poem – i have changed the numbers

I have changed the numbers on my watch,
And now perhaps something else will change.
Now perhaps
At precisely 2a.m.
You will not get up
And gathering your things together
Go forever.
Perhaps now you will find it is
Far too early to go,
Or far too late,
And stay forever

poem – doubt shall not make

Doubt shall not make an end of you
nor closing eyes lose your shape
when the retina’s light fades;
what dawns inside me will light you.
In our public lives we may confine ourselves to darkness,
our nowhere mouths explain away our dreams,
but alone we are incorruptible creatures,
our light sunk too deep to be of any social use
we wander free and perfect without moving
or love on hard carpets
where couples revolving round the room
end found at its centre.
Our love like a whale from its deepest ocean rises –
I offer this and a multitude of images
from party rooms to oceans,
the single star and all its reflections;
being completed we include all
and nothing wishes to escape us.
Beneath my hand your hardening breast agrees
to sing of its own nature,
then from a place without names our origin comes shivering.
Feel nothing separate then,
we have translated each other into light
and into love go streaming.

poem – there is a boat down

There is a boat down on the quay come home at last.
The paint’s chipped, the sails stained as if
Time’s pissed up against them.
I imagine the sea routes it’s followed,
Sailing through the world’s sunken veins
With its cargo of longings;
A little boat that’s nuzzled its way
Into the armpits of forests,
That’s sliced through the moon’s reflection,
Through the phosphate that clings to the lips of waves.
I knew its crew once,
Those boys manacled to freedom
Who set sail over half a century ago,
And were like giants to me.
A solitary child in awe of oceans
I saw them peel their shadows from the land
And watched as they departed.
What did they think when they peered
Over the rim of the world,
Where Time roared and bubbled
And angels swooped like swallows?
Reading an ancient Morse code of starlight,
Stranded by the longing to be elsewhere,
What secrets did they learn to forget?
I longed to be among them,
A passenger curled up in fate’s pocket,
I longed to be a part of them –
Those ghosts who set sail in my childhood,
Those phantoms who shaped me,
That marvellous crew for whom
I have stretched a simple goodbye
Out over a lifetime.

poem – gust becos

Gust becos I cud not spel
It did not mean I was daft
When the boys in school red my riting
Some of them laffed

But now I am the dictater
They have to rite like me
Utherwise they cannot pas
Ther GCSE

Some of the girls were ok
But those who laffed a lot
Have al bean rownded up
And hav recintly bean shot

The teecher who corrected my speling
As not been shot at al
But four the last fifteen howers
As bean standing up against a wal

He has to stand ther until he can spel
Figgymisgrugifooniyn the rite way
I think he will stand ther for ever
I just inventid it today

poem – the day i got my finger

When I got my finger stuck up my nose
I went to a doctor, who said,
“Nothing like this has happened before,
We will have to chop off your head.”

“It’s only my finger stuck up my nose,
It’s only my finger!” I said.
“I see what it is,” the doctor replied,
“But we’ll still have to chop off your head.”

He went to the cabinet and took out an axe.
I watched with considerable dread.
“But it’s only my finger stuck up my nose.
It’s only a finger!” I said.

“Perhaps we can yank it out with a hook
Tied to some surgical thread.
Maybe we can try that,” he replied
“Rather than chop off your head.”

“I’m never going to pick it again.
I’ve now learned my lesson,” I said.
“I won’t stick my finger up my nose –
I’ll stick it in my ear instead.”

poem – mr ifonly

Mr Ifonly sat down and he sighed,
I could have done more if only I had tried
If only I had followed my true intent
If only I had done the things that I meant
If only I had done the things that I could
And not simply done the things that I should
If only a day had lasted a year
And I had not lived in constant fear
Mr Ifonly sat down and he cried:
I could really have lived if only I had tried!
Now life has past me by and its such a crime,
Said Mr Ifonly who had run out of time

poem – one another’s light

I do not know what brought me here
Away from where I’ve hardly ever been and now
Am never likely to go again.

Faces are lost, and places passed
At which I could have stopped,
And stopping, been glad enough.

Some faces left a mark,
And I on them might have wrought
Some kind of charm or spell
To make their futures work,

But it’s hard to guess
How one person on another
Works an influence.
We pass, and lit briefly by one another’s light
Hope the way we go is right.

poem – remembering snow

I did not sleep last night.
The falling snow was beautiful and white.
I dressed, sneaked down the stairs
And opened wide the door.
I had not seen such snow before.
Our grubby little street had gone;
The world was brand-new, and everywhere
There was a pureness in the air.
I felt such peace. Watching every flake
I felt more and more awake.
I thought I’d learned all there was to know
About the trillion million different kinds
Of swirling frosty falling flakes of snow.
But that was not so.
I had not known how vividly it lit
The world with such a peaceful glow.
Upstairs my mother slept.
I could not drag myself away from that sight
To call her down and have her share
That mute miracle of snow.
It seemed to fall for me alone.
How beautiful our grubby little street had grown!

Nor The Sun Its Selling Power – Brian Patten

They say her words were like balloons 

with strings I could not hold, 

that her love was something in a shop 

cheap and far too quickly sold; 
but the tree does not price its apples 

nor the sun its selling power 

the rain does not gossip 

or speak of where it goes.

So Many Different Lengths Of Time – Brian Patten

How long does a man live after all? 

A thousand days or only one? 

One week or a few centuries? 

How long does a man spend living or dying 

and what do we mean when we say gone forever? 
Adrift in such preoccupations, we seek clarification. 

We can go to the philosophers 

but they will weary of our questions. 

We can go to the priests and rabbis 

but they might be busy with administrations. 
So, how long does a man live after all? 

And how much does he live while he lives? 

We fret and ask so many questions – 

then when it comes to us 

the answer is so simple after all. 
A man lives for as long as we carry him inside us, 

for as long as we carry the harvest of his dreams, 

for as long as we ourselves live, 

holding memories in common, a man lives. 
His lover will carry his man’s scent, his touch: 

his children will carry the weight of his love. 

One friend will carry his arguments, 

another will hum his favourite tunes, 

another will still share his terrors. 
And the days will pass with baffled faces, 

then the weeks, then the months, 

then there will be a day when no question is asked, 

and the knots of grief will loosen in the stomach 

and the puffed faces will calm. 

And on that day he will not have ceased 

but will have ceased to be separated by death. 
How long does a man live after all? 

A man lives so many different lengths of time.

The Innocence Of Any Flesh Sleeping – Brian Patten

Sleeping beside you I dreamt 

I woke beside you; 

Waking beside you 

I thought I was dreaming. 
Have you ever slept beside an ocean? 

Well yes, 

It is like this. 
The whole motion of landscapes, of oceans 

Is within her. 

She is 

The innocence of any flesh sleeping, 

So vulnerable 

No protection is needed. 
In such times 

The heart opens, 

Contains all there is, 

There being no more than her. 
In what country she is 

I cannot tell. 

But knowing – because there is love 

And it blots out all demons – 

She is safe, 

I can turn, 

Sleep well beside her. 
Waking beside her I am dreaming. 

Dreaming of such wakings 

I am all love’s senses woken.

Minister For Exams – Brian Patten

When I was a child I sat an exam. 

This test was so simple 

There was no way i could fail. 
Q1. Describe the taste of the Moon. 
It tastes like Creation I wrote, 

it has the flavour of starlight. 
Q2. What colour is Love? 
Love is the colour of the water a man 

lost in the desert finds, I wrote. 
Q3. Why do snowflakes melt? 
I wrote, they melt because they fall 

on to the warm tongue of God. 
There were other questions. 

They were as simple. 
I described the grief of Adam 

when he was expelled from Eden. 

I wrote down the exact weight of 

an elephant’s dream 
Yet today, many years later, 

For my living I sweep the streets 

or clean out the toilets of the fat 

hotels. 
Why? Because constantly I failed 

my exams. 

Why? Well, let me set a test. 
Q1. How large is a child’s 

imagination? 

Q2. How shallow is the soul of the 

Minister for exams?

The Right Mask – Brian Patten

One night a poem came up to a poet 

From now on, it said, you must wear a mask. 

What kind of mask? asked the poet. 

A rose mask, said the poem. 

I’ve used it already, said the poet, 

I’ve exhausted it. 

Then wear the mask that’s made out of 

a nightingale’s song, use that mask. 

Oh, it’s an old mask, said the poet, 

it’s all used up. 

Nonsense, said the poem, it’s the perfect mask, 

still, try on the god mask, 

now that mask illuminates heaven. 

It’s a tight mask, said the poet, 

and the stars crawl about in it like ants. 

Then try on the troubador’s mask, or the singer’s mask,

try on all the popular masks. 

I have, said the poet, but they fit so easily. 
The poem was getting impatient, 

it stamped its feet like a child, 

it screamed. Then try on your own face, 

try the one mask that terrifies, 

the mask only you could possibly use, 

the mask only you could wear out. 
The poet tore at his face til it bled, 

this mask? he yelled, this mask? 

Yes, said the poem, yes. 
But the poet was tired of masks, 

he had lived too long with them, 

he snatched at the poem and stuck it in his face. 

Its screams were muffled, it wept, it tried to be lyrical, 

it wriggled into his eyes and mouth. 
Next day his friends were afraid of him, 

he looked so distorted. 

Now it’s the right mask, said the poem, the right mask. 

It clung to him lovingly and never let go again.

Party Piece – Brian Patten

He said: 

‘Let’s stay here 

Now this place has emptied 

And make gentle pornography with one another, 

While the partygoers go out 

And the dawn creeps in, 

Like a stranger. 
Let us not hesitate 

Over what we know 

Or over how cold this place has become, 

But let’s unclip our minds 

And let tumble free 

The mad, mangled crocodile of love.’ 
So they did, 

There among the woodbines and guinness stains, 

And later he caught a bus and she a train 

And all there was between them then 

was rain.

Sometimes It Happens – Brian Patten

And sometimes it happens that you are friends and then 

You are not friends, 

And friendship has passed. 

And whole days are lost and among them 

A fountain empties itself. 
And sometimes it happens that you are loved and then 

You are not loved, 

And love is past. 

And whole days are lost and among them 

A fountain empties itself into the grass. 
And sometimes you want to speak to her and then 

You do not want to speak, 

Then the opportunity has passed. 

Your dreams flare up, they suddenly vanish. 
And also it happens that there is nowhere to go and then 

There is somewhere to go, 

Then you have bypassed. 

And the years flare up and are gone, 

Quicker than a minute. 
So you have nothing. 

You wonder if these things matter and then 

As soon you begin to wonder if these things matter 

They cease to matter, 

And caring is past. 

And a fountain empties itself into the grass.

Geography Lesson – Brian Patten

Our teacher told us one day he would leave 

And sail across a warm blue sea 

To places he had only known from maps, 

And all his life had longed to be. 

The house he lived in was narrow and grey 

But in his mind’s eye he could see 

Sweet-scented jasmine clinging to the walls, 

And green leaves burning on an orange tree. 

He spoke of the lands he longed to visit, 

Where it was never drab or cold. 

I couldn’t understand why he never left, 

And shook off the school’s stranglehold. 

Then halfway through his final term 

He took ill and never returned, 

And he never got to that place on the map 

Where the green leaves of the orange trees burned. 

The maps were redrawn on the classroom wall; 

His name was forgotten, it faded away. 

But a lesson he never knew he taught 

Is with me to this day. 

I travel to where the green leaves burn 

To where the ocean’s glass-clear and blue, 

To all those places my teacher taught me to love 

But which he never knew.

The Newcomer – Brian Patten

‘There’s something new in the river,’ 

The fish said as it swam. 

‘It’s got no scales, no fins and no gills, 

And ignores the impassable dam.’ 
‘There’s something new in the trees.’ 

I heard a bloated thrush sing. 

‘It’s got no beak, no claws, and no feathers, 

And not even the ghost of a wing.’ 
‘There’s something new in the warren,’ 

Said the rabbit to the doe. 

‘It’s got no fur, no eyes and no paws, 

Yet digs further than we dare go.’ 
‘There’s something new in the whiteness,’ 

Said the snow-bright polar bear. 

‘I saw its shadow on a glacier, 

But it left no pawmarks there.’ 
Through the animal kingdom 

The news was spreading fast. 

No beak, no claws, no feather, 

No scales, no fur, no gills, 

It lives in the trees and the water, 

In the soil and the snow and the hills, 

And it kills and it kills and it kills.

Poem – When You Wake Tomorrow

I will give you a poem when you wake tomorrow. 

It will be a peaceful poem. 

It won’t make you sad. 

It won’t make you miserable. 

It will simply be a poem to give you 

When you wake tomorrow. 
It was not written by myself alone. 

I cannot lay claim to it. 

I found it in your body. 

In your smile I found it. 

Will you recognise it? 
You will find it under your pillow. 

When you open the cupboard it will be there. 

You will blink in astonishment, 

Shout out, ‘How it trembles! 

Its nakedness is startling! How fresh it tastes!’ 
We will have it for breakfast; 

On a table lit by loving, 

At a place reserved for wonder. 

We will give the world a kissing open 

When we wake tomorrow. 
We will offer it to the sad landlord out on the balcony. 

To the dreamers at the window. 

To the hand waving for no particular reason 

We will offer it. 

An amazing and most remarkable thing, 

We will offer it to the whole human race 

Which walks in us 

When we wake tomorrow.

Poem – Simple Lyric

When I think of her sparkling face 

And of her body that rocked this way and that, 

When I think of her laughter, 

Her jubilance that filled me, 

It’s a wonder I’m not gone mad. 
She is away and I cannot do what I want. 

Other faces pale when I get close. 

She is away and I cannot breathe her in. 
The space her leaving has created 

I have attempted to fill 

With bodies that numbed upon touching, 

Among them I expected her opposite, 

And found only forgeries. 
Her wholeness I know to be a fiction of my making, 

Still I cannot dismiss the longing for her; 

It is a craving for sensation new flesh 

Cannot wholly calm or cancel, 

It is perhaps for more than her. 
At night above the parks the stars are swarming. 

The streets are thick with nostalgia; 

I move through senseless routine and insensitive chatter 

As if her going did not matter. 

She is away and I cannot breathe her in. 

I am ill simply through wanting her.

Poem – First Love

Falling in love was like falling down the stairs Each stair had her name on it 

And he went bouncing down each one like a tongue-tied 

lunatic 

One day of loving her was an ordinary year 

He transformed her into what he wanted 

And the scent from her 

Was the best scent in the world 

Fifteen he was fifteen 

Each night he dreamed of her 

Each day he telephoned her 

Each day was unfamiliar 

Scary even 

And the fear of her going weighed on him like a stone 

And when he could not see her for two nights running 

It seemed a century had passed 

And meeting her and staring at her face 

He knew he would feel as he did forever 

Hopelessly in love 

Sick with it 

And not even knowing her second name yet 

It was the first time 

The best time 

A time that would last forever 

Because it was new 

Because he was ignorant it could ever end 

It was endless