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

Love Letters From Uranus

Note: This was written way back in 1975 and, the image is the cover of the note book containing the original

Warm winds sweep across the land,
angry waves smooth the sand.
Where can I see an orange sky?
Maybe; in the corner of my eye?
From Uranus to Wigan Pier:
She wears my greatest fear.

Auditions on Tower Hill,
it's remarkably still.
From Uranus to Liverpool,
flowing out of the Albert Hall.
I can see her far and near:
She wears my greatest fear.

Love letters, in all but name.
Dealt like cards in a game.
From Uranus by Royal Mail,
please don't ask me how.
In her wardrobe, crystal clear:
She wears my greatest fear.


Capability Red      1975

Just an Entrance to a Cave

Pass the orchard,
over the garden wall.
Crawl through the long grass.
Find the spot
where the rainbow ends.
But you won't find
a pot of gold.
No.
Just an entrance;
to a cave...


Capability Red   aprox' 1974

The Gap of Dunloe

The stranger we passed, musing to her friend
heading in a different direction.
Proclaimed; the world was comming to an end,
we had to prepare for an inspection.

Then she was describing fuchsia hedgerows,
thickets and names of forgotten flowers.
I'd met her before. Goodness only knows
when? or where? But in the early hours.

Overheard crimes of lovers lamented,
whispered promises the stars never told,
float and drift on mountain streams fermented,
that we will remember when we grow old.

Abandoned cottages, stray dogs, riders,
girls' and boys' voices that echo. Echo.
rays of sunshine aim arrows of midas.
Forever walking the Gap of Dunloe.


Capability Red         November 2017

Does This Deserve a Title?

Quarter to, quarter past,
how long's this gonna last?
Time's dragging, getting late,
bored stiff since half past eight.

No fun on your own,
waiting for the telephone.
Listen out; a knock on the door,
this place is nothing but a bore.

Back street, our yard,
on a pg tips card
I think I've said this before,
this town is nothing but a bore.


Capability Red                aprox  1973

One Night in Grosvenor Square

I tried hard to remember; things I never said,
clouded distant memories floating through my head.
Each step to the station. Is that walnut tree still there?
I'm not quite certain where I was.
One night in Grosvenor Square.

Was it but a memory? Or, was it just a dream?
Can a truly golden day be somewhere in between?
I felt the earth moving in her silver hair.
My soul stopped in the lost and found:
One night in Grosvenor Square.

Succumbing to emotion, I sat down on the ground.
I could still hear Carole singing through silence all around.
Each stage of life's journey, at turnpikes of despair.
An eagle took my photograph:
One night in Grosvenor Square.


Capability Red     2016

My Brexit Blues

Won't you lay your head on my writers block
As I contenplate this table top sale,
Where limbs of democracy, aged and frail
Hang frayed like the hem of her summer frock.
Britannia, she the proprietor
Of estuary accent, gabbling fools,
Watching frigates and gunships wave her rules
And drive a scribe towards the rioter.
Beyond such flag waving mutilation
Too many of us are still sleepwaliking,
Through a nightmare where she just keeps talking,
So: I'm back to beach hut preservation:
Where I'll gather my thoughts and cleanse my hands.
To greet refugees washed up on the sands.


Capability Red          July 2017