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<b>I once wrote some poems</b>
I once wrote some poems of stillness and silence,
standing by rivers of reflected light;
my thoughts were on being loved and yet unloved, too -
I surrendered to the warmth of the night.
And now I feel like dying,
and if the water were still here, it would
hold me close.
I once wrote a poem while walking on gravestones,
as cobbles, rain and tears lashed down my face;
I then felt my whole world was fading
as memories jostled and fell into place.
And now I feel like dying,
and the pain of old fires still burns.
I never wrote poems when I bit my knuckles
and Death started slipping into my mouth...
but that was really a long time ago,
and I'm not writing poems now.
And though I don't feel quite like dying,
there is something deep inside me
softly crying.
And though I don't feel quite like dying
there is something deep inside me softly....
* * *
<b>Killer</b>
So you live in the bottom of the sea,
and you kill all that come near you...
but you are very lonely, because all the other fish fear you
and you crave companionship and someone to call your own
because for the whole of your life you've been living alone.
On a black day in a black month at the black bottom of the sea
your mother gave birth to you and died immediately....
'Cos you can't have two killers living in the same pad
and when your mother knew that her time had come
she was really rather glad.
Death in the sea, death in the sea,
somebody please come and help me, come and help me
Fishes can't fly, fishes can't fly,
fishes can't and neither can I, neither can I....
Now I'm really rather like you for I've killed all the love I ever had
by not doing all I ought to and by leaving my mind coming bad.
And I too am a killer, for emotion runs as deep as flesh;
and I too am so lonely, and I wish that I could forget
we need love,
we need love,
we need love.
* * *
<b>Lost</b>
(The Dance in Sand and Sea)
So here we are, or rather, here am I, quite alone;
I'm seeing things that were shared before, long ago;
my memory stretches and I am dazed.
You know I know
how good the time was and how I laughed.
Times have changed, now you're far away, I can't complain -
I had all my chances but they slipped right through my hands
like so much sand;
I know I'll never dance like I used to.
I'll just wait till day breaks upon the land and the sea,
hoping that I can catch all of the memories;
then I must crawl off upon my way,
all of me listening hard for the final words.
But there are none, the sunrise calls, I've lingered on
too close for comfort and I don't know quite why
I feel like crying -
I know we'll never dance like we used to.
I look up, I'm almost blinded
by the warmth of what's inside me
and the taste that's in my soul,
but I'm dead inside as I stand alone.
(The Dance in Frost)
I wore my moods like different sets of clothes
but the right one was never around
and as you left I heard my body ring
and my mind began to howl.
It was far to late to contemplate the meaning of it all;
You know that I need you, but somehow
I don't think you see my love at all.
At some point I lost you, I don't know quite how that was.
The wonderland lay in a coat of white, chilling frost;
I looked around and I found I was truly lost...
without your hand in mine I am dead.
Reality is unreal and games I've tried just aren't the same:
without your smile there's nowhere to hide
and deep inside
I know I've never cried as I'm about to ...
If I could just frame the words
that would make your fire burn
all this water now around me could be the love
that should surround me.
Looking out through the tears that blind me
my heart bleeds that you may find me
or at least that I can
forget and be numb,
but I can't stop, the words still come:
I love you.
* * *
<b>A Way Out</b>
Out of joint, out of true,
out of love, out of the blue,
out of order, out of orbit, out of control,
out of touch, out of line,
out of sync and out of time,
out of gas, out of tread,
out of road.
Out of date, out of stock,
out of use - out, out, damned spot!
You want out, you want out of it for good.
Out of the running, out of the game,
out on your feet, clear out of range,
out of context, out of contact,
out of the woods.
Out, out, looking for a way out,
no straws are left to cling to;
out, out, going for the fade-out...
but what do you fade into?
Out on the town, out for laughs,
out of service, out to grass,
out of mourning, out of purdah, out on bail,
out of kilter, out of grace,
out to get out of this place,
out of this world, out and out
beyond the pale.
Right out of character, out of sympathy,
so far out upon a limb
you're out of your tree....
Out of breath, out of tune,
out of your head and out of view,
down and out, out for the count, or is it just for revenge?
Out of sight, out of mind,
leave it out, leave it behind
out of reach of all family, all friends.
Out, out, going for the bale-out,
no parachute above you.
Out, out...you'll not feel the fall-out.
I wish I'd said "I love you".
* * *
<b>(On Tuesdays, she used to do) Yoga</b>
On Tuesdays, she used to do yoga
while I'd sit and watch the box
in a vegetable way,
but always ready to say
to myself that I was an artist,
implying that she was not.
It's funny the way that self-pity
can take over from self-esteem -
well, I was the prince of pride,
and though I'd cheat I never lied,
as if that were enough to make her happy,
as if that could satisfy her dreams.
Too late now to say that I'm so sorry,
too late to say that I can change and mend
the things that hurt.
She didn't need to worry,
she always knew I'd get there in the end.
Now I'm tying myself up in contortions,
don't know if yoga will do me any good.
It's about time I tried,
though I'd rather be inside from the cold,
studying tantra -
still, I never did that when I could.
I never did the things that really mattered,
there seemed to be some key I couldn't find
to unlock myself;
I could have done it with her help,
but I was too busy scrabbling for each moment -
now I don't know what I did with all the time.
Sometimes I'd play the wild rover,
sometimes I'd just get smashed all day...
on Tuesdays she used to do yoga,
on Tuesday she went away.
<i>PETER HAMMILL</i>
_________________ Czułe pozdrowienia! Co cię gniecie?
* * *
Pies, który szczeka, jest niedogotowany - przysłowie chińskie.THIS IS NOT A LOVE SONG
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