From  Poems Second Series 1996
                                                               © S.R.P.publications London  1996:- ISBN:1 871446 04 X

  In response to remarks

Made by a Man

On top of a mountain

On the awfulness of democracy

The awfulfness of the people

Another protests:-

"This is criminal temptation

Left to itself

It undermines security

Brings odious tyranny

Sanctifies brutality

Gathering likeminded

Out for themselves".

Below there is Typhon.

Down in the valley,

His foul exhalation

Is what we must breathe.


We see and know nothing beyond

Living room curtains

Kettles and cookers.

Nobly born,

This is the universe.

This is a phase

Of total necessity

The sexual redeemer

The man Adam Kadmon

Cannot redeem it.

All of its joy

Is under the Mountain.

  Squeezing the juice

From a hundred lemons

Juice of novel and witty

Ideas, dripping onto the page.

One day he picks off his head

And squeezes.

Juice of a novel and witty idea

Dripping onto the page.

     WINCHMORE HILL STATION   From the open platform

Of Winchmore Hill station

In the bright May sunshine

The station building

Is not without charm,

With the lush vegetation

Trees and shrubs

Tall grass

Above the round edged top

Of the black brick wall

On which observe the tiny creatures

Molluscs and arthropods,

The grey and the black,

Woodlice, small slugs

Immobile, then moving

Stalk eyes waving.

The spotted shield bug, struts

Like a dim witted King’s Road poser in

His snazzy clothes, past

The humble greenfly

With senile dementia

Standing, dying.

Like Chinese communists,

Large ants, reddy brown

Or black, scurry,

Collective, anonymous,

Carrying greenflies, dead or alive.

Two comrades meet

Touch antennae, part.

A black and a brown meet

Recoil, repelled, afraid.

Not here the joy of natural repose.

Each has business, or else

In idleness

Suggests not joy but the mundanity

Of human experience

Like a school playground,

Or some busy town

Where whites and blacks, workers and idlers
  Struggle to survive.
  For this life on the black brick wall top,

Conceived in its human equivalent,

To seem a delightful game,

One would need to snort cocaine.

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