Poetry - Jim Blackmann

The Conspiracy

I’ll say it once and only once
I don’t tell this to anyone
Call me nuts if you insist
But first you might consider this
Do you think you’re even halfway free
Could you do a jig on any street
Would you dare defy a sell by date
Could you leave the last bean on a plate
It is, by any other name
A conspiracy to keep me sane

My Twitter feed is stalking me
And not just algorithmically
And my TV knows my shopping cart
Why do you think they call it smart
And the smoke alarms they are watching me
Dare I have a fag dare I even sneeze
My thoughts are under house arrest
I’m a beating heart in a thermal vest
No it isn’t just some kind of game
The conspiracy to keep me sane

Ah but when I dream
Defy all death and gravity
And for a moment I exhale
The conspiracy to keep me sane

I have overcoats in the proper shade
I have matching socks and my bed is made
I am washed and brushed and Colgate fresh
And my underarms pass the whiffer test
All my politics are moderate
I’ve been potty trained in etiquette
All my belfry bats are well-behaved
And my Einstein hair is neatly shaved
And there it is as plain as plain
The conspiracy to keep me sane

Or if it’s me, go on explain
The conspiracy to keep me sane

Lethe

I must have taken too much of the water
Drank it to drown all my grinning mistakes
Curled up to sleep in the womb of a river
Longing to dream and in need of escape

Hospital naked in neon and linen
Council house red and a coal dust at dawn
First day of school and a book to be written
Lined up and waiting and called to the front

Puberty shorts and a lot you don’t mention
Bouncing and brainless and bent to be lost
Learning by way of another detention
What is a voice to a kid in a fog

Eighteen and hooked on a chemical Eden
Trouble in trainers and buckets of youth
Walking on water and king for a season
Lung full of smoke and a head on the moon

Married to life and in need of a pardon
Paying installments and everywhere late
Check your reflection and fill up the larder
Eye on the traffic and one on your age

Then when it came it was less than a whisper
Ethereal silent yet louder than life
Holler injustice at nobody listening
Yes you were warned and yes they were right

Here the a gift and the hindsight of wisdom
Here are your ghosts and your murky debris
Pardon the night it is here for a reason
Now is the moment to surface and breathe

I must have taken too much of the water
Drank it to drown all my grinning mistakes
Curled up to dream in the womb of a river
Longing to sleep and in need of escape

The Tenant

Hollow canyon of a night
Dotted lanterns in the dark
Echo who can see a gift
Whispers to me listen up

Here’s a secret keep it safe
One for you and you alone
Beelzebub is on release
You are Er among the dead

Take a tip from Lucifer
You are not a tribute act
Ignorance is for the blind
You deserve a better cage

Echo would you leave me please
I will miss the midnight bus
I believe in solid ground
Read the sign do not disturb

Interrupted she persists
Casual and sotto voce
Here’s an apple take a bite
There are worlds yet unexplored

Tantalus he knew it well
Palaces of glass and steel
Promise you eternal youth
For which payment is the cure

First you have to know the beast
Every blessing is a curse
We are tenants for a life
Here to mark an interval

Now a riddle make it rhyme
Taken from a thunderstorm
What is best to die in sleep
Or see a light where none exists

Echo knows she has the court
Manifesto unopposed
You are not a hungry ghost
You are just the one-eyed king

Right then fine then burn my ears
Make it strictly need to know
I am made of flesh and blood
Give me something I can taste

Rumble from the midnight bus
Joseph Stalin at the wheel
Hitler waiting patiently
Mullet and the Art of War

Judas with an albatross
Hangs out by the lost and found
Saint Teresa checks her watch
Echo leaves, her work is done

The Calling Wind

Listen up I’ll make it plain
I can hear a calling wind
Geraldine, once in accounts
Takes a bone and paints in blood

Michael hasn’t been the same
Since he heard the angels sing
Says he isn’t coming down
Never mind a parachute

Zarathustra speaks again
Lifts a finger and begins
I declare the world is round
Gods and men are holy fools

Out here on the rooftop
An Anglepoise moon
In a compote of darkness
And a sober mood
The stars implore me
Listen, won’t you listen

Lucifer cannot refrain
Posting all his favourite sins
All unfiltered proper proud
Gleaming in a birthday suit

Al-Rachid and Charlemagne
Both agree they’ll never win
Er who never would be drowned
Holds his nose and speaks the truth

Diderot is playing safe
Winces as he shakes the tin
Swears that he is getting out
One more deal he’s done for good

Out here on the rooftop
A bowl and no spoon
The dead all departed
To another room
The stars implore me
Listen, won’t you listen

Alice tired of eating cake
Puts away her Cheshire grin
Is the party over now
Waking up can be so rude

Abel keeps an eye on Cain
With a patience wearing thin
Noah who can read the clouds
Spits to sanctify the wood

As the night declares the day
I can hear a calling wind
Never mind the why or how
Either way it will be soon

Out here on the rooftop
I can assume
An edge and no harness
I will be excused
The stars implore me
Listen, won’t you listen
Listen, won’t you listen
Won’t you listen

Troubadour

I heard them once and only once
Vespers in the late of spring
Drumming up a town of ghosts
Calling from another world

Morning sermon blown and dried
Alexandrine verses true
Blotted ink on parchment earned
Moment taken to reflect

Penny pipes and kettledrums
Elemental deep and shrill
Answering a tambourine
Decorated by a voice

Up by impulse to the latch
Seal the room and banish all
Then an unexpected glimpse
Stirred a vision buried deep

Dancing women lifted skirts
Caged birds and feathers lost
Juggling men and piping taunts
Conjuring an august song

Seven worlds reside within
Seven worlds reside without
Breathe it out and breathe it in
Dance on consecrated ground
Cast away your books and chains
Sing the day and praise the night
Die and be reborn again
Come and kiss the queen of life

All at once a fiery breath
Came to let a demon in
In a moment I was there
Bellowing and hollering

And then an interrupting thought
More a whisper than a voice
From a leap must come a fall
Every dream is but a dream

So reminded by the bell
Doors on hinges feet on stone
Followed by a compline hum
Shepherd calling to the lost

From that day I had two hearts
One of duty one of love
One eternal one for life
Buried deep as in a well

I heard them once and only once
Vespers in the late of spring
And hear them now as I did then
Calling from another world

Monday’s War

Cassandra waits on table three
Patience and a pen in hand
Speaks as if to absent ghosts
I’ve had visions I’ve had dreams
Pontius Pilate can’t decide
Latte or a double-shot
It is Monday after all
Caffeine might be just the thing
Princess Boutique, handbag dog
Occupies the corner seat
Checks the room for married men
Glancing from her perfumed web
The Reverend Morgan scans the Times
Indiscretions all writ large
Croissant and a tea in hand
Table full of telling crumbs
Florence dressed in mourning black
Pops the lid and checks the pot
Older now with paler skin
And yet not without a look
Rosie keeps her tattooed heart
Underneath a uniform
Steady with a stoic smile
Hover finger on the till
The Morning Coffee Club descends
On table four in unison
Resolutions have been made
They will split the bill this time

Pen in hand Cassandra waits
Can I have your order please
No reply so she begins
You will hear the sound of war
Pontius Pilate takes a breath
Throwing her a puzzled look
Can I have a latte please
And perhaps an almond bun
Princess Boutique spots a catch
Pursing lips in cherry red
Shuffles up to make some room
When she hears a rumble sound
The Reverend Morgan lifts his head
Wonders if he heard the same
Shakes away the troubled thought
Time perhaps for one more tea
Florence thinks she heard it too
Either that or drum and bass
Lifts an eyebrow at the thought
Well perhaps her time has come
Rosie who has cleared the queue
Nips outside to have a vape
With the playlist on repeat
One less bod will not be missed
And the Morning Coffee Club
All concur they heard a sound
Judging from the morning rush
It is traffic nothing more

Why Apollo why now here
Why to ever incarnate
In a world where none have ears
Why the gift and why the fate

Cassandra clicks her pen again
Breathes in deep and speaks aloud
This is it the sound of war
Soon it will be all too plain
Pontius Pilate checks his phone
Not a mention on the Beeb
Still though better play it safe
Make that almond bun to go
Princess Boutique disengaged
From pleasantries and politics
Has the thought it might be best
To keep the conversation short
The Reverend Morgan looking up
Folds his paper and decides
Time perhaps to take his leave
If it’s thunder it will rain
Florence with a settled mind
Takes a moment to reflect
All this black will serve me well
When the bodies line the streets
Rosie now returned and flushed
Asks Cassandra did she hear
Thunder or perhaps the sound
Of heavy guns and marching feet
The Morning Coffee Club all agree
Armageddon makes no sense
Cassandra shakes a knowing head
Dare I say what’s coming next

Young Me Old Me Dead Me

Come hear the song that gave rise to a life
All an illusion but so very real
Ten thousand blunders and as for the why
The driver is drunk and the passenger dreams

I can ride my bike
All the way to school
I can read and write
I like drawing too

You there in the cartoon shorts
Wayward hair unruly socks
Grinning from a photograph
Like the whole world is your street

Playing in the park
No one’s called me yet
Stay out after dark
Try a cigarette

Proper lad now and so tall
Older and your voice has dropped
Though the day might seem enough
Soon you will have greater needs

Ready for exams
School is going to stop
Time for making plans
Then to get a job

Listen up now here’s a thought
Yes of course it has to stop
Soon the boy will be a man
And the river will get deep

Now I get to vote
And I have a look
A deal that I can smoke
A wallet and a cock

Wakey wakey manhood calls
Soon you’ll have your cherry popped
Here’s a message do the math
What is fire when you’re asleep

Up for work again
Every single day
If this is a win
Someone please explain

Every day will be a war
Every win must have a cost
It will not be such a laugh
When the nightmare is too real

Always in my head
Aggro everywhere
Half a day in bed
Pressure even here

Now you know why you were born
Say hello to being lost
And to make it really tough
Yes it is all your debris

Is this really true
I can hear you speak
Am I really you
Are you really me

Even Adam had to fall
So be grateful for your lot
As for if there was a plan
Took a life to make you me

Was it all a dream
How did I get here
Why did I not see
How could I not hear

Soon you will see yourself laid out below
Freed of the carriage of sinew and flesh
Breathe in a new world and breathe out the old
Then you will taste of the river of Lethe

Come hear the song that gave rise to a life
All an illusion but so very real
Ten thousand blunders and as for the why
The driver is drunk and the passenger dreams

The Message

Indulge me if you will
While I lay out
In at least the broadest terms
The tribulations that arise
From my inability to resist
The unreasonable demands
Of a morning alarm
With persuasive skills
That far exceed my own
And how from that very moment
I am presented with
The cast iron logic
That finding matching socks
And deciding how much water
Will be needed to pat down my hair
Is an inescapable fact of existence
And then while still engaged
In the mechanics of shaving
Calculating how much milk
Will serve how many breakfasts
Before needing due attention
Is a problem I have
Yet to be able to solve
And then even before
The fridge door is open
Being reminded by the wisp of a dream
That the karma
Of pressing buttons for a living
Is not so much a life
As a tenancy at best
And wondering quite what I did
In a previous life
To be rewarded
With a minor role in a panto
Wearing ill-fitting tights
And a voice not suited to the part
And then concluding
Fridge door not yet closed
That it is beyond reasonable doubt
That my life is a mystery as great
As anything Kierkegaard ever pondered
And while still engaged
In the art of munching cornflakes
Without waking up the neighbours
I find myself once again
Having to justify
A lifetime of bad decisions
With the mind of a three year old
Inadvertently given
A bottle of Pepsi Max and a straw
And while I prefer to blame it on
The school lunches that were served
By women with hair nets
And white lab coats
Handing out sachets of ketchup
Bearing cartoon hieroglyphics
And offering unsolicited advice
On how best to deal with radiation
It is nonetheless
What they call a fact
That even before
Such matters are resolved
I find myself
Yet again occupying a bus seat
Designed by someone
Without knees or human compassion
And being shaken constantly
While I am transported
From here to there
Only to find out that there is
Actually just another here
And contemplating a cheese sandwich
That I have no doubt
I ate in a previous lifetime
And while I admit
That I once believed
I could improve the world
I am now wholly convinced
It was nothing more
Than drugs and puberty
And anxiety issues
Most of which has been resolved
By reading Nietzsche
Looking for the jokes
And so it is that
For reasons that are
Presently beyond me
I am faced with
The high degree of probability
That my condition is
Best described as being
Nineteen floors down from heaven
Stuck in a lift with
A barking chihuahua
On a Tuesday
When I thought it was Wednesday
While entertaining the thought
That perhaps I might buy
A wastebin for my errant thoughts
Before deciding it would be
So much simpler
Just to tidy up my room
And so there you have it
Here it is that once again
I find myself
Buttons duly pressed
And heading home
Bum on the eternal bus seat
Reassuring myself
That at least in poetry
I can say such things
Without being arrested

A Word if You May

To whom it may concern
I would like to register a complaint
Formally and in writing
About the nature of words
To wit nouns in specific
But taking in verbs and adjectives too
And in general
About the patent misuse
Of a very particular group of terms
Currently in circulation
And warranting a tad of inspection
Not a kind of grumpy grouchy
What’s it now gramps kind of grumble
But a full on bolshie declaration
That the situation
As it presently stands
Is wholly unacceptable
I mean who decided that
Mumble grumble and rumble
Or pop and squawk and squeak
Should be so termed onomatopoeic
When whatsit whiffy and woozy
Are dismissed as nothing more than
A mere concatenation of sounds
With obvious disregard
For their functional value
And in addition how or even why should
Discontented disgruntled
Discombobulated and disgusted
Be so grouped when they have
Clearly little more in common
Than mere alliteration
And furthermore
Which uppity lexicographer
With a bit of paper and a pen
Decided defenestration was de rigeur
When their vernacular equivalent
Chuck and lob and fling
Were dismissed as mere nonce words
I mean ratatatat
How can you not like that
And as for conundrum kerfuffle
Concatenation and continuum
Is it not baldingly obvious
They are little more than committee jobs
Decided by a show of hands
In a backroom somewhere
By three men and a dog
With no particular authority
Beyond a booked room
Dignified by little more than
Wonky tables job lot chairs
And sticky lino flooring
And while I’m on one
Whatever on one is
Could we not retire a term or two
And with due ceremony
Gather up all the cack-handed cliches
And verbal whiffers
And shove them into a backyard skip
And set them alight
Then with an extra squirt of kerosene
Torch repeat offenders such as
Literally whatever and not gonna lie
Unless literally you are lying
In which case whatever
And as for similes and metaphors
Quite apart from which is which
They are about as useful as
A squeaky voice at a funeral
Or an ill-fitting pair of undies
On a long train journey
And what purpose do they serve
Beyond dancing round the point
Which brings me to my point exactly
And let me state it now in bold type
What are words but belching sounds
Chucked out after one too many beers
Onto an empty street at midnight
Or a bungled effort
To tie up the air with bits of string
With the clumsy imprecision
Of a junior doctor poking a warm heart
With a cold stethoscope
What use are words in a war
When the imminence of death
Reminds us of all they are not
I mean how did we trade the universe
For a rented room
A garden for a photograph
Or a first kiss for a tacky receipt
Do forgive my pedantry
But are we not more than
Pigment on parchment or God’s typos
Participles out there all
A dingle dangling
For public amusement
Inviting a stifled chuckle
And fearing deletion
Or a backspace at best
And so there you have it
All spluttered and spat out
In the clearest possible terms
That the inadequacies of
Language will allow
And if my reasoning comes across as
Not much beyond
A cobbled hodgepodge of
Terminological inexactitudes
The fault lies not with me
But with the means at my disposal
That being said I beg to remain
Respectfully yours
J. Blackmann Esq.