Waiting

Waiting for the repair man to arrive,
waiting for the drugs to keep me alive.
In the meantime; someone's ovulating
waiting for results; anticipating.

Waiting for a bus, waiting for a train,
waiting outside and waiting in the rain,
waiting for a ride, contemplating;
waiting on the corner, I'm still waiting.

Waiting for an ambulance, waiting in pain,
waiting for a blue light, waiting in vain,
legs won't move, they're steadily inflating,
folk watch over me as I lay waiting.

Waiting to wake up. hallucinating,
the enemy is there, waiting, hating.
Gas masks on boys, don't delay by waiting
fumbling about like you're fornicating.

Waiting for a signal, waiting to advance,
waiting in a trench in the mud in France,
waiting for sunrise it's so frustrating.
In no mans land they're no longer waiting.

Waiting in the hospital for a scan,
in the waiting room waiting for a plan.
The rest of the world is procreating
looking at the clock as I'm still waiting.

Waiting for the day, waiting for the night,
waiting alone hoping it's all right.
Waiting for some news it's irritating,
waiting for an x ray, sitting waiting.

Waiting for some news, I'm waiting to hear,
waiting in a queue, I want to disappear.
Is it worth my while overstating
just how much time I seem to spend waiting?


Capability Red     October 2018

Alone at Bunhill

Autumn's first golden day, the mood is still,
sunshine permeates the shade at Bunhill.
A burial ground where hope is alive,
memories relived and ideas thrive.
No kings, no masters, no church for prayer,
but a dream to cling to hangs in the air,
air that I'll breath until my dying breath.
At Bunhill I write that I don't fear death.
It's superfluous to write one more verse,
but on a day like this, I could do worse.
Old leaning tombstones reflect the way I feel;
inspired by silence, alone at Bunhill.


Capability Red            2012

Trees and: Things?

My lawn appears so dull
under the shadow of next door's tree.
Roots beneath the surface
laugh at you and me.
So, leave this scene for now,
wander through orchards,
never stopping to pick fruit.
But admire the yield.
Distant tower block looking down.
I dare not glance up.
For you have no point to prove.
And was Telstar the beginning?
Or, the end, where I return;
to plant trees
in someone else's garden.


Capability Red              aprox' 1977

Questions From Childhood's End

Do you ever just want to sit and cry?
Did you perhaps forget to say goodbye?
Are you haunted by moments of regret?
Let me assure you: It's not over yet.
Did you have an imaginary friend
that you left behind back at Childhood's End?
A secret world, in that secret garden,
am I intruding? I beg your pardon.
Where will it end? Where did it all begin?
The Halfway House, or; The Ferry Boat Inn?
Is it overcast in your routine maze?
Or, are there brighter skies on rainy days?
Cruel questions posed by the kinder police
unmask a jigsaw, with one missing piece.


Capability Red              August 2018

Conversation with an Essex Man

The first thing you ask is; where do I live?
Followed up by: Oh! You must want to move.
I've got nothing to say, nothing to give
and, to you mate, I've got nothing to prove.

Then you have to enquire ; what do I do?
Presuming that I am of course employed.
If I wasn't, would it matter to you?
Would this conversation be null and void?

You needn't ask me where I'm from, oh no
let's face it; I look, and sound just like you.
But there the similarities end, so;
just accept my different point of view.

I've no desire to live at Leigh on Sea
I'm sure it's very nice. It's just not me!


Capability Red            June 2018

After the stock take

Spider Webb was looking keen;
after three hours, he silenced the team.
Tarzan was stunned; "Man I'm hot"
he winked at Gladys: " Certainly not!"
The ceiling was full and, always aware,
but no one could see beyond there.
It was over. Make no mistake:
The floor filled
after the stock take.

Empty boxes gave a plea.
So Tarzan said " leave it to me".
Radio playing, the mood was still,
the door opened, in walked Bill.
" All over lads, let's get to the pub"
" before we go, rustle up some grub".
It's finished. Ain't no mistake.
The floor was deserted
after the stock take.


Capability Red         aprox' 1972

After Grenfell

Is there any point at all expressing the way I feel?
Numb, shocked, teetering on the fractured edge of emotion.
Sickened, torn and tempted to seek irrational revenge.

Walking unbalanced along the high wire of sympathy,
falling through pages of my well thumbed dictionary.
Since when did calculated words of anger have to rhyme?

Blame not the veneer of privilege, or make excuses
for the stubornness of poverty, distrust of ambition,
and, don't regret missed opportunities: They, will return.

Unlike the dead! You can look with guilt into the mirror,
retracing your tired steps and reinventing your image.
But ask yourself: Could it have been you in that apartment?

The universe offers no simple answer or reason,
as logic waits patiently at the gates of human greed.
Writing after Grenfell; my patience is but exhausted!


Capability Red       March 2018