De-rigging the Deck

cards

De-rigging the Deck

“No more taking high tea with the higher-ups,
Your majesty,” they told the Maid of Cups.

“No more living fancy-free like landed thieves,
Your majesty,” they urged the Page of Leaves.

“It’s not enough to be a patron of the arts,
Your majesty,” they warned the Queen of Hearts.

“No more clearing crofters from their fells
For sheep as far as one can see,
Your majesty,” they scared the Dame of Bells.

“No more shall your eldest fruit-of-loins
Be favoured for ascendancy,
Your majesty,” they snarled the King of Coins.

“You cannot beat or crush us all to graves,”
They shocked the Knight of Batons and the Prince of Staves.

“You cannot bribe or threaten us, my lords.”
They spooked the Knave of Diamonds and the Jack of Swords.

“We may be only deuces, threes and fours,
But to the House of Roses we bring wars.”

“The Court of Acorns next shall we uproot,
And then the Clan of Shields can follow suit.”

“We’ll strangle with our tentacles the bonds of Wands and Pentacles,
Then flush the royal flush out with a poker –
So let our fingers ruffle to the revolution shuffle,
And show Arcana Major why it can’t contain a joker.”

“You may be fat on clover, but you’ll soon be eating grubs,
Your majesty,” they promised to the Queen of Clubs.

“You’ll feel our pique upon your neck when sharpening our blades,
Your majesty,” they goaded to the King of Spades.

“The pips are taking back our land,
So drop your bluff and fold your hand.
We’ll take the tricks and watch you fall,
For lowly aces trump you all.”

A Logbook of Wonders

notebook

A Logbook of Wonders

What on earth does Philip write
Within his purple notebook, lined ?
What on earth does he record
When fascinated, moved or bored ?
What scribbles he both day and night ?
What wisdom gleaned ?  What knowledge mined ?
What does he with his pen engage
Upon the ruled and virgin page ?

What on earth does Philip cite ?
What theories turned ?  What views opined ?
Bless this ink that interweaves
The world and all between the leaves.
So happy he whose days are bright
With words to muse and thoughts to find –
Shining life, a jewellèd crown,
With endless things worth noting down.

The Anointed

O

The Anointed

In India, they termed me Krishna –
Persians knew me, though, as Mithras –
To Syrians, Adonis was I called –
Attis then in Asia Minor,
Horus my Egyptian class –
And Dionysius, the Greeks enthralled.
In Italy, they dubbed my Bacchus’
Stole me from their neighbours’ crew
And Hebrews, ah, the Hebrews did the same:
Plus a dash of Perseus,
Tammuz and Osiris too,
All combined in who I then became.
Pleased to meet you,
Hope you guessed my name.

Once Is Never Enough

spur

Once Is Never Enough

To sharpen the spur,
To entice the remarkable
Glow that’s igniting
The will that is sparkable.
Kindle its bright’ning,
This newly-conceivable,
Almost-achievable,
Sulphurous, lucif’rous, sharpening blur.

Sharpening blur,
Don’t orphan this glowing –
Don’t let it be solit’ry,
Singular-showing,
Or flirting idolatry –
Awed by the magi,
Then gone with the mayfly –
With only a lingering tingle of myrrh.

Let us confer,
Many’s the symphony
Fractured in movements
With only a common key
Stalling reprovements,
Each passage belabours
Unhelped by its neighbours –
Always ensure that your themes reoccur.

Themes reoccur,
It resonates sweetly,
This act of creation,
Its song builds discreetly
Through reiteration,
Till harmonies swelling
Enrich with each telling –
We need them again and again to bestir.

To sharpen the spur,
To heighten the senses,
And work through the pain,
Till knowledge condenses –
Then test it again,
Obtaining our mission
Through raw repetition –
We’re always the sum of whatever we were.

The Talk of far-off Forums

top view photography of buildings and trees beside large body of water
Photo by Chedi Tanabene on Pexels.com

The Talk of far-off Forums

Some cities were built on solid rock,
Some cities were built on marsh,
Some cities were built on shifting sands,
Or fault-lines sleeping in filigree strands –
And some cities brought their own earthshock
By building themselves in wilderness harsh,
Or building themselves on the very lands
That other tribes sought in their conquering hands.
But no matter how long ago,
And no matter how brute their overthrow,
And no matter how the northwinds blow –
Not all their dust shall dissipate
Upon the breezes’ sarabands –
For all a city’s kiss-of-fate,
A glimpse remains, a trace withstands.
Through their footings bared and carvings old,
Through their buried pot and coins of gold,
And through their ev’ry mention in the tellers’ tales still told.

Some cities were held in high esteem,
Some cities were held in spite,
Some cities were held as shining states
To journeymen seeking their golden gates –
And some cities gave a lustrous gleam
That prophets implored their gods to smite,
That preachers condemned with envious hates
As other men praised for their glorious freights.
Ambition or apocalypse,
Each name upon their distant lips
As the place where sin and fortune grips –
The place, the home of orgies grand,
The nest of countless sirens’ baits,
Where ev’ry taste it shall command,
As ev’ry thirst it satiates.
Through their legends past and heroes bold,
Through their poets’ songs and glamours sold,
And still their very mention breathes them life that we behold.

Tubular Belle

harry beck map
Harry Beck’s original 1933 Tube map

Tubular Belle

I happened upon her by chancery lane,
A greenford-eyed angel was riding my train.
She stood like a monument, no poplar tart,
She’s shoreditch to snaresbrook my hammersmith heart.

Her body’s a temple, all saints can’t compare,
So redbridge her lips and so blackwall her hair.
Her beauties are out of my gallions reach –
They pinner my tongue, which cockfosters my speech.

A wapping-great loughton’s west acton the fool –
He’s epping and barking, but she’s morden cool.
She’ll ruislip his grasp with her fairlop display,
And mudchute him down as she bounds green away.

I see her each mornington crescent alone,
Her marble arch skin is like cream leytonstone.
This queensway of smiling’s from upney above –
I cyprus with wonder and kilburn with love.

The Dark is Shining

time lapse photo of stars on night
Photo by Jakub Novacek on Pexels.com

The Dark is Shining

The sun does not rotate about us,
Yet it always looks that way –
And even when we have the proof,
Our eyes persist with their untruth.
And solid rock, we learn, is suss –
It’s full of holes between the play
Of atoms, widely spaced – so small,
It’s mostly nothing there at all.

Science, sometimes, isn’t what’s observed –
Especially when it’s tiny or immense.
Science shouldn’t be so damned absurd,
And have such little truck with common sense.
Science doesn’t think, of course, on whether it gets heard,
It doesn’t even know it gives offence.
But Science sometimes doesn’t act
The way good Science should –
Like when the certain’s inexact,
And just beyond what’s understood.

But never get to thinking that we always must defy –
Such easy routes to knowledge are the scamjobs of the loafer –
They lazily are citing the above to justify
Their finding spare dimensions down the backside of the sofa.
“If my theories don’t make sense,
It’s cos I’m smart and you are dense.”
More like, I think, the answers lurk
In flailing, stabbing theories cos your sums won’t bloody work.

We cannot use the unknown as a wand
To fill the gaps that loom
Between the atoms and their neighbour’s bond.
These gods are just as empty as the vacuum
They are trying to replace –
We cannot summon laws from empty space.

But once again, we must recall,
That Science doesn’t hold a view –
It simply is, that’s all.
And if we don’t like where it leads us to,
Whose fault is that ?
The Universe is flat, or else a ball ?
One day we’ll know, one day we’ll see
What’s there already, always there,
But doesn’t even care for you and me.

So Science, gorgeous Science, thrusting Science –
Never let us go !
For you shall not deter with Quantum,
All your challenges, we want ’em.
Long you taunt us with defiance
Yet one day, we’ll know –
The random chance that engineers
The cam upon the cosmic gears,
And how your unseen matter matters more than it appears.
A universe of precious things
Revolves, vibrates, adheres –
And quarks may yet be full of pulsing strings
On which you softly play and play the music of the spheres.

Terminator Traitor

eye rhymes

Terminator Traitor

This rhyme is too faulty, it just doesn’t sit,
It’s splutty and halty, it stumbles awry.
This rhyme is too salty, it rattles with grit,
It’s ragged and jolty, it’s sneaky and sly.

And there is your problem, your verse is a word-crime,
Demurred-crime, absurd-crime, an everyone-heard-crime.
So there is your problem, your verse is an eye-rhyme,
A dry-rhyme, a shy-rhyme, a just-couldn’t-try-rhyme.

We’ve all of us done it, we have to admit,
We kick it and stun it, and hope they won’t espy.
We’ve gambled and run it, with rhymes not legit,
We’ve all of us spun it, and hoped it would fly.

But you sir, yes, you sir, you jolly-well knew, sir !
Your rhyme is untrue, sir, it does not apply.
For shame, sir, it’s lame, sir, you must face the blame, sir
They don’t sound the same, sir, your rhyme is a lie.

Lost Quotations

lost quotations
The lost quotations noticeboard at the Poetry Library, London.

Lost Quotations

Is this how this verse will end,
As a barely remembered line or two
And all the rest a blur of forty years ?
When memory is no friend,
And anyway, maybe you never knew
The rest of it, that never reached your ears.
At least you can still pretend
If you pin up a card with a precious few
Of its words, to the scrutiny of wordy peers,
Then one of them yet can mend
The missing heart, and finally claim its due –
And spare it from the fate each poet fears.

Existential Differential

hell
Hell by ponponxu

Existential Differential

You say you believe
In demons and miracles,
Gaia and Eve,
In songlines and spirituals,
Voodoo and karma,
The Secret and aliens,
Danu and dharma,
And Episcopalians,
Dreamcatchers, leylines,
The Masons and star-signs,
Von Däniken, Xenu –
They all mean you well.
From Asgard to Jedi,
From Hades to Hell,
There you dwell.

And I, you think of as too scientific,
Too always-specific,
Too unhieroglyphic,
Too closed in my mind
And too open to doubt,
Who therefore won’t find
What it’s really about –
Too weighted by knowing
To get where I’m going,
My aura ain’t glowing
Within or without.

And I guess
That you may just be right after all,
I confess
My cynical pride’s due a fall –
That is,
If we’re really not really at all
But a part of some story
Whose telling is tall.
For mostly in stories
All magic is true,
With morals and mores
As naïve as you.

Not like in the Real World,
The boring old Real World,
Where physics still rules
And must do so forever –
It hasn’t a twisting
Beyond its existing,
But punishes fools
Who refuse to be clever.
For the laws shall apply
To each rainbow and fly –
We cannot suspend them
For even a second.
Impartial and total,
Not just anecdotal –
We’d best to befriend them,
For by them we’re reckoned.

So tell me, my dear,
Are we really right here, right now,
Just as real as we feel ?
Or maybe, somehow
Are we all, I don’t know…
Characters perhaps
In some novel or show
That scripts us and traps us,
Creates us and scraps us,
Like gods of the gaps
Where the laws come and go.
So tell me the deal,
Your ardent conviction –
Are we really real,
Or are we just fiction ?