I Don't Send People Xmas Cards

I don't send people xmas cards

they don't send one in return.

Eric sent me a card,

I remarked; "you'll never learn".

I wish folk a merry xmas

indulge in a few jars,

wish 'em a happy new year.

But I don't send xmas cards.

I don't send people xmas cards

relatives, workmates or friends,

I don't make exceptions.

Sorry if it offends.

I dress up as Santa for the kids,

offer seasons regards

I join in the xmas spirit.

I just don't send xmas cards.

Capability Red     1982

The Private Life of an Ideology

 

A chance encounter, love at first sight,

 head over heals, then day into night. 

Gazing at stars,feeling the earth move

 walking on air with nothing to prove. 

Then; a row. It started to go wrong.

 No more singing their favourite song,

 accusations and feelings of guilt,

 flowering passions started to wilt.

 Like two spoiled children; His fault: Her fault.

 But: Facts of life: One of them got caught! 

She's studying anthropology.

 He, is reading ideology.

 Loves philosophy never dated

 unlike the friction it so created. 

Too late to counsel, help or advise, 

or ask a friend to tell a few lies.

 Head over heals and out of control,

 but it's not written down how to console.

 

 

 Capability Red October 2020

Hayley Reminisces

 Dried honey stains the dress she no longer wears,

limp in a dark cupboard underneath the stairs.

Abandoned dreams left hanging to dry,

louvre doors curtail the view of passers-by.

Conversations remembered, but then forgot,

reliving days of somebody she was not.

The party season comes and goes, comes and goes.

Haylet reminisces: Was this what she chose?

Capability Red   September 2020

Royalty ?

Oh little boy, why don't you understand?
You asked me the meaning of royalty.
It seems my answer doesn't satisfy you.
Then, I suggest you look it up in the dictionary:

Royal, of, pertaining to, patronised by.
King or Queen, majestic.
Royalist, supporter of monarchy:
Royalty, state of being royal.
Royal persons collectively.

Oh little boy; you've a lot to learn.
You ask what do we need royalty for?
And, how can you become royal?
Well: You can't if your poor!

And the little boy opened up his eyes.


Capability Red            1976

The sound of my own footsteps

Note: I wrote the following poem in the early days of the Covid-19 lockdown. Unlike most of my poetry, which I tweek, ammend, or structure before posting, this is posted literally as I wrote it. I sat down in isolation and it took about 10-15 minutes. It is raw, confused, angry, the way so many of us feel.: The sound of my own footsteps:


I am the sound of my own footsteps, treading regret, treading water, passing closed Spoons sprayed on the window: pay your staff! nobody laughs, we've lost all feeling; disfunctionally numb. I knew this day would come. I don't want this to rhyme, I want it to echo and make your ears bleed as you read between the lines. No, it's not fine.

How many sheep succumbed to the slaughter? To boost figures on the high alter of profit. Do you listen to prophets? What do you hear? How do you spell that name you revere? You just listen here.

What is normality? What is normal? A stiff upper lip or dressing informal, to vote with sheep, I beg your pardon; followers, idea borrowers scrawling slogans on buses. Turn your back and they become wolves, oh of course, you knew as much and as such you thought you were prepared.

But not prepared for this: Empty streets, empty shelves, empty minds injected with poison, the boys and the girls are gonna lose out. Nobody's learning, nobody's earning, but yearning for things to return to normal, return to normal? Now where have I heard that before?

May I pause before I go any further, further along desolate streets that echo to the sound of my own footsteps, counting regrets and missed opportunities, taking gratuities in the form of awards which blunted the sword of an angry young man who has now grown old. I was told this would happen.

I will go further and reluctantly tread these streets of fear, where all I can hear are my own footsteps, fleeing from panic and stretching the fabric of organisation, industrial relations. Brothers and sisters we are not gathered here today, but we can communicate like wizards I am flippantly told.

If there is hope it lies with the proles, I was once told, or maybe I read. So, instead of despair; look around without sound, listen and learn, focus your anger, join with the strangers who clap at eight to support the heroes. And, get this: You are one of those heroes!


Capability Red             April 2020

Storm Ciara

Ciara, she's getting nearer.
I can hear her, I fear her.
Harbinger of menace.
But. As much as Dennis?


Capability Red          February  2020

Almanac

Like a wurlitzer almanac
taking down the decorations.
So, that's it for another year.

Days some of us may never see
she said, in anticipation
of chiming bells we'll never hear.

Unexpected curtailment of
obligatory celebrations
observed by stalwarts far and near.

The darkest nights and shortest days,
symptoms of our ruminations.
Another year, another year.


Capability Red      Jan 2020

Writers Tears

What do you do when you're preoccupied
and your head has run out of ideas?
Do you shut out the world and stay inside?
Take heed as you mop up those writers tears.
Squeeze out the sponge that you saturated
with the anguish, awe and angst from your fears.
Kid yourself that it's all over rated
but the cloud of gloom never disappears.
And a poet without inspiration
is like a saloon bar devoid of cheers.
Count your steps as you walk to the station
in the rain, to disguise those writers tears


Capability Red          Jan 2020