The landscape itself
is cracked and pitted.
Quarries gouged out of the rock face.
Concrete jungles
where forests grew.
A million species drowned
by hydro-electric schemes.
Roman grain bowls
becoming the Sahara desert.

And the figures
that pass through this landscape,
four-footed, two, or none
with scar of tooth and claw
of virus, germ and epidemic.
With facsimiles of torture, rape and death
stored in a kaleidoscopic heap
beneath the not-entirely-undisturbed
surface of the mind.

Forgive and forget, says Prospero.
“Vengeance is Mine” saith the Lord,
“I will repay.”
“Shantih, shantih, shantih”
sings the Upanishad.
“There is this one way…”
begins the Blessed One.


Posted in Blondin | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment


It may not be the bearded man
who smiles at you and explodes.
It may not be the errant tyre
that slides on the icy roads.
It may not be the scaffolding plank
that bounces on your head.
It may not be pneumonia
that smothers you in bed.
It may not be the fever
that creeps through blood and vein.
Or the quiet worm in the sole of your foot
that climbs up to your brain.

It may be that the breath leaks out
in a mist of expiring pain
and nothing can make it turn about
and slide back in again.



Posted in Blondin | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment


Evil is the Great Magician
which blinds the inner vision
the painting on its face
disorientates the eye,
the quickness of its hand through space
deceives the sly.

The conjuror peddles his illusions,
the world his backdrop and his stage,
his victims, living beings enmeshed in their delusions
who find their thoughts become a living cage.
They end as karmic prisoners like the living dead
trussed in silken thoughts made of magic spider’s thread.

Goodness is the golden key
which shows your face to me
which seeks what’s true
and shows my face to you;
unlocks the heart of everyman
and sets his spirit free.


Posted in Blondin | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment


I wish I was a millionaire
could take it all and give it you
and you and you
and you and you and you
and send you off to let you do
just what it is you want to.

Use it and be right.

And so they left the millionaire
and all went off to everywhere
to do
just what they wanted to.

Use it and be right.

They went. They worked. They played. They slept.
They won. They lost. They laughed. They wept.

From joy and pain
came back again.

One came back in a wooden box
six foot long and bones were its locks.
One came back in a miser’s fist
with fingers growing through the palm.
One came back with the peaceful eyes
of those who have never done any harm.
One came back with a crowd of friends
and a fountain of laughter that never ends.

But one came back as a star in the sky
which twinkled and smiled as it floated by.


Posted in Blondin | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment


A bare chest
is a cooler way
on a hot day
than a string vest.

Her husband’s pain’s a sword.
And, again,
though she sees and feels for him
and keeps her love
and cooks his meals for him,
she is bored.

It’s hard to be free
no matter what you see;
something to do with the guts
or too many ifs and buts.


Posted in Blondin | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment


In the Beginning
(or perhaps a little later)
there was I.

And then, because I was lonely,
there was me.

And we got on like a house on fire!
And, so that we could have something in common,
there was mine.
And we got on like a house on fire.
(Very much like a house on fire!)

And then you came along
and spoilt everything
because you wanted yours;
and what you called yours
was actually mine.

And to make matters worse,
you brought him with you;
and he wanted his.

And although he could have shared yours,
he didn’t. He wanted it all to himself.
And he wanted mine.

And so it all went wrong.
There was the Spanish Armada
and the French Revolution
and the Second World War
and Vietnam
and Tony Blair
and it’s all such a mess!

And yet, it started out so well!


Posted in Blondin | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment


You are at peace
and someone comes,
thoughtless not unkind,
and jogs you with his moment;
demands your recognition,
your admission,
your consent
to his place in your mind.

What do you do?
What harm has he done
to you?
What calm had you won
and no room for him inside?


Posted in Blondin | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment