who heavily dared so very easily.
Tiny Mr Yin sleeps throughout each showing He just lets Mr Yang take the limelight He don’t mind, he gets his interviews, His name in the paper along with Mr Yang.
The strong dark Mr Yin never understated Despite his lazy disposition, and dated Never a dull moment when they get together Such a class act as Yin and Yang Who’d have thought they came from the Orient.
You’d understand that the extrovert Mr Yang Never despised or looked down upon Mr Yin; He knew his place he knew of Mr Yin’s too He was just content they always appeared as one In the same show. Every day, every hour, every minute ….
Clutching hands, twitching eyebrows Expression wide face coming from nowhere Tongue twisted in silence Hair draped over his sombre face With a crouched back, drooping ears That almost encircled his face He is the crying clown of the daylight hours.
Some people change as quickly as coffee dissolves in hot water, So don’t make my coffee because I am not changing I left my last coffee on the shelf inside my head Laughing I wanted to drink my last one in bed, What flavour suits one can not please all others, But I am wondering what do I have to do to please?
Mixing the milk in carefully I can’t resist stirring the water So don’t make my coffee because I am staying as I am I am not convinced there is any need to change, not now Persuading me otherwise really is a waste of time and how, Latte cappuccino or mocha the flavours are not relevant, Maybe it is occasion or the aroma that makes me not relent.
Adding the sugar or sweetener hasn’t caught my imagination, So don’t make my coffee because this is the way I am always. I listened to your reason, but they are outside my parameters, Conversation around change became a fire of disappointment Did it really matter – why should I be cajoled into changing, I mean, changing? Is this a sign of failure or success?
DISSENTERS VOICE 