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.
And then the sun rose on the other side of the moon
But I wasn’t at all interested in its proximity
Looking out across the glistening seven seas
I was looking to expose my soul around noon
All the trees bowed in my direction and some collapsed
Could I expect more than this worship by nature,
Words were wrapped in cellophane, it was crinkled
It was inside out as I was walking through clouds
I wanted to unravel each piece of plastic, but could not
The sun danced in the river, I saw the fish scurrying about
The tension was leaving me I was laughing but I wanted out.
But the words could not escape the see through wrapping
What was the worth of talking – the speaking the rapping.
I was sliding inside the breaking waves upon the shore
My smile was stuck between the rocks and raging sea
I could not forecast in any way what was happening to me
Did the moon want my heart presented upon a plate
To show it to the blazing sun as it rose over the horizon
Did the blood of my aching limbs want to stop searching
I could not tell the time, nor did I hear the clocks chime
Clockwork heaven beckoned me to look up into the blue sky
Presenting the fluffy scudding clouds into my eye
I was laughing because the cause of the mirth was nowhere
I searched for it hour after hour but the aching was beyond pain
I could not carry on looking not now not ever again,
I sat down and laughed, why did it have to be this way, please explain.
Did I capture your freedom put it inside this rusty cage
What does it serve if not the free thinking natural age
I wipe away the blood from my legs and arms, naturally
Without a thought for what needed to be done I was there
Amongst the slippery rocks clambering for life to the beach.
The sea had the reins of misfortune all around me, out of reach
For the shoreline I saw what was naturally needed for my life
Could I help my attitude towards the routine ever circling sun
I wasn’t to blame – the time was out of my mind, it would not settle
No matter what I tried to do to rectify the situation, the metal
Of the rusting cage was crumbling buckling under the weight
What could I do here in this place other than be bored and wait
I have read your book, tossed it aside, laughed, it was not for me.
3 Oct 2023.
Waving hills, home to the blue antelope, shimmered like disturbed still water, The reflections turn into fragmented pieces of glass like images, after The disturbance has died away, light thrown from the sun bounces forward, Trying to capture the rays, given the speed, they rush crazily toward The hills where the original drama first occurred, home to the blue antelopes.
As they say waving not drowning, but are we in time to save the sinking body? Standing on the river bank, watching a flailing arm reach up towards the sun Body sinking fast amidst bubbles of confusion, pretty much, with this world, done. But water was not their friend, it was the killer, although unwittingly, The hills stood by, continued to wave, and the blue antelope sat down and wept.
There was a strange fence at the bottom of my garden that I was forbidden to go near, But people being what they are, I could not resist a short peak over there, It yielded no real answers apart from re-running old dreams, on worn out film. It showed a man on his knees trying to clean the broken tiles outside a church, He was bothered that the millions of cracks would hold some nasty germs.
I was invited to supply information about the white hot ants invading my arm, I dropped the needle on the floor as the soft clouds carried me away from harm, I was in Grand Central Station like commotion in the eyes and the mind, not relaxed I journeyed down into the mud flats of the Thames Estuary, not really facts That would disturb anyone, nor make waves, but it happened anyway.
There are patterns expressed as distant clouds, they are not easy to realise, But dismiss them at your peril, make sure you know what you’re doing and why. Take a page from your latest book and eat it, try not to vomit it back again, There is mileage in watching the blue antelope look so crest fallen and in pain; Water is the giver of life to all plants, animals and people, but it also kills.
No real comfort for the grieving blue creature, no one said much, we all kept quiet, A hand was placed upon the back of the antelope to sooth its shaking from tears; The smile of a blue antelope regained its position upon its very beautiful face, The day was marked in tragedy, it kept people asking all the wrong questions, What were people doing swimming across a river that had claimed so many lives?
DISSENTERS VOICE 