a song of despair and redemption
anger and love
a soul in lament, a world's salvation

through the sunlight and the stars
red blood, soil and sifting sea
a foaming fountain laughing falls
curved and curling spiral spinning
raining running wild and singing
song of such simplicity
twisting, turning, unbeginning
forceful, fading, never ending
river rolling tireless into the shoreless sea

but we, we have stopped, here at the foot of the hill
where the wind drops behind the shelf
on our bridge high above the river's foaming surge
yes we have stopped
here where engines cull the sickle's corn
where stallions strain at the starting gate
where clay and stone from time are torn
we have stopped and made our mark, indelibly
we have insisted, unashamedly
that we might be always heard and seen
through the stars that we have numbered
amongst the tress that we have named
upon the tides that we have charted
we have declared ourselves unceasingly
through the shells and shadows of our recorded history
through the pebbles and the sand, the dust that we have dropped
in the forest we have trampled, the graveyard of the beast
we have insisted on ourselves
that we might be always heard, be always seen recognised, remembered
recalled with awe in the captive statues we have carved
in stone from the river's motion ripped
that we might be honoured by the ghosts of our long gone dreams
we, who stand so stiffly on the banks, on the bridge
sheltered at the foot of the hill from the lash of the wind's crisp tongue
and the river's harsh exuberance
running, running, running into the shoreless sea
through the sunlight and the stars
red blood, soil and sifting sea
a foaming fountain laughing falls
curved and curling spiral spinning
raining running wild and singing
song of such simplicity
twisting, turning, unbeginning
forceful, fading, never ending
river rolling tireless into the shoreless sea

i used to look into your windows as i walked home with my friends
alone and crying for my homelessness
crying for the pain that i knew when i looked and saw i had nowhere to go
nowhere warm, nowhere safe, nowhere rich with life's unbroken promise
we would be coming down the hill from the dawn
we would be coming down together
alone
and you would be barely stirring from your slumbers
trying to get up for the day we had already made love to
it was cold in the dawn but it was not the frost of the night on your windows
it was the breath of your radiators denying the day
and i hated you then for being asleep
for sleeping away the days of your life
so you could not see me, you would not hear me
as i walked through the mystery of the fleeting dawn
past the ubiquitous mists of your life
my feet were so cold on the wet paving stone
but my heart was warm in spite of my tears
and now as i pass as i come down my hill
i look through your windows again
and there by the sink is a bottle of biodegradable soap
and up on the wall a gambolling whale
what do you think, what on earth do you think
its nothing, nothing but plastic and ink, paper and ink
plastic and paper and hypocrite's ink
no warmth and no life and no promise
but still you don't see as i call out your name
still you won't see the blood on our hands
even now as the tide starts to turn
for some of us nothing has changed
your doors are still locked
your fires still burn
your cars change their numberplates every two years
and you just go on oblivious to the price that we all have to pay
that terrible price that we all have to pay
our lives, our lives, our once only lives
are still sold by you all every day

and i still sit here
i sit in the silence of my solitude
glad that no-one can call on me
satisfied that everything is in its rightful place
and then, the nerves in my wrist stir like a chick within its shell
not knowing what awaits it
but unable to accept the inertia any longer i reach out
and my hand, and my heart encounter only emptiness
and i am afraid
i want someone to look into my eyes
i want someone to hold my hand
i want someone to be quiet while i speak to them
i want someone to speak to me

i hate words
they lie all the time, while pretending to tell the truth
it doesn't seem to matter who uses them
nor what they intend
they always twist things up and get them wrong
its not their fault i suppose, but ours for trusting them
for thinking we could have invented a way to show, to reveal the truth
things have got so bad that some people don't believe in truth anymore
the deceit of words is too transparent
their tyranny so complete
they've taken over, stripped reality to the bone and pierced it with labels
and we are happy to look at the labels
to decipher their arbitrary symbols
and think that in doing so we can taste the marrow that lies in the bone
what fools we
we've been warned, probably a million times
but we still believe the finger is the moon

i love words
they run at my command, pause, stop dead and turn on a proton
they point to a thousand moons with unerring accuracy
they make sense of the mad hysteria of lifes incessant torrents
allow a little space, a breather
a chance to take stock and find ourselves in the mailstrom
but i don't take them too seriously
they are just fingers after all, pointing at the moon
the moon is something else, altogether
we have no idea of what
the moon is not an idea after all
its a reality
not a word
its not even a slither of light in the sky that changes shape every twenty eight days
that's just a convention, like the four letter word we use to describe it
just a symbol we make with our eyes
it doesn't give a shit what anyone calls it, thinks of it
because what ever we call it, however we see it, whatever we think about it
it isn't that
its the moon alright but it isn't that
its not what you think
i suppose i'm a bit like words myself
deceptive, fun, infinitely flexible
full of conflicts and opportunities and willing to go anywhere
however outrageous or dangerous
but in the end, like words
i can remain to others
nothing more than an occasional and unbalanced coagulation of their own fears and dreams
focussed in a fluctuating image that bears the label of my name
and though the label is the same for everyone
and the same for each one through the changing years
that poor label sits, at any given time
in thousands of different heads on a different image
a different personal portrait of me
but that's all they are
they are not me, anymore than my own portrait of myself is me
they're just representations
partial impressions that tell us more about the host, than the guest
more about the artist than the model
by the quality of brush, the texture of the pigment, the palette of colours
they don't really show much of me
except how i look to one pair of clouded eyes
life's like that when we live it through our minds
they get in the way
with their grand ideas, their dreams and their endless labels
and they do it so convincingly
that we only too often forget that theres something behind them
and when we do remember we are so used to the precision
the definition, the individuality of words
we think that what they represent has the same character that they do
we think the world is made up of little this's and that's
arranged and interacting according to some definable method
like the syntax that words somehow gave birth to
but it doesn't
the world isn't an equation
a formula
it's just what it is
endlessly provocative and unknowable
like a man or a woman we see in the distance
radiating beauty with every step
calling us to worship, to taste, to know
to claim
to label and to destroy
what fools we
but we've got to do something with it i suppose
but did we have to do this
did we really have to do all this
what a cock up

i remember when i used to believe in words
i also used to belive everything that they said
i hadn't heard enough of them to know that they could contradict themselves
but as i began to discover that they did constantly
i began to discard the icons of authority i had established inside of me
to guide me on the tricky slalom of my days
my mother and father didn't last long
their lies came thick and fast, and i survived that revelation with barely a wince
but the television, and newspapers, and books
they took a bit longer
and when they crumbled into a dust of despair and hope
i finally woke up to the world
i had no idea it was so beautiful
everything was loaded with pulsating beauty
when the pagan icons of word and idea had been stripped away
that i could barely move
barely even take a breath
without dissolving in an orgasm of nerves celebrating the naked joy of reality
but then i found that it too could turn on a proton
and become saturated with horror
and my nerves would then explode in a a tornado of fear and revulsion
but later i learned that i was that capricious proton
that kept turning this way and that
casting my shadow out onto the world and confusing myself with it
i know better now
and it doesn't really bother me that i'm lost
because i'm not
just because i don't know where the fuck i am doesn't mean i'm lost
that's just a word, a label, after all
in fact i feel more comfortable knowing i don't know where i am
and i cant know where i'm going
than i ever did when i thought i had it all sussed
i suppose its boredom really that makes us do it
build up our own little fantasy worlds to live in
but why are we bored
why can't we face that beauty, that horror
that comes when we strike into the heart of the world
why do we have to retreat into labels
and their ordered tyranny of surreptitious contradiction and deceit
but anyway, enough of this rambling
i wanted to tell you something
it feels like a secret cause i never hear anything about it
yet whenever i talk to anyone about it, or almost anyone anyway
they say that they know what i'm talking about
what gets me, what really gets me annoyed
is why no-one is doing anything about it
perhaps its such a god almighty fuck up they think they can't do anything about it
but that's crap
it's people that did it
and its people that can undo it
and nothing else
there is no spirit lurking in the ocean or the heart of trees
that's going to come out one day when pushed to the edge
and smother us with a veil of astral incense
and send us all to the hell we appear to deserve
we're in this one alone
even though we've dragged everyone else in with us
theres nothing they can do to help
unless its to prick our conscience and galvanise us to a little honesty

i don't remember exactly when it began
but my mother used to tell me a story
she took me to see a film once
when i was very young
about seven or eight i would guess
although i can't remember it myself and she never told me how old i was
it was about the second world war
all the english soldiers were praying to god that we would win the war
they were all in a prison camp so they weren't feeling too hot
and reckoned a call to the one above might sort things for them
well, at least it wasn't an amorphous spirit lurking in the river bed
they were on the river kwai you see
somewhere out east in the jungle
anyway, i turned to my mum
in the knowing way that i still can't shake
and told her
god doesn't take sides mum
now
how the hell did i know that
no-one told me that's for sure
no-one who would have thought like that
in a deliberate enough way to bother to tell anyone
would have had the sense or humility to realise
that a mite like me could comprehend the subtleties of cosmic justice and impartiality
but i did
and my mum
who knew shakespeare backwards
so was no-ones fool when it came to the ability of words
to mock up a show of wisdom or a description of reality
never forgot it
i think she took it as a sign to be careful
that she'd got a rare bird on her hands
who was thinking about the social implications of divinity
when he should have been figuring out how to nick sherbert from the corner shop
but i don't think she got it
i wasn't making a statement about god
because god was obvious
so i reckoned everyone had him sussed
no-one would think he was blinkered enough to take sides
i was talking about the deception
the deception of the priest
trying to fool the agonised
panic stricken fear ravaged butchers from blackburn
and farmhands from barnsley way
that there was someone up there rooting for them that had the means
bastard
giving then a false hope on a false premise
that they wouldn't have been able to see through even if they hadn't been in a panic
not because they were stupid
but because they weren't stupid enough
to live that deeply in the world of words and ideas like the poor lost priest

but it's different now
no one can escape it
what with compulsory education
cheap newspapers and books for everyone
and the goggle box in almost every room
the word
the image
the picture
the description
the hint
the idea rules now
people don't even know they're living in an artificial world
and i don't mean the one where they lay their heads on a nylon sheet
on a plastic mattress, in a breezeblock house, in a concrete maze
i mean the one that insinuates every head itself
and links us all together in a blind conspiracy of deception and defeatism
i wanted to tell you about the beast
about babylon
but it makes me nervous
i keep shying away
i don't know why it makes me nervous
probably because i wish it wasn't there
and i wish i didn't have to tell you
i wish you could all see it as clearly as i do
not just when you stop occasionally
tired from the incessant rush of your days
to consider what its all about and is it all worth it and what am i doing all this for
i know that you do that now and then
most of you anyway
and i know that sometimes when you do that you see it
you see the great fucking beast babylon
towering up all around you
because you're already deep in its esophagous
and heading for the deadly acid of its churning stomach
but its so fucking scary you turn away
and grab the evening standard
or flick on the TV
or grab a pils
or roll a joint
or lay a line on the mirror
or whatever it is that you do to turn your back on the truth
but its not like that for me
i can smell it all the time
and though its a burden its got to become like that for you
cause if it doesn't its acid house for us all
hydrochloric acid in the belly of babylon
the only way we'll ever get out is if we can smell that stink
that putrid, rotten ferment with every breath
with every step that we take
only then will be pushed by the horror of it to act
why the fuck are we so complacent, so stupid
we all know there's a problem
none of us are happy
we're always reaching for another beer
another kiss
another deal
another idea to shield us from ourselves
to hide our pain
to disguise the stench of the world
and the lives we have made for ourselves
but it isn't fate
it isn't destiny
we did it
we made it like this
and it isn't too late
its never too late when love still surprises
while babies still cry hope remains
while an unknown arm helps a struggling pensioner across the road there is still time
but we've got to use that time
to see it, the beast
and to tame it

i despise people
all of them
even my self
we are so full of shit
and we'll do anything not to drop it
i cant believe it
homo sapiens sapiens
my arse
i would never have guessed that ignorance could be so clever
if i hadn't been kicked in the teeth by it a million times
the lies, the lies, the incessant lies
and i'm not so much talking about the ones that come out in words
as the ones that come out unnoticed in the silence
but i see them, i do
and i'm not the only one
they may be hidden but they're not unseen
and with those lies we feed the beast
and yet while everyone amongst us is lying with almost every breath,
every petty, deliberate act
we still believe
we still so desperately belive the stilted voices of authority
as if they were the instruments of truth
how long will we believe in them
these sirens that not only have we erected
but who we would like to join
for the comfortable privileges they so ostentatiously enjoy
how long will we believe that justice can be found in the maze of the law
that compassion is the mortar of the welfare state
that healing is the realm of medicine
that understanding is the bedrock of science
what facile formulae these
to quieten and soothe our lazy, puerile minds

civilisation. civilisation
was it civilised of the european nations to scatter across the globe
destroying communities, tribes, cultures, nations
for the sake of gold, opium, spices
the cancerous cells of power and wealth
that have spread into every organ of the body of man
corrupting the flesh that was born to carry the light of stars in its cells
into a living rotting flesh of deceit and carelessness
if that is civilisation
then i'm an angel
and if i were that you wouldn't recognise me
wouldn't be able to see me
your eyes are so damaged by the glare of gold
the smoke of burning oil
that they have lost their subtle perceptions
and cannot see into the crystal
cannot see beyond the veil anymore
i am not an angel
and we are not civilised
i am a fool
and we are all dying
dying, not of cancer, not of heart disease
not of aids
but of ignorance, of folly
of self deception
but there is no need
we can do it
we can
even now we can tame the beast

i know this for a fact
my heart tells me so with every fluttering beat

i love people without exception
they are so fragile and beautiful
like a snowdrop in a late winter storm
almost hidden in the cold white cruelty of its dying
yet still dancing its slight white innocence
in the biting wind that sweeps its coverlet of death upon it
i haven't met one yet that didn't have a thousand stars hiding in their eyes
that didn't have a rainbow tucked into the corners of their mouth
ready to break out in the light of one of those stars
when the rain has passed
cleansing their too often clouded eyes
that's what gets me the most
not so much the magnificence of those stars
that shine from so deep inside them that i can feel the heat in my own cells
but the tremulous, fragile shimmers of light
breaking into momentary colour from a tear
unfrozen by an unexpected moment of honesty and pain
that in its innocence has become a gift of freedom
a rising breath
a wing outstretched that stirs the air and cools the lashes of the watchful eye
i want to die then
in those eyes, on that smile
let my flesh melt, my bones crack
and my blood run through new gorges
into a brand new furnace where the fire that burns is my own fire again
my blood, my life embodied again and again in a million forms
a million passing flowers of flesh.
because i know that it is the honesty of that tear
the balm of peace that it lets go
that hides in each of us
and is as desperate to come out
as i am to see it loosed upon this mortuary of lies
to see it turn upon the beast
and hold it steady in its gaze
till it shrivels and cowers and vanishes

as it does my friends, as it does
it cannot go anywhere
it cannot do anything
without our approval
we give it the hands
with which it tears at the soil
uprooting the delicate balance of nature
we give it the feet
that stomp across the gardens of paradise
that we have laid waste
we give it the engines of hell
with which it blackens the skies and thickens the oceans
with its foul and pestilent breath
it has no hands of its own
no feet, no eyes, no tongue
but ours
the beast is us my friends
just us
you
and me

it may be all around us now
but that's not where it's come from
it came from deep inside
we let it out each time we lie to ourselves
each time we hide a feeling
each time we make a false impression
and now that we have forgotten how to walk in the light
and let our tears and laughter fall as they will
emptying us of contrivance
the beast is upon us
gnawing at the throat whose reticence spawned it
tearing at the lungs whose unspent sighs sired it
clawing at the guts whose cowardice released it
can we kill it now
can we take our lost courage
our fear, our anger
the hopeless banners of our ignorant despair
and gather up their pawned momentum
and turn together and irrevocably upon that beast
and slay it

can we
can we face it
can we face our selves
for that is all we have to do
turn and see that it is our hands
our feet, our eyes and tongue it uses
and then we can reclaim them
we can then use our hands to hold each other
where it would have been stealing
we can use our feet to dance together
where it would have been kicking
we can use our eyes to recognise each other
where it would have been gazing into the mirror
we can use our tongues to kiss again
where it would have been spouting lies
for the beast is only us my friends
we blind somnambulists
walking unsteadily in the nightmare we do not seem to want to wake from
but we can
we only have to see it for the dream that it is
and we will awaken
we will reclaim our lives
our bounty, our world
our future

my two roots rocked where they cross
heels of diamond ignite my breath
relentless flames melt the chains of my muscles
where my mind is caught in the hot ferment
of shattering dissolution
till i run, and i run
just running away
running away
away from the past
away from the present
running, running, running away
so tired i am lame
my legs want to crash
but i cant seem to stop myself
running away
even though i don't want to be running
i don't want to run from the time of my life
i don't want to be running away
but still i can't stop
i'll run and i'll run and i'll run till i break
and then i'll just keep right on limping
act after act
thought after thought
dream after dream after dream
just running away
all running away
running away from myself
so tie up my legs
so i can't run away
tie up my legs till they're aching
then lost in the pain i can't run away
because moving just makes the pain scream at my hands
to unlock my legs, scatter my mind
and carry on running away
but my feet will not move
from their lock in my groin
my thought all bound up
in the need to escape
circles the groove of my smouldering legs
and dies in the fire of my raging
unable to flee
unable to last
i crash through the fire
into the flames
the pain and the tearing pull at my breath
stinging my eyes till they're pouring
the once frozen price of my turning away
the carbonised pain is now burning my veins
in flashes of fire
i am turning again
turning again
to see what i am
when the flames are all still
when the past is burnt out
and my eyes having seen
my heart having known
i am what i am what i am
leg over leg i don't run away
but sit through the pain of not moving
body on fire
mind in the pain
i find myself looking
looking again
seeing the past
being the present
no longer just running away
now seeing the pain
now being again
my legs start to melt without any flames
my past is here without any pain
the present shimmering in plenty
so now i don't need to be running away
and all of that effort is gathered again
sharp in the axe of my motionless mind
bright in the stars of my sparkling eyes
i am what i am what i am

still
as just before first wind whispers crisp morning
dawn pauses
to herald the suns slow breach
still
i am loose
on the shore of ebbed laughter
i am
awake
high upon the throne of silence
fountains of laughter
prime the cells all dancing
celebrate the marriage of life and love
oh, such a peace this
bright brimming nerves shiver the loose cells
fountain the open heart
the open hand
to touch, to love, to laugh, to dance
the chorded cells all sing
and bring in wonder
as in humble harmony
i in silence
still
still as the cyclone's core
resting
this peace
this being
silence
impenetrable, immeasurable silence
of desire's wind blows no breath
hope's leaves fallen from fear's barren tree
to bear the season's naked flame
softly, softly burning
it is not to words my heart responds
but to the blade of the hand or its feeble clutch
my heart is illiterate
but with its loose tongue laughs with the act
sighs in the silence
my body is my temple
my mouth my altar
where the sacrament of grain and water salt and fire
are given up to light within my blood
my prayer is to purify my body
to vibrate with the life my limbs rejoice
my hymn is to dance
into the light
burning my heart in the love that enriches my limbs
and the air they embrace
in the darkness
till it cracks into colour's abandon
and i am lost in amaze
of beauty and thankfulness

the curtain of night unseen
that covered us
through uncountable solar circuits
of chimeric intent, deluded endeavour
turns itself away from the gradual gathering of the dawn
where swift mists stir from darkness
and folding shadows fall
and with its relentless, meticulous intent
the crawling dawn licks its luminous, unseen tongue
against the night-screened stars
across our cells
where we sleep in the thick cocoon
of night's sweet dreaming blood
that aching through our swollen veins
lists heavy lids on slothful eyes
where the cold mists of our dreaming
charms us through the night
veins of the earth awake
to the surge of silver fire
unslumbered by celestial cycles
shivering sighs from sleeping stone
laughter from the fleeting brook
while preparing for the step forgot
of manchild ready
for the dawn
a dream of children laughing in the sunrise
living diamonds broken from the night
set into the firedance rainbow of angels chanting sound and light
and in its coloured feathers
blood red, eyes bright, hands open
washing the footsteps of their fathers
they kiss the palms of the wind as they dance

and so i stand again
naked as i long have been
but with remembrance now
knowing that i do not walk alone
that although their names and faces are unknown to me
that though they speak with different tongues
and sing with unknown melodies
my nation is unslumbered now
we walk, we sing, we dance again
from the darkness that gave us to ourselves
through the darkness that we blindly cast back
we are called again to the light that shines in the great darkness
to the life that pulsates in the huge belly of life
we are called, and we are calling in our song
and as we sing
and as we love
and as we offer our lives as prayer
the magic of the heart is woven on the flesh of the earth
walls are falling, borders are crumbling, warheads are disarmed
and the tide at last is turning
mother earth, we hear your calling
mother earth, we sing your songs
as we come slowly dancing home

through the sunlight and the stars
red blood, soil and sifting sea
a foaming fountain laughing falls
curved and curling spiral spinning
raining running wild and singing
song of such simplicity
twisting, turning, unbeginning
forceful, fading, never ending
river rolling tireless into the shoreless sea

1988-89-90