Fragment before Useless Unconsciousness 13.04.24
A response to Lawrence (how dare I?) Ferlinghetti's Time Of Useful Consciousness
He was the van man
Morris man
Morris van keys
in the song of life
the life of the song of the Morris
sung like keys that chankle in the hand
that chinkle in the wind
chime in the child
chime in the key of the wind
blown light, blown heavy
light as the wind, heavy as the truth
true like a friend
a cheating bastard friend
bastard
bastard
bastard
bastard wind blowing no good
no good sons of bitches
bitches disguised as witches?
That’s for cats to suss
and stay or go
like free dogs
on four dog nights
colder than the bastard winds
colder than friendly bastards
who are not your friend
friends who leave you alone to
face the song of life; wind
dusting the steelworks
dusting the dog muck path
blown through Parkgate
down Cinder Hill
up the Concrete Canyon
down by Kilnhurst pit
grit blown by canal, river,
and rail crossing the Hooton Roberts Road
flooding the flood plains of the dead
over by Conisborough Castle
over Ivanhoe and Hengist
blustering up to Mexborough Market
mote in the eye of some poet
breathing the same wind
of those gone silent before
and silently following on
and foolishly wittering on
as the wind, like fortune,
futters off to Swinton
twitters boat masts
mucks up a glaze
dumped by Waterloo Kiln
bottled and battled
and genied unwished
like bastards
or luckier fortunes
lit by far cries
who know van man’s cool
and gave him flowers
to plant in the dust
gathered in the rust
of long gone Morris vans
Westward leading, still proceeding
blind us with thy searching light
and misleading headlines
focussed on lower crap to
fog out higher strata of capital
impingement - the velvet glove
with concrete hand
that awoke when man first learned to cheat
and sail to new and gullible lands
with his self-worth like a
pig in a blanket bomber
taking love where gas cannot
reach or leach into
coarse waters and
maggot-sucked mackerel
or whatever titillating bait
and cigarettes
and cocaine
hides the truth
makes you wonder how the bom-buck
kindness ever became a thing
how the tom tuck
laughter could make you sing
The weather. The unions. The workers.
The strikers
the folk spending millions sending crap into space
saying it’s for our own good
while other folks die in their millions cos they’ve no space
and calculator haiku is the greatest
thing anyone ever did yet
I particularly wonder what we’ll do about
this bolshy cat
Who’s into everything and nothing
and TV - nail it with no nails (JC)
living in advert world
everything is perfect
like a shopping mall pianist
never heard of again
cos they won’t sell coke
or any revolting fast food
yeah, die fast for a fatty
chomping down the High Street
of beefy outlets
love triangle love cornett
diet croak diadem cloak
holiday booked, funeral booked
living the best life except for
this gripe but the velcro cat
smiles on after the telly goes
beeeeeeeeeee…….
And die hard die soft
die diddly dum deyay with a vengeance
pie and veg vengeance
dinner dance
dancing dinner
served under silver salvers of sorrow
sorrows of tomorrow
bathed in moonlight
above a mackerel sea
clinker clove
and cattle grove
and Stacey Groan the Bolan toff chorus
Kadish, Kaboom, Kebab, Canute
Enabling Kane
sailing to the New World
sailing to India and hacking off bits of
empire you fancied or despised
driven like rotten potatoes
to a new stew
and a whole wrong language
squeezed between white ties and starvation
trapped in the slavery of cash economies
ripe for thieves
left rotting in the fields of prayer
dying of starvation fed by glut
At least the apathetic won’t get in our way…
will they?