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

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

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)

THATCHER’S LEGACY

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

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
ensure 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)

40

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
...perhaps

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

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

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