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Look and See Too

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Look and See Too - Page Text Content

BC: This little book is for Fraser, for without whom, I would not have an illustration for page 2. Thank you. Poppy xxx

1: Start Out Hollow ringing, ringing hollow Pressure on the brain, like drugs Pressing down but not like printing Splaying wider, synapses glinting An idea here, a vision there, recognition over This ice cream pain is swaying like the breeze We like breezes but not at this height. Looking longer, wider – a wintry affair Like blowsy leaves swishing away \wandering through our thinking processes Adding doubt on doubt, raising questions A screaming map of individuals, still pressing For peace, not offerings. Easy now, I think. What the price of progress? All bets off. No belief in this god-forsaken people What's your bike? Get on and cycle Through this green dioxide, noxious cloud. Look for relief. Start Out. Emulsify it all. Cry like the wind. February 2009

2: Drawing by Fraser Hardy Dixon

3: god almighty It's all finished then isn't it, when Even the archbishop's must admit That even god almighty Can't prevent the spreading Of another of his apparent creations Which is bent on killing ours. Their answer is quite simply To restrict the drinking of the wine That too represents the godhead. The very being of their faith That can't control or permit Access by one life into another But then who can? We can. York and Canterbury agree to restrict the drinking of communal wine to single vessels July 2009

4: The power politics

5: Gone west For all our hopes and wishes Nothing sinks us deeper Than a disbelief in ourselves Swimming by, destructive - empty Downward spiralling empty Tinnitus diverting - ringing empty. Shout, scream, wave and bluster You can't deflect the pressure Put upon you by these adopted few Who miss their opportunity to guide Those of us happy to mildly progress Towards an unsure future And end up - quietly shot through the head. July 2009

7: On safe ground The mantel leans and floods the land Where blossoms once were king And life was borne as flash of flood Is swelled upon the ground. The sun shone hot and wet the fen Embracing the warmth of life, From palm of growth creation builds By urging and drawing beads From sweated brow -a flower breaks. Its opening shroud of crimson bright Astonishes the view With clasped grip of sepals green It forces through the earth. A loam of rich and humid soil Enlivened now with life A move so swift and strange \the spade, and seed, the crop.

9: Jackal and Dog From whence this season of Jackal and Dog? Another directive that sucks the wind from us all Yet another driving compliance apparently real A sleepwalking sickness that won't be revealed Our seniors say it will work, the juniors say why Time will heal everything – watch it go by. A year and a day the system's been there Uneasy, distracting – directions not clear. Promises of greatness, structure and form Seasoned professionals are drifting from here Persons of consequence are turning away A longing for confidence, support and of trust Another downward spiral, directions are lost If only the strength of the previous holder Had lasted a month, a year or longer And wrestled the problem, less understood now But evolved when the spin was unravelled. August 1995

11: The Appointment The lights are low reflecting the voice As only analysts can do The smoothing tones to lift the ego Battered as a glove. A glove of life, experience and death – But not a death as deaths go. With gently waving hand and tone Delivered, deliberately – slow. And quietly the master speaks And lying softly goes, Believe me this, believe me that A cure? Oh surehell, yes But it's down to you – not me (The hidden tape is quietly pressed). Confusing dreams, confusing themes? Em, your mind is not directed, Relax and view the spot above This sleight of hand is justified So, quietly just take this, look, And we’ll em, discuss it again. Next week. October 1993

13: Mug? A potter's dream is to spin a wheel And using slaking clay the fingers form The walls of a dish soon to be real The pressure is deftly borne From hours of sweat – so intense That grit from grog can often tear Through skin that's not akin To forming pots that can begin From balls of clay and a water jug And yet enough to produce – a simple mug. July 1994

15: March A spotted fleece of sheep-filled fields Waves slowly past in view And lines of fence with posts atop Are a mix of old and new Like tailors frames the pylons stand The rows are spliced together A grid of iron needled through A cushioned, satin cover. An embroidery of trees and fields Patch-worked, darned and threaded A spray of cows meander through With heads hung low, emburdened. But the traffic light announces soon Encroaching town and spires Allotment plots hide the march Of engines, coughs, compliance March 1995

17: Cross A flaming nagging pain of disbelief Sure I’m angry at a slight aggrieve, - pointed though My threshold breaks. I’m mad as hell. Aren't you listening? I’m the talk. Don't you see that it's important? What I’m saying's for your own good. What do you mean you're not listening? Can't you feel my hurt inside? But – it's not me, it's.. Sure I’m sure. Yes I’m right! No. You're right. I think I see. I’m wrong. February 1996

19: Bangladesh ‘91 The plight of sickness for the world Is latent in the East And Bangladesh is visited With pestilence and flood. It's precious little, precious late A mother, brother and her child Depressed at birth, depressed in death Are visited – in all their anguish See gasping lungs, how dried their mouths The grief of an embittered people Crying out within their broken land Flooded, pillaged – touched with dread, A people cry, some voices listen Too late to save. Just bury dead. June 1991

21: Is it cricket? Always wanting to sneak a look at life But never be embroiled, not yet, not ever I could see enough that the gifts befell Those who strained to see their light Knowledge might be truth, however difficult. Internally it is a myriad, morass, mycelium Externally it is pale, ignorant and faint What was it that the enlightened saw? How easy, yet, in retrospect, in passing? But not yet gone. Symbolic, percolating still If only you can stop. and wonder, question The light will come to you. Breathe it in. How is it that Indians are good at cricket, Yet we can only manage snooker? June 2009

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  • By: Philip M.
  • Joined: over 7 years ago
  • Published Mixbooks: 1
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About This Mixbook

  • Title: Look and See Too
  • Collection of illustrated poems
  • Tags: poetry, poppy
  • Published: almost 7 years ago

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