poetry

LAST QUARTERThe tulips there were far from beingpretty,They really looked as though they allwere dead,I found the cafes were full of too muchacidWhich had withered far too many tulipheads.The diamonds no longer had their sparkle,It’s glass beads the public were beingfed,The jewellers there were all small-timechemistsWhose stones turned many living intodead.The dykes of self-restraint had beenblown,The kids were hanging on by a thread –The wards were full of many flipped-outheroesWho were the only ones in Amsterdamin bed.BY THE GANGES[18 th May 1975, Benares, India]The steps leading down to the riverRadiate more than a gentle warmthAs dusk designs its fall.Three snowy geeseCrack the incense airOf tolling bells and near to distant voices.Small boats rockIn the wave of pleasure cruising vesselsAvoiding shaven-headed swimming pilgrims.By the water’s edgeThe last smouldering of embered fires,Each pyre, a loved one lost.The laments unceasing,The mourners wait patiently to torchAnother funeral pile.Darkness comes! One small spark,Heat and lightReclaiming man to endless night.NINE MONTHS of PENNING[22 nd May 1975, Benares, India]This page is all that’s left to endNine months of pennings, and yetNot enough to catch the endless meaningThat lies within my mind.For only time will free the mentaltongueTo offer the wordsfor every contextIn the right degree.THE WALLS AROUND ME[22 nd May 1975, Benares, India]The walls around me have no shape –My memories keep me from my sleep;Reaching out – I find one left,A striking match preludes its death.The room becomes a shady show -The match goes out, the ciggy glows.STONED ON HASHISH[17 th June 1975, Peshawar, Pakistan]My mind is bottled up like glue;I’ve had too much – I think that’s true;My thoughts are sticking to my skull,My tongue feels useless, dry and numb.16