September 5, 2004

• On the eighth of September is my birthday, I thought running up to it I’ll put down ten of my favt poems wrote since my last birthday.

  
  

  So here goes (in no real order) 10 of the best. (Any you would have prefered?)

  
  

  ______________________

  
  

  I was once a snowdrop
  

  
  

  Once a daffodil
  

  
  

  Once the moon
  

  
  

  Once the stars.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  There was no slash, no gash
  

  
  

  That did not reach the sea
  

  
  

  That did not call my name
  

  
  

  Over and over and over.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  When the battle against the demons is won
  

  
  

  When the evil in the spirit is destroyed
  

  
  

  And when those who kill for country, god or greed are no more…
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Then again I’ll be your snowdrop
  

  
  

  Your daffodil, your moon;
  

  
  

  Again I shall be the stars
  

  
  

  That call out your name
  

  
  

  Over and over and over.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  Ingar Gørse
  

  
  

  ____________________

  
  

   

  
  

  
  

  St. Cuthbert’s, Edinburgh.
  

  
  

  _______________________
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Sitting i’ the graveyaird
  

  
  

  Alang wi’ the deid,
  

  
  

  Armed wi’ a buik
  

  
  

  That I yet haen’t reid.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Leuking at aal the nature
  

  
  

  I’m hunkering here amang,
  

  
  

  An’ wonnering why I’m dying
  

  
  

  Wi’ mi poems syne unsang.
  

  
  

  —–
  Wee Duncan D.

  
  

   

  
  

  ______________________

  
  

   

  
  

  
  

  “A Most Peculiar Man”

  
  

  ____________________

  
  

  
  

  
  

  When I’m in my silent world

  
  

  There is a song

  
  

  That I feel I am at one with

  
  

  And which has inspired my poetry

  
  

  More than any other song.

  
  

  It is “A Most Peculiar Man”

  
  

  By Simon and Garfunkel.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  That could have been me

  
  

  If no one had cared

  
  

  Back in the ‘fifties

  
  

  When they had wanted to put me

  
  

  Into a mental institute

  
  

  Just because I had no empathy

  
  

  And was autistic.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  I could have been the one

  
  

  With no friends,

  
  

  And the one

  
  

  Who seldom spoke

  
  

  So no one spoke to me

  
  

  A most peculiar man

  
  

  In Clowne Town.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  “Poor thing” they would have tutted

  
  

  As I muttered to the post office

  
  

  To get my allowance.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  “He shouldn’t be living up there by himself”

  
  

  They would have said

  
  

  As I shuffled home singing

  
  

  “A most peculiar man”.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  It could have been me

  
  

  If no one had cared,

  
  

  But some teachers,

  
  

  Some social workers,

  
  

  And some doctors;

  
  

  Spoke up for me

  
  

  And kept me sane

  
  

  If ever down,

  
  

  If ever among the low

  
  

  Of a sink-school.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  This is for them,

  
  

  To the ones who cared,

  
  

  The ones who gave me life

  
  

  When others wanted

  
  

  Just to destroy me.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  This is to them,

  
  

  And to empathy

  
  

  Pouring out of my silent world:

  
  

  A most peculiar man.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —

  
  

  Lord Pineapple

  
  

   

  
  

  ____________________

  
  

   

  
  

  
  

  “In the cemetery”

  
  

  _______________
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  blowing over
  

  
  

  her lowered coffin:
  

  
  

  spring blossom.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  “she would have loved that”
  

  
  

  whispered her son.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  The Rev. Tobias Trontby
  

  
  

  ________________________

  
  

   

  
  

  
  

  “Goodbye Old World”
  

  
  

  _____________________
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  “Goodbye old world” the old man cheered
  

  
  

  As his grasping children mentally jeered
  

  
  

  “You will never get a penny from me,
  

  
  

  I’m giving nothing to you three;
  

  
  

  And when I’ve gone how you will grieve
  

  
  

  When not a fucking penny shall you receive!
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  I’ve given it all to “Children In Need”
  

  
  

  They’ll deserve it more than thy,
  

  
  

  and whilst you rot through your broken greed
  

  
  

  Ten thousand children will not  die”.
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  By the ghost of “Lord Muck”
  

  
  

  
  _____________________

  
  

   

  
  

  
  

  “She’s Coming Home”
  

  
  

  __________________
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  And don’t you get the feeling
  

  
  

  That she’s coming home?
  

  
  

  I mean after all this time
  

  
  

  She’s actually coming home?
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Her quarter of the planet is dead, for God’s sake,
  

  
  

  Where else has she to go?
  

  
  

  She’ll come with some lame excuse,
  

  
  

  But you’ll welcome her,
  

  
  

  I’m sure you will.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  She’s coming home I tell you!
  

  
  

  Hold your wet little-finger to the wind,
  

  
  

  And you will feel her there,
  

  
  

  Touching you with her gentle light,
  

  
  

  And begging for forgiveness.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  She’s coming home, damn you!
  

  
  

  At least tidy up this place, it’s a shithole!
  

  
  

  She won’t want to come back to
  

  
  

  Rubbish on the floor!
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  She’s coming home at last,
  

  
  

  And here she is now,
  

  
  

  Here is her cool white stone upon your face,
  

  
  

  Here is her light shining deep into your eyes.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  And so you look up at the moon
  

  
  

  And you thank her for coming home to you.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  Lord Pineapple
  

  
  

  _____________________

  
  

   

  
  

  
  

  Mummy wrote on my banana

  
  

  Not to forget to bring

  
  

  My PE kit home

  
  

  With “PS I love you!”

  
  

  
  

  
  

  I kept the banana skin

  
  

  Until it went all black

  
  

  Then I cried.

  
  

   

  
  

  —

  
  

  Sophie Lucy Morgan

  
  

   

  
  

  _____________________

  
  

   

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Margaritæ Sorori

  
  

  _______________

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Will they come for your soul my dear,

  
  

  After all of this time,

  
  

  Will they come for your soul Margaritæ,

  
  

  And for your spirit, and rob us all

  
  

  Of the love you felt for us?

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Will they come regretfully,

  
  

  And with tender touch,

  
  

  To guide you into heaven,

  
  

  Until you are all in our past?

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Margaritæ Sorori,

  
  

  Will they come for you at last

  
  

  And ease your burning memory,

  
  

  So much that has been lost

  
  

  With the rotting of your brain?

  
  

  
  

  
  

  We loved you so much my dear,

  
  

  And remember you as you were,

  
  

  A lady singing daisy-pies,

  
  

  A mother, a queen, a goddess.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Will they come for you and rob us,

  
  

  We whom you no longer know,

  
  

  We who you helped in so many ways,

  
  

  And gave so much kindness to?

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Margaritæ Sorori,

  
  

  Let us pack away the books that you

  
  

  No longer understand,

  
  

  The food you can no longer eat,

  
  

  The thoughts you no longer have.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Let us pack them all away, and ask

  
  

  For the angels to give you

  
  

  As you gave all of us,

  
  

  Love and heart and happiness,

  
  

  And a key to your mind.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —

  
  

  The Rev. Tobias Trontby

  
  

   

  
  

  ______________________

  
  

   

  
  

  
  

  “A Love Greater Than Sex”

  
  

  ________________________

  
  

  
  

  
  

  I remember him

  
  

  calling me

  
  

  across these white sands

  
  

  “Marie! Marie! Amour de Marie!”

  
  

  He cried in our love.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  That was before I had lost his child,

  
  

  and was told that I could have no more.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  He first started to hit me

  
  

  the day I came out of hospital.

  
  

  I was ill,

  
  

  and had forgotten the meat in the oven.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Of course, I remember later

  
  

  that he went into the kitchen twice

  
  

  for bottles of wine.

  
  

  He must have smelt the burning

  
  

  but did not tell me

  
  

  as I sat there,

  
  

  folding up the baby clothes

  
  

  to give to my brother’s wife

  
  

  for their third.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Yet long after he had gone to jail

  
  

  I used to come here

  
  

  to the white sands

  
  

  to where he once loved me

  
  

  in a love beyond everything

  
  

  a love greater than sex.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  On these sands

  
  

  where

  
  

  he said he loved me

  
  

  and loved the baby

  
  

  inside of me.

  
  

   

  
  

  —

  
  

  Marie St. Denis

  
  

   

  
  

  _________________

  
  

  
  

  “The Star”
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  And you are up there with the best,
  

  
  

  And you receive your prize and you grin,
  

  
  

  You give a speech that offends no one
  

  
  

  And thank everyone else for your win.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  You bow as you step off the stage
  

  
  

  And the cameras flash in style,
  

  
  

  As you walk back to your seat
  

  
  

  With your five-year old smile.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  “Did I do ok Mummy?” you ask
  

  
  

  As tears roll down my face
  

  
  

  “Of course you did darling, thou were grand,
  

  
  

  The best in the place.”
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  “I want to be a star Mummy,
  

  
  

  Not the sort that twinkle in the sky
  

  
  

  But someone that will make you laugh
  

  
  

  And also make you cry.”
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  I put the little soul to bed,
  

  
  

  His prize is upon the wall
  

  
  

  He will always be my little star
  

  
  

  The brightest of them all.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  Tiffy Witherington.
  

  
  

  —————————-

  
  

   SEE A daily blog from The Three-Headed Goliaths’ ( Three_Headed_Sarahs ) “School Daze” What’s it like to join an infant class as it’s only alien pupil. Will contain laughter, surrealism and more than a touch of heartbreaking.

  
  

   

  
  

  The_Clowne_from_Clown  has something up about my first personas.

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