a good spot

the library corner in the new house
is a good spot for meditation

from my chair I can see
a spire rising up between trees

assuming it to be a place of worship
I wondered what denomination it might be

then I was told it was the spire
of the local shopping centre

but it makes little difference to me
it’s still a good spot for meditation

still a spire rising up between trees

farm buildings 

the track led to outhouses
farm buildings

agricultural structures in
concrete and steel

pens and silos

a corrugated shelter dripping
with rain

and silent uncomprehending

I might have left it there
but followed the track further

until I came upon earthworks

put there to block my way

and still further I went

past the churches
and temples
and men shouting the resurrection

until I came to a tree
pale and slender
that bled from its side

and had no leaves upon it
but only thorns
that would not let me near

and I stood for a while
in contemplation

before heading back
to the farm buildings

and saw that those I had taken for cattle
were in fact people

and I joined them

and many were weeping

bad priest

if I were a priest
I’d be a bad priest
and run a little card school
round the back

with a fag taped to my mouth
I’d shout my poems out
and give a ghastly time
to the devout

and in between these scenes
just for the old regime
I’d stand up there and tell
a pack of lies

but I’d give them all a drink
throw in the kitchen sink
with love –
no better priest about


I see nothing but an old black door
and a hungry tramp
nothing more
now like some bar-room bore
I come back with leftovers
of a time before there ever was the drink

oh lay a blanket on the floor
and make an offering
take comfort in this refuge
of the damned
or any place you can
just like a tramp with leftovers