I hide my light under a bushel For I do not exist One day I will desist I am in my tortoise shell Moving slowly as hell I refuse to put my head above ground I move around slowly without a sound, I did not say anything today Tomorrow I won’t say much anyway, There is a rhythm to be hidden from view I look for it always or for something new But it is well hidden No light now and then Could shine upon this nothing space It isn’t as if I am in some kind of race Did I pick this way of being nothing Or was it because time was chiming? And the days were getting shorter The nights doing what they oughta No surprises could creep in here The dark makes them disappear I am well hidden from the world I tuck my head in it won’t be spoiled, With the everyday marching ahead It’s why I don’t want to leave my bed Stay under the covers all the time hoping the day goes away from mine and your ways of looking outwards. The silence was beyond being awkward When I emerge and destroy the paper I am writing on with a poem proper. I write them but they are well hidden From the moment they are born Inside my head and to the well worn Keyboard or pen, each word from me Is splashed in the open air calmly. Did I need to be hidden all these years Hiding like my father, shedding no tears As he passed into another realm unknown, How could I have copied his well renowned Hiding in a shed at the bottom of the garden Hiding until his last day arrived and then No more, he is now well and truly hidden. In fields of daisies there are delights That entice me back into the light I look for the butterfly and the bee They constantly fly right passed me. But the caterpillar is well hidden Waiting for its day before heaven Where it flies all around hidden places Going passed the familiar faces. Is this where the rhythm I seek Has always been, I am so weak As to not understand the living way. I don’t speak much everyday, The tongue remains quiet and still I want my life beyond free will Where the energy is used wisely Where I’m not saying – Surprise me! When I’m deep inside my coffin The mourners won’t see me within They won’t know if I’m really there Being well hidden is all I can bear, I am the reluctant soulful hermit Who hides almost out of habit. When I was at school I blended Into the grey, wishing it was ended Invisible was my usual dearest wish I am well hidden, but not a cold fish In the moments that I do emerge Meaning floods the floors submerges All those days I was without me Washes them into the boiling sea I’m well hidden not wanting to be Not knowing how to escape, be free Of the restraints that are all around me. I am well hidden Did I do this for some good reason? Am I a target now out of season. This earthly plain is presented As there is only this, pretended Living down a deep well hidden
Not guilty m’lud after all She was only a child small So very young and naive, Those days she now grieves.
Regular slaps with verbal abuse Her mother with routine misuse Would rule her life of pain she’d get hit again and again.
Throughout her childhood confusion As she didn’t know what she’d done, To get the punishment severe But she felt guilt through the tears.
The child assumed she was at fault “why else would mother hit me? I am such a bad girl really” She thought I must do what I ought.
Now she lives with pain in her heart Wondering just what actual part Did she play in deserving a beating, She was getting the devil’s meeting.
She grew up alongside the violence As though it was a natural part of life She matured, held the pain in silence Her first male attacker was her strife.
He was like a beast he acted even worse Attacking a woman who is weaker Leaving her full of bruises is beyond verse A brute not a man and a woman-hater.
Occasions of violent submission were hers Ending a relationship through being raped, A narcissistic sociopath was her curse A sub-human who thought himself as great.
Inflicting the worse kind of cruel violence Sent stabs of guilt pain and grief into her She has a black hole in her heart once She parted from the worse kind of raper.
II
The puzzle for me is how could he do so Much violence to such a kind and caring soul? She does not have a bad bone in her body To take advantage this way, scum must he be.
The woman recognises the abuser is not aware Of the damage he has done, he doesn’t care He feels he has done nothing wrong, mistake! This shows he is a psychopath on the make.
He is lucky to escape a possible life sentence There is no excuse for rape, nor any defence, It is on a similar level as murder in seriousness, To carry on contacting his victim is senseless.
He has no regard nor love for his victim For such a person is incapable of loving Anyone but himself, my level of loathing Says killing him would be too good for him.
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
My mind does that – you know thinks in fragments The memory plays with fragments, small moments Many days I have are fragmented by moods Drifting here and there and god knows where Why do I try to combine the bits I will never know Because they don’t fit together correctly, so I waste my time fixing this one thought with another.
Fuck it they won’t go here nor anywhere I can see, Reluctant to throw them away I store each fragment Until the weight of them cracks my reserve, I cry Then the fragments mysteriously all join up without me Doing a damn thing to them, leaving me wondering What the hell was all that about – I will never know.
How can a life exist in a fragmented world of pieces Of thoughts memories dreams and nightmares Why does the fragmentation happen anyway? To conjure confusion, sorrow, long forgotten Places where I once was but cannot now remember, For I have not been here before nor felt this way Maybe I need to submerge myself in music and poems.
Go deep into my spiritual character shun the heavy stuff Throw off the blood stained cloak dripping on the floor Where all the knives were shoved into my back Without me hardly knowing not feeling anything, The cloak I want to see fragmented dead lying On the floor gasping for air as I walk away again.
These verses keep on coming, what do you think? Deeper than the usual – as I look under a tall pile Of fragments – the knitting of the parts long gone Into a past that wasn’t really me anyway, who cares? The scars from the more jagged fragments a reminder Of the faces of those who broke all my fragments And throw them asunder and played tricks on me.
Pretending they held all the pieces in their hands And telling me they would hand them to me one day At the right time and place but it never happened. So I sit here looking at all the fragments knowing I can never mend them or put them back together, Fragments rule the day and will not move over.
Will I ever learn to cast down all these fragments Or will I have to learn the same lessons over again All the time wondering where each piece has come from; They want to be going somewhere much better than here I know it I can feel it – when they reach their goal They will form into perfect patterns of happiness Pleasing to the eye uplifting of the heart no less.
It is then that I will understand why my life’s in fragments Of what I really wanted and in the way I wanted them. No more the fragments of promise no more deflection But a large colourful picture of life as it should be Something to be admired, something to be lived In profound solid foundation, giving away nothing.
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.
Hey there, I am living in a jar Does that mean we are all far Away in some other cupboard In the dark of the closed door? Try as I might I cannot prise It open not without some aid Try as I might I look for some But I can see help it was not made For me – in abject sadness I put aside all notions of escape I continue to live inside this jar I can’t remember how I came here! try as I might the memory has disappeared It’s been scratched from inside my soul I lean upon the glass looking outwards Is this where I pray for a change Have I been waiting for a cue or what? I am on my knees, hands clasped Wishing I was no longer imprisoned Inside my own head where splinters grow From past smashed glass, why don’t they go? I don’t want them they slow my progress They poison my new life, it is not necessary Nor wanted, nor needed nor desired by me. Living in a jar is no picnic It destroys love before it is born And sucks my life until I am worn. Is this compulsory punishment For something I have not even done? No matter for I have punished myself Roughly about a thousand times over. I am not satisfied unless I inflict pain Upon myself in every possible way I take out my heart and slice it into thin Pieces and feed it to the birds and fishes, I take out my brain and chop it into squares Give them to the local dogs home, I take my eyes and squash them. For I no longer need any of these parts Living in a jar. Living in a jar, I can’t talk to anyone And they can’t hear me anyway, There is no phone nor microphone Anyway what can I say living the way I do Away from everyone and everything If I could speak what would I talk about? How I hate living in a jar, no doubt!
Vintage illustration of from an 18th Century Chapbook. English Folklore, Mother Shipton, Ursula Southeil an English soothsayer and prophetess. Talking with a Witch, Devil and warlock flying brooms
I hear you say - are you a psychopath, am I a psychopath? You have trodden on my heart and scooped it out And taken it in your hands and thrown it all about. The jackboots you used upon me bruised my soul, You left marks upon me: but I wanted to be whole.
Destruction was the name of your game, I can tell You used and abused my soft heart and sent me to hell. You took advantage of my generous caring ways And gave me the blows, the shouts: I was so afraid, Fear is the very core of my being, for certain.
I know deep down your reasons were only trite excuses You used the chains of fear and took advantage You were to be king over my dented half truth life I was putty willingly in your pitiless grasp and fist You sent strange messengers to my brain covered in mist.
At first I could not hear the messages said It was like entering the garden of paradise, dead! You made me ask the question, what is the fucking point, This is no way to live, sure was no way to die, in joint Misunderstanding and mis-directed threats and cajoles.
I was used and abused by those who I thought loved me, I was so badly taken in by charmers in sheep’s clothing I was prey to the wolves, who wanted to eat my brain I bear the inner scars: I am not letting happen to me again I wish only to jump ship and take to the waves of uncertainty.
I want to find a desert island somewhere that would protect me I don’t need or deserve this kinda shit, no way, no how, I am my own person, I want to live well always and now I did not come into this world to be someone else’s plaything Nor do I want to be a punchbag, a skivvy or a slave to your whims.
Circumstances has been my keenest low companion, String me along, locked in chains, like carrion Lying in a field helpless with no way to ward off beaks and claws I was left lying in tears bewildered, but what is the cause? I cried a thousand rivers that flooded my perceptions.
I called out loud to God to relieve me, he was not listening! I battled the devils that railed horribly against me Through the tears I saw distorted faces I didn’t want to see. Through it all I hung in there determined to win, Against outrageous misfortune, at least I am still breathing.
These sad rooms are sitting with me The seeds are scraps of paper For me the writing is nearly over Long tall shapeless the words be.
The skeleton rooms are growing dim I sit through the calm Whilst raging within My sweaty palms Are guiding me in I’m wanting the eyes forever
For long is the night dim is the day Like forgetting the only rhyme I had For you are the smile I’m not so gay You have a wooden life – not sad.
These rooms are sitting in calmness now My empty eyes are not glowing But please give me one last chance. As I sit within my knowing.
I can’t sit I have to move For the world is crazy without I need the anchor I need the wind But don’t ever let me out I see your skirts I am your blouse I want to get into your mind Don’t let me drift don’t let me dream Because I don’t want to be a friend.
The sun it drifts and the sky is mixed My mind expands with a whim You are in the midday of life And I can’t seem to ever win
Don’t smile, don’t cry, don’t even breathe For I am driving into the wind The hills are steep and I won’t keep Because the light is keeping me still Don’t cry, don’t speak For God’s sake don’t keep My ears are bursting again.
The sky is mean but the sun is clear I shan’t drift into you with a cloud I am the river the rain the speed So why don’t we write a rhythm I am so slow, slither I am on the go So please give a – come now! Go now! Please listen to me Come in come thither Please listen in Tune in to me is my hearing that keen The moon is dancing with us now.
Your voice your eyes Are in my device I want to keep them forever Please let me skate Please be my mate We shall sing the song together We shall sing the song together
In July we say the rains are here to stay But we know that by saying this We won’t really scare the sun away In adjusting the month to suit the weather We can’t really expect any other To take the place of the sun.
In July the warmth of knowing grows As the moon expands its outer glow Reaching as it does the hearts of gems Realising that months are sucked in to one day We don’t register time nor pain nor another way Where values are exchanged for priceless gifts.
In July all the disappointments evaporate Like lakes on the Serengeti plains Placing horseshoe necklaces around the necks of saints In pleasing the inner mirror, we have to select Our worst and best experiences Like choosing which brand of fun to purchase.
In July, cloudless skies obscure the stars and planets But in reality we know they are there unseen Like we know China exists even though we never visited In laughing with the cosmic joke We can applaud ourselves for our stupidity For choosing to be stupid, prevents us growing.
In July the sunbeams dance bravely inside my skull Animals and birds will sing their peculiar songs For all is rejoicing renewing and recycling We practice we are journeying with our ignorance Packed neatly inside our suitcase heads Looking for light for the meaning of this poem.
In July travelling is the ultimate goal For in the movement towards knowing We shall visit a million stars and none. In the daytime we will measure the darkness At night we’ll conquer the mystery of blackness And invitation of the negative unsmiling one.
In July we embrace the tall trees and love them For their energy is the sap of life itself But our ignorance we swipe them away In the knowing hours are we asleep Is the travelling more intense and very deep?
In July the balance reveals its rotten teeth Displaying that much work is needed anywhere But we are fledglings who look to their mother In using her guiding wing given a friendly peck We want to fly but we are impatient In trust and truth we will fly forever.
DISSENTERS VOICE 