Monday, 22 September 2008

Murder in Alexander Brody Street (Budapest 23rd October 1956)

Murder in Alexander Brody Street
(Budapest 23rd October 1956)

It started off quietly
- just a peaceful demonstration
and ended with murder in Alexander Brody Street

Singing happily, the crowds
twenty-five abreast
link arms, united together
student and soldier and factory worker
at long, long last
neighbour talks to neighbour
the veil of stifling, strangling silence
is ripped away,
and the throng thickens
and the pace quickens
as they march towards Alexander Brody Street

Meanwhile, Death dons its dark boots
....and waits

The rhythmic chanting of the slowly moving mass
mass in firmament
rises in crashing crescendo
frightened, guilty faces, peer quickly
then palidly hide
behind heavily shuttered windows -
a brick is thrown
and then another
as gaiety turns to fury -
there's murder waiting in Alexander Brody Street

A heavy machine gun stutters
and in the gathering dusk and gloom
figures crumple and fall
the crowd, as one, staggers back
A young girl, placard smashed
lays mutely in a shop doorway
covered by long, long shards of glass
and there's murder in Alexander Brody Street

Wednesday, 3 September 2008

Last Poem (April 1986)

The Last Poem

The Last Poem is spoken
the Last poet fallen
and the beat of his heart like his rhyme
is destroyed

The music has fled for
the Last Verse is dead
and the Wild Gods of Mammon
now reign overjoyed

So come to me quickly
and I will enfold thee
Whilst all around rages
the now shapeless storm

Let it rage in its millions
whilst emptiness fills them
but I and my loved one
will wait the New Dawn

Saturday, 30 August 2008

A Nighttime Walk (April 1986)

A Nighttime Walk

When the corn shines blue in the cold moonlight
and the wind whistles low over yonder hills;
then I walk alone down the winding lane
around all is quite, silent and still

I turn my face to the moon and clouds
as the wind streaks my hair from the side of a field
and I smell and I feel the sounds of the night
then like the Sun, to the night I yield

As dark shapes scurry and branches creek,
Owls hoot soft and stare down at me -
A passing intruder from the daylight world
Yet no stranger than the night, abroad and free

When the minds of men are dead and asleep
As the light wink out and darkness reigns
Then I rise from my tomb, where I've lain the day
and my ghost's stalks back to where my heart remains

Monday, 25 August 2008

Stenton Street (July 1989)

In the tumble down backyards
of Stenton Street
where half-burned mattresses live
where the Cola cans are born rusty
yet lie in the trash trying to give

And the Zombies that walk in the alleys
some wear suits, some wear feathers and rags
there are no strict rules
for the Wise Men and Fools
that eat out of Stenton Street's bags

You can go away and stay, any day friend
and you know that they'll welcome you in
as they pawn all your clothes
and hand you a Rose
'Oh friend - where you been? Where you been?'

Ave Satana (July 1989)

Ave Satana
I'm as scattered as the ashes of a pauper's creation
I'm as morbid as Original Sin
I was doomed before your God ever thought of Creation
I am Him

I'm as violent as the centre of a hurricane's Black Eye
I have Horsemen, pale and deadly, ghastly thin
and the Legion of the Damned, will ride at my command
I am Him

So walk swiftly, rose-tipped Virgin
do no stray in this Night's way
scurry onwards past the shadows, ever grim
'Lest my hands reach out to snatch and drag you in
I am Him

Thursday, 7 August 2008

The Coming Storm....2006

The Coming Storm
There is a Darkness
in the skies over England
Rolling Black stormclouds
gather and thunder
the lightning bolts
are building
stronger each day!

Soon, and now, they will
strike our Nation
bringing fire and unholy
Black brimstone
to cover our land

Gone our meadows green
Gone our cities of fire
all consumed in a mad, mindless
Savage rage
that will sweep all
before it

Where England's beauty stood
will stand the Beasts of
the New Planned Apocalypse

And what shall we do?
And how shall we fight?
Will our hearts be strong?
Will our Will be true?

And will we rise as men
and face the Coming Storm?
or will we hide -
cover ourselves
in the False Cloak
of Blessed Respectability

and seek - hopelessly
False Shelter from
The Coming Storm?

Thatcher's Legacy (2006)


What of our busy Mill Towns now?
What of our shipyards roaring?

What of our coal mines – turned to dust?

And no more steel mills soaring

Once thriving towns reduced to ruin
Once youth had hope and trade

Once village galas still allowed

Fulfillment in the doing

No more alas will British cars
Speed workmanlike and brave

For greed and gain and profit now

Have sank them in their graves

Eddy Morrison 2006

Wednesday, 6 August 2008

Flowers on the Line

Flowers on the line

On the railway line of fractured flowers
where only weeds will flourish
The grinding, metal wheels will prove

Such brittle love must perish

The grinding metal wheels
Loves crushed
without a flourish

Rendered Siblings (June 1996)

Rendered Siblings

In the fractured falling down
of early patterns
of fraternal passions pledged
unto the grave
of love give and out and taken
without ransom
of memories and picture-books
to save

But time tells paths to
move in all directions
and current troubles sever
olden ties
and all that's left is childhood's
sad reflections
and memories from cradle to the skies

40 (July 89)


When you've seen the lie that life is
and you know no worlds beyond
well. clap and jeer
and stay in here
your very won prison

Nature's Bounty (June 1996)

Natures Bounty

A multitude of moneyless trees
cast their falling blossoms
into my emptied pockets

All threadbare are the hedgerows
The Motherdie is buried
in a Pauper's resting place

Fumbling, buzzing bees
bumble busily around
unhoneyed combs

they bring no nectar
to my sad
unsweetened lips

But it is spring and perhaps
new fruits will sprout
Into natures bare coffers

This Our Time (June 1986)

This is our Time
There was a Time
when I could speak unto a child
all innocent, sweet and talkative she was
That child now hides behind and ever bolted door
I can speak unto that child no more
This is our Time

Monday, 4 August 2008

Let me awake into a dream (March 1986)

Let me awake into a dream

Let me awake into a dream
that does not hold
the dripping, clinging problems of the day
let my eyes open
on a field of yellow, golden corn
mingled with poppies
and a softly wafted
line of rape
let me sleep then
let me awake -
into a dream
- that I might escape...

Californian Dreams (March 1986)

Californian Dreams

My misguided misconceptions
of this hopping, throbbing place
are mildewed in my own myopic view

and my childhood predilections
of a Movie Mogul's face
have vanished in this Winter's weird revue

The scurrying, graffitied cars
that hurtle through my brain
are not braked by these California skies

and my childhood contradiction
of this sunny, insane place
are packed and stacked
as future revenue

My thoughtful indiscretions
of this plastic, awful crew
shape and shake my mind to clarity

and my youthful contemplations
of this world all bright and new
lie shattered by Divine hilarity

Sunday, 3 August 2008

To race the salmon time (May 86) To Billy -one of the few who can still speak Nadsat - vidi well little bratchki...vidi well...

To race the salmon time

In my wild and many hued times
Of smoking trees and besotted grass
I have watched the salmon leap
I have watched the river pass
The wriggling yearlings newborn
Hurrying down, the current’s helping hand
I have watched the salmon leap

My foot touched into the stream
By some mistake
The current’s force
Shook me to my core
And I must race the stream
And match the salmon’s leap
And I must race the stream
And with the salmon sleep

(Et en Francais…)

Emballer le temps saumoné

dans mon sauvage et
beaucoup hued des périodes
des arbres de tabagisme et herbe abrutie
j'ai observé le saut saumoné
que j'ai observé le fleuve passer
aux bêtes d'un an de agitation
se dépêcher nouveau-né vers le bas,
la main de la portion du courant
j'ai observé le saut saumoné

mon pied a touché dans le jet
par une certaine erreur
la force du courant
m'a secoué à mon noyau
et je dois emballer le jet
et le match le saut
et moi du saumon doit emballer le jet
et avec le sommeil saumoné

Thoughts of Russia (Feb 86)

Thoughts of Russia (Feb 1986)

Do the endless white snowfields
You pass on the speeding train
-your head occasionally bumping glass
Seem to you like the vast expenses,
The covered frozen, grassy tundra
Of some Siberia?

Is the hoot of the solid diesel engine
Transformed in your mind
To the sharp, shrill steam-whistle
Of a thundering boilered beauty?
With White flags bearing eagles
Strapped to its face
Whilst on the skyline,
The thin parade of trees
Are really black saddled riders
Red Flags tattered and fluttering harshly
Amidst the broody, snow hung sky.
Will the machine guns bark out soon
Before the Moon clouds
The inevitable conflict?

And then the vision fades
And King’s Cross Station
Your final destination
Brings you around
To an even harsher dream

Wednesday, 30 July 2008

Untitled (Jan 86)

A laughing infant like a bubble bouncing off your knee
will wrap you in its arms protectively
and you will oversee its adolescent struggles
whilst with each teenage writhing
It will shatter your illusions
Protesteth not!
For time inevitably, brings its own conclusions

With wizened face, peering back to the gloom dead past
Savouring flickering memories lovingly
Your wrinkled hand snatches out to grasp
Yet - they're quick and trickle through your fingers
and add to your confusions
But weep ye not!
The march of time will being its own conclusions

The lips that touch; the arms, the hot embrace
The present passion of loves closest face
are scattered in the swirl of dying leaves
and with Love's passing fancies
problems gather in profusion
Do not despair!
For time, the great provider, brings its own conclusion

"All who knew Him" Jan 1986

"All who knew Him
liked and respected him and
we will miss him deeply"

My God! The baby's crying again
Shut it up! Shut it up!
He's driving me mad
Lord! Pass me a Valium

His shoes are scuffed and dirty
How many times, how many?
Have I told him
My God! He'll be the same at thirty

Get up! Get up will you?
You've a job now
Quick. you going to be late
Is THAT your wage? Here's my I.O.U

Her! He must be joking
She's common. A trollop!
She's far too young
Marry a lass that's an investment

I was proud to see him with his brother
standing there
and him the best man as well
a fine woman; she'll make me a grandmother

Look at him! Going on forty
what a useless lump
Why did I ever marry such a man?
Who would have ever thought?

He says he's ill - he can't be!
Its an excuse to shirk
off work - what about the kids?
He's very quite and still
Speak to me!!!

"All who new Him
liked and respected him and
we will miss him deeply"

Saturday, 26 July 2008

Early Days

Early Days

Weeps yet a new brave world
for foul tomorrow?
Nay, greets each bright new morn
and shields it's sorrow

Barks the new brand man
and brays his triumph
little thoughts of distant
coming dyings

Holds aloft his arms
and grasps the Sun's beam
future light is stilled
in darkened dreams

Rattles hard his spears
and stalks the stalker
all future hunts will turn
upon the Walker

Let me awake into a dream...

Let me awake into a dream

Let me awake into a dream
that does not hold
the dripping,clinging problems of the day
Let my eyes open
on a field of yellow golden corn
mingled with poppies
and a softly wafted
line of rape
Let me sleep then
let me awake
into a dream
- that I might escape...



A laughing infant like a bubble bouncing off your knee
will wrap you in it's arms protectively
and you will oversee it's adolescent struggles
whilst with each teenage writhing
It will shatter your illusions
Protesteth not!
For time inevitabily brings its own conclusions

With wizened face, peering back to the gloom-dead past
Savouring flickering memories lovingly
Your wrinkled hand snatches out to grasp
Yet- they're quick and trickle through your fingers
and add to you confusions
But weep ye not!
The march of time will bring it's own conlcusions

The lips that touch,the arms,the hot embrace
the present passion of loves closest face
are scattered in the swirl like dying leaves
and with Love's passing fancies
problems gather in profusion
Do not despair!
For time, the great provider, brings it's conclusion

The Party

The Party

Harry was there in his own private hell
small Lucy won't make it - she can't reach the bell

Julie, red-headed, red-eyed and red
and poor silly Cecil just got out of bed

A fat man who sat there and smiled smug with gin
a bald man, small sherry, not once known to grin

Cold Colin, all golfer laughed at some joke
Dave, an old hippy, no drink just a smoke

Chill Moira once pretty sat stuck in the glass
and Maria her sister a much dimmer lass

Cathy so banal with good living yearns
will she meet a Prince Charming that earns?

Tall Tony a con man who smiled to himself
and swift silent Michael foredoomed for the shelf

Dear Vernie all mixed-up complete and confused
and Boney, her husband, once funny now used

The Party fell silent as you go to bed
the night and the its sounds and the Party are dead

The Vampire

The Vampire (1987)

Midst towering peaks, its lofty spires soar
and casts long shadow son the Valley floor
below, the village lights are bright
reflected not above in darkened windowed night

and travellers past that p
lace fast sped
they keep the road and will not turn a head
to cast one look at that demanding place
less moonlight's beam lights blue a face

yet you 'neath flitting clouds still walk
where others would not breath a word or talk
about that which for which you quest so fast
where shadows move fro
m unknown ages past

down cobwebbed halls, your footsteps lightly move
down stairways stoned you quick yourself remove
to darkened vaults the
ill-lit passage bends
you're there at last, to me
et your living end

The Stricken Land

The Stricken Land

They came form the North
howling like a gale
wrapped in the shawls of wolves
berserk and bloody
cold and full of steel
they raped
burned black all
ruinous devestation
was their mark
they have passed on
into the South
we have passed on
into the Dark

Temporary Truce


Over the thin pallid, pock-marked wintered landscape of the Somme,
shiver broken men with broken hearts
and broken bones and guns

Over that same pallid, misty chilly place
of death and gore and blood
of eyeless skulls and uniforms; of wire and mud
over the tops of a slimy trench
a trembling hand grips- then heaves

and unsteadily, it's owner stumbles forward
slowly forward, towards the piles of fallen leaves
(that once were both comrades and his enemies)

Over the thin pallid landscape - pock marked
snowy landscape of the Somme
a different hand and figure slowly rises
staggers on....
...on to meet the stumbling other

then in No Man's Land they meet
ah! then strangely brother greets his brother
cold hands clasp in breathless wonder
then another and another
join together....

It is Christmas on the Somme
and that long remembered (much remembered) football playing
truce is on
(On Boxing Day - the machine gun's chatter will break the cold air)
the machine guns chattered and seperate boon companions of yesterday

So remember my beloved
when we fight and rend and tear
man and wife are we - and lovers
Fall out, yes bu then repair

Sixty years have come and gone now
Christmas truce has passed away
so next time we fall out beloved
remember that poor Christmas Day


Neanderthal (2001)

Flat nosed we eyed the mammoth herds
cold comfort from the glaciers
we knew of fire; knew of skins
but mammoth still was king of kings

To slat a mammoth - more than food
but hide and shelter and a mood
whicj made us think of our small tribe
Headman, headwomen and our scribe

These things were tried and tested true
and through millenia they grew
of tooth and axe and killing fields
we knew no other way to be

One day, it came, when THEY appeared
no scrawny hair - no raucous beard
with scrawfish in their long blond hair
they rattled spears and fed our fears

we left our caves; our dead; our paint
and trekked far North - our fate was clear
Cro-magnon man took o'er our homes
and left us reaked - mere skin and bones

so Futureman, so full of zeal
to find out what was our last meal
please spare a thought for final fall
- and say "That was Neaderthal"

The Last Lover

The Last Lover

The land is dead
from this tree to the far horizon
the land is white
snowy white
picked clean
like a vultured corpse

the villages are empty
the towns gaunt and still
the only full place is the the graveyard

the winds sweeps moaningly
and all around is emptiness

Yet one thing moves
yet one thing still loves, and loves
and tenderly touches
with its hot embrace
- Plague



Queen to Bishop Four and check!
(I am Black and you are white)
Queen moves to block the Queen in bed
A castle circles overhead

"Bang, bang - the enemy is down"
proudly says a Pawn-at-arms
Then crashing to the ground alas
The castle burns up all the grass

Though I was smoking as we played
my next move was - effect delayed
for on the Board of Nevermore
Bishops, Queens and Castles swore

"If I had know your reasons clear
then Checkmate - less than you might think"
But Checkmate waits in other places
Grim and grimy, oily faces

Screaming loud as you arrive
a loser from some onetime crowd
and fear the little blacks and whites
for they know not wrong from right

I would not move that pawn again
Remember things you once taught them

In Gardens Dark

In Garden's Dark (1988)

In Garden's Dark where moving shadows flourish
and sins about yet lonely flowers perish
I sit yet, still 'neath some untended bower
and hope, still hope, to glimpse just one last flower

Chosen Sheep

The Chosen Sheep

Spewing forth lies
Like vipers, with eyes
like sheep, cunning
frighful and dreadful
They are meek
and this is their earth
the one they have made
to inherit

Aids (1988)


Once we cowered in the shadow of the Big Sea
we were frightened to be drowned by its bore
Now we shiver in the shadow of the Great Hay Fever
and the Big Sea is left stranded on the shore

Kikusui (May 1987)

Floating chrysanthemums
dropping stone like from
that bluest of blues
The Divine Wind hurtles down
One final cup of rice wine
A headband for an Emperor

Kikusui! Kamikaze!
The Divine Wind disperses
Mothers shuffle, downhead folding
Sons in little laquered boxes



Can Winter walk where Summer's beam is lying?
Can frail worn hands a baby's cradle rock?
Can ancient clays support a sapling's struggle?
Can youthful smiles meet midnight's deadly knock?

Can cold star light on lovers find reflection?
Can colder stones support the wriggling worm?

Can even grimmer hours find new minutes?
Can daisied be the windless garden found?

Your steps are light and I plod miles behind you behind,
beyond is all the same to see

For I am what you were and what you will be
In timeless world of dreadful Unity

Friday, 25 July 2008

The Iron Dream

The Iron Dream (October 1986)

Dark, sulphurous clouds hide the land
in shrouds, acrid and ominous
A red fog, glowing pours from the sewers
Dim forms are sighted moving stealthily
The touch of decay is on their fingers
The stench of the grave lingers
where their long shadows pass

I see it will not last
I see a new sun weakly seeping
at first, thin rays through a thick fog
I see the Sun's Son
strong and young as a new folded mountain
rise up like a Titan
from a shaken Earth
I see a wild, loose wind sweep
the stinking, clinging mist from the land
and, from this deep sleep of night -
I dream the Iron Dream

Untitled (April 1987)

Gone are the gays of black and white
A misty whirl of restless, dull
depressing grays, distressing
blurs our site
Form and symmetry are sacrificed
on the sud-soaped Altar at Noon
and so I'll leave you your Paradise
to live, love and leap
with the Mad Dog of the Moon

Memory of a Friend (June 1986)

Like a merry, dancing plague
his raucous, infectious laugh
infected all around
and one couldn't
help but smile
at the twinkle
of bonnie villainy that skipped
inside his eyes.

Then that dark hand;
that sudden swift surprise
reached down - too quick
oh far, far too quick!
and drove the dancing
from those bonnie eyes

Living in the Shadow of Big Ben

In the shadow of Big Ben
where time paces the day
When every four hours is a hill
At the top, monolith like
stands a pill

Take it
and it ends
and for one brief moment
you're not living in the Shadow of Big Ben

Thursday, 24 July 2008


Eternal, bloated and toad-like
He squats across the World
As an ugly green colossus
Squashing and flattening all hope
and smothering happiness
He is Anti-Beauty
and His name is Materialism

Wednesday, 23 July 2008

Landscapes of the Mind - prose poetry

The countryside around here is forever a grim reminder of the events that took place - is it forty years ago now? How time flies when your are tangled in it.

Time is relative, said Einstein and took all mine - it litters the fields under broken crosses and stones one day to be bought.

I never visit any of them though I always mean to, and more often claim to, usually to cover up some lie or other.

The hours hang like blackened clouds over a flat troubled Earth, and the ticking of the World Clock is as the incessant pattering and dripping of a rain that never ends.

The fields are all unplanted whites and grays and fade into an uncertain horizon.

The circle's closed, and though I wish for nostalgic red poppies to people my thoughts, I would probably pass them by unnoticed.

Tuesday, 22 July 2008

Satin Caress

Satin Caress

Darkness cools in a
black satin embrace
enfolding your psyche
with a cold secret kiss

The long light's troubles fled
and the long night ahead
be still my Child and sleep
for you are home are home

My thoughts turn away to the West

My thoughts turn away to the West
My dreams lie in the lost Western Lands
To the sun risen lands
that now lie so low
in the Ocean's hands

Where once the war bands roamed
Octopus tentacles search the crusted ruins
green fingering the crumbling bones
the great stones lie tumbled and thrown
for the City has sunk in the West

Hung on the Wire (Written June 1985)

Hung on the Wire
(to a casualty of the Somme - July 1916)

Can they understand you now Grandfather?
Can they ever understand a corpse that's dust?
How can they understand,
seven decades come and gone,
and you Grandfather - hanging on the rust?

Can they understand a life that's given?
Can they ever know what you'd become?
Of a battle nearly won
finished by a Mauser gun
In a crater, drawing shell-fire, on the Somme?

Did you play where I play dear Grandfather?
Did you kick a can out in the street?
Now the can's become a ball
I'm your Grandson growing tall
and you are dead and we will never meet...

Sunday, 20 July 2008

Under the Raven's Banner

Under the Raven's Banner
before the Black Crows come
The shield wall stands immobile
and a grey mist flits the sun

Under the Raven's Banner
The Norseman stand afirm
and grim faced Northern warriors
gaze down at the coming swarm

Under the Raven's Banner
the slow chant then begins
and swords slap hard on firm held shields
As the Saxon fyrd draws in

Then from under the Raven's Banner
the shields are held up high
as a wind of rushing arrows
darkens a darkling sky

Under the Raven's Banner
sword arms sweep down on helms
and a line of Saxon warriors
presses in, then overwhelms

Fallen the Raven's Banner
Fallen the kindred of Thor
The Saxon banner flies aloft
and the Norsemen come no more


My feet stand deep
in my land
As did those of my forefathers
who now lie deep
in my land
as does the future
of my children...

Epitaph to Squashed Cat

Oh distant cousin of the Savage Beast
That once roamed jungles - eyes afire
Thou lie unnoticed
near turn-off Waltham Forest East
a victim
of a Modern monsters tyre

Small Wonders....

Small wonders
He looks up at his small wife
and thanks Heaven
for Small mercies....