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)
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