Funeral Blues (aka Muffle all the bells, monitor the internet)

Muffle all the bells, monitor the internet

Prevent the people from protesting with a juicy threat

Silence the Sound-Systems with un-holstered guns

Bring out the corpse, let the celebrities come.

Let police choppers circle observing overhead

Pepper spray protesters with the cry She is dead

Put a quarter mile exclusion zone round the streets of St Pauls,

Let the coppers wear black DM’s for that kick in the balls

She was Finchley via Grantham, a bullet-proof vest

Her twenty hour mantra there is no time to rest

The long days, dark nights, her screech and bitter song

I thought her brutal siege would last forever: I was wrong

The Polling booths are not wanted now: shut down everyone

Close the mines that survived not dismantled by The Sun;

Pour away the whiskey and sweep up the barricades

For nothing good will ever come until her legacy fades.

A. Franks 17th April 2013

After W.H.Auden ‘Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone’

St Valentine's Return

I still return

this February night

to the room

behind the door

up those stairs

in the place

on the street

of the city

where we lived

for a day

just us two

no one else

sun shone in

low glasses full

and over flowed

onto the bed

where we lay

arm in arms

like lovers pure

in the days

before the rain

washed time away

I still return

on Valentine’s day

to our room

behind our door

up our stairs

in our place

on our street

of our city

where we lived

for a day

just us two

no one else

sun shone in

low glasses full

and over flowed

onto the bed

where we lay

and kisses reigned

like lovers pure

and as ever

despite the hour

dream what might

St Valentine X

New book on horizon

I hope to have another collection of my poetry published and out and about before the end of August this year. Check the SOUL BAY website for details as and when it becomes available!