Victors mourned
As the defeated King rode
Into rain beyond the hill.
Blood makes history,
And desolation
A winter’s day.
BOARDED-UP WINDOW
If I rip these planks back
Will I see
Something new, or out of nature?
Years ago I put them on
Felt glee in my fist
As I swung the hammer
And saw each nail
Biting into seasoned wood.
I didn’t know what I boarded up:
Sunlight on the beach
Pebbles in my palms
Grass in my teeth –
An upturned rowing boat.
Thumb and forefinger held the nail.
I laughed at something new
Or out of nature.
They paid me — though not too well.
If I have the strength (or tools)
To lever off those planks
My soul will dazzle me with grief,
And out of my own nature blind me
With what I boarded up.
DERELICT BATHING CABINS AT SEAFORD
Well, they would, wouldn’t they?
They’d say anything.
Doris and Betty got undressed.
Bob and Fred did the same next door.
The things that went on in these changing huts.
Well, with the War over, what could you expect?
They came back like new men.
Well, they came back.
They came, anyway.
Sometimes it was you and my Fred.
Then it might be me and your Bob.
It was nice with us, though, wasn’t it?
Nothing but a clean bit of fun.
Sad they went in a year of each other –
The dirty devils!
Nothing but a clean bit of fun,
When we changed into our costumes,
The sea washed it off, though, didn’t it?
We had some good swims as well.
And now look how they’ve smashed ’em up.
Poor old bathing huts.
Never be the same again.
The sea chucked all them pebbles in.
Don’t suppose it liked the goings-on.
Then the vandals ripped the doors off.
They didn’t like it, either.
Old times never come back,
But at least we ’ad ’em!
SOUTHEND PIER
A pier is a bridge that failed,
You might say –
Whatever else is said.
At the end are fish, and ships,
And underneath is water,
Or jewelled shingle.
Lamp posts point to the signal station
So does the toytown railway.
People buy and sell.
The planks smell fresh.
Not liking salt
They reach for land.
A rotund father and thin daughter
Stroll hand in hand.
Good for business.
A walking-stick clatters
But don’t look now:
The invisible man goes by.
Every pier has one.
He swaggers to the end and back,
Panama hat at an angle;
And then again returns,
Craving land beyond the water,
Wound-up to walk forever.
DERELICT HOUSES AT WHITECHAPEL
We came off the ship:
‘This is America. We’re here!’
A shorter crossing
Than the railway trip.
Having to make a living
Was better than in Russia.
Nobody tried to kill us.
America was smaller than we thought.
We lived three generations
In those houses:
New Year
Atonement
Passover.
Bricks talk,
But Books are eloquent.
AFTER A ROUGH SEA, AT SEAFORD
He went to sea because he didn’t like the dark.
He wanted his ship to be looked at from the shore
By a woman who would wonder
Where he was going and why
But not where coming from:
His mother;
And stared at by a man who envied him
And craved to follow:
His father.
Many do not like the dark
But on a ship at night the lights stay on
Inside yourself.
You take it like a mother into you
In case the sun won’t show at dawn.
At sea there’s only
Space, and you.
WINDOW, BRIGHTON
After thirty years he came home.
He had forgotten the house
But recognized the window.
His sister never married
But she knew he’d come.
They passed unknowing in The Lanes.
The first iron dewdrop of the knocker
Shook dust
From the flowers.
‘Not today!’ she said.
He walked away,
Forgot the house
Forgot the window
Forgot his sister never married
Forgot the knocker made no sound
When it struck home.
TORN POSTER, VENICE
The Big Voice, the Visual Scream
Shouts about the National Lottery
Or the advantage of travelling by Aeroflot
Or the holiness of the Virgin’s Grotto
Or a film about the antics
At the court of King Otto;
Or did someone win
A Motto Competition –
First prize a reproduction
On a theme by Watteau?
Or, taking it all in all (and altogether)
Let’s have a scenario like this:
The Big Bang Lottery Prize
Is a trip by Aeroflotto
To the Virgin’s Grotto
In a corner of the Empire
Of mad King Otto –
From which you come back, if at all
(You’ve guessed it) BLOTTO;
Crossing the frontier in a haycart
Concealed inside the wrappings
Of a Cracker Motto
Against an idealized backdroppo
As designed by Watto.
Speculation is a dead-end,
So forget it. A mindless hand
A single rip: we’ll never know
Where poster-dreams
And demons that lurk behind them go.