STEPTOE AND PUB PHYSICS

Einstein and other
Nobel worthies say
Nothing is really real

This world is a
Fantastic fairy tale of
Spinning light and vibration -
A place we can’t accurately measure
In a newly discovered land
Known as Quantum Physics...

Maybe I’m missing the point?

Despite the clever maths
Despite the brightness
Behind the equation,
I still feel the need to
Reduce God to something
Shapely and purposeful

As a post-moden chair....

Something solid
Something tried and tested
Which gnarled hands have dragged
To this corner

Of the Frog & Ferret
Where its slowly been
Polished up since the nineteen
Eighties by tight, bony, saggy bottoms
Bags of shopping -

Its ash feet chewed by an old dog,
A chair on which I sit today
Wobbly, by a weak gas flame
As the twilight decends
And I figure out what it is to be.

Why should I lean towards the centre?
Because, there, God keeps all the answers

*

Petals
Are like sun-flames

Petals flutter away
Or fall like darts
But the sun burns forever

*

…I can not imagine a lion without a mane
Or a flower without leaves,
Or the great-circle-mystery-dance
Without a pulsing ring of creatures

*

Human faces are half finished questions –
Add a flickering smile and - yes
It all makes sense

Washed up on a shore
Near St Maries de la Mer
I crawled into a cave. There
I saw a statue of black skin
Covered in shadows and
Rich embroidered robes

I heard a whisper:-
“Follow the path of your heart”.
I walked further into that cave
To better know the statue’s face;
I recoiled - seeing Mother with
Suckling babe, then a beautiful
Young Maiden – lastly an old
Crone by a candle flame.

I backed away
But she laughed loud and
Her withered hand pointed
“Take this path through the sand”

I noticed a crack opened in
The wall behind, letting in light;
I walked towards the warmth
I felt the great power of light
As the sun dried my clothes

But my eyes became blind as
Far on every side stretched dunes.

No breeze – no plants…
Was that an old withered tree?…
Slowly it moved towards me
From miles distant

“My Name is John the Messenger;
You may say Baptist” There
I stood amazed, seeing that wild
Symbol from my childhood days.

He tugged my hand away
And led me across the sand –
I did not retreat

We entered a rocky ravine
We walked in a land like Palestine
Where only cactus grew, I began to swoon
For lack of water. I knew not how many
Days we walked – in my delirium
I spoke of the River Jordan - and
At that moment the Baptiser was gone
And all I knew were mirages and a clump
Of palm trees.

I took hours to crawl to them
In my weak state I collapsed
By the side of a blue lagoon
My mouth cracked and bruised.

When I awoke my face
Was stroked by a woman wrapped
Head to toe in Muslin

Part 2

“My beloved, I have waited long”
And she moved her hips and hands
To a verse from The Song of Songs.

Over many days I grew stronger
Tended by that beautiful veiled woman
Whose eyes I stared into.

One morning I rose from my tent
Having dreamt she was called Mary and
For the first time I walked unaided and tall

I desired
Her and looked for her
But she was gone, only camel tracks
Showed the direction she had taken.

There was another saddled camel
Tied to a tree, full of provisions -
For three days I followed her tracks
Until a great storm came
and erased the prints

Late at night
By accident feeling broken
I arrived at a Tower on the edge of
The desert

I beat on the door
And looked up – what seemed like a lantern
Descended down a spiral staircase.

Part 3

“What do you want at this late hour?”
Through a grill in the door an old man
Peered down with bushy eyebrows.

Cautiously he opened the door
As I sat crouching – He wore a long
blue robe adorned with sun and moon.
On his ankles silver wings glinting

“Water, that is all”

“Hmmm” He handed me a wooden staff -
I felt supported by strong unseen hands.
“Come in”. I followed him slowly up
A tight spiral stair and came to a long
Triangular room. “Sit by this fire and drink”

The fire was mesmerising – it made me
Imagine I was touched by a sea-breeze and
The green liquid he gave slaked my thirst.
“I know your true name, young Page –
It is not what you think”.
“Who are you?”, I asked. “Oh I have many.
In this place, I’m the magician”

I told him of
my desire to find the woman from the Oasis
“Hmmm” he lit his pipe.
A devilish business chasing a mirage”
“But she’s real, she saved my life”

For a great while there was no answer -
I watched the smoke from his
Pipe rise and tie into intricate knots.

“You will need my help to find
This woman…and great courage -
If you sleep soundly tonight
I will give you my help tomorrow”
He walked out the room and
Locked then bolted the door.

Part 4

As if expected
There was a bed of crisp white linen
Behind me. As a clock struck 12
I climbed in, but every time I tried
To close my eyes the room
Seemed to change shape -
Square then oblong then triangular.

I got up and sat by the fire –
Throwing a black log onto
the embers I thought of Mary
Until the flames grew higher
Then the room went dark

*

…I felt a hand on my shoulder
And stared into a long white beard.
“I see you have slept well Page –
It is past midday, time to be up”
The room around me was a perfect
Circle bathed in sunlight.

All that day Hermes showed me
His amazing tower room.
It was full of books and physic.
He taught me a spell to bring
Rain and one to shield from Sun.
He gave me a charm to inspire me,
An equal armed cross on a chain –
Its centre had a perfect red rose
Cast in silver
“Show this to the wolf and it will lead
you to the Green Man…

And one last thing – I have sewn a
Secret map inside this bag – open it
only after you have found your Lady,
It will guide you safely home. ”

I thanked him profusely…
“How can I repay you?”
“One day you will acquire a tower like this
…use your magic to help others
You will honour me well”.

Part 6

I left the Magician in the morning.
He seemed to be standing on the
Roof waving. He had given me directions
Away from the desert towards tilled land
And as I travelled desert turned to scrub
Then turned to fields, though I couldn’t
See the owners

Eventually I stopped to rest
by a tiny stream. Next to me
Was a single tree and on it sat
A blue or green or purple
Shimmering bird.
It began to sing, better even
Than a soloist in a Cathedral -
Some parts imitated human speech
'Follow me' 'Follow me'

Indeed it was such a melody
That I had no choice -
Its staccato flight led me
Into a dark wood.
Soon there was no more music
And the thick leaves and branches
seemed organised to block my path -

I lost my way

Until following a black stream
Half covered in dead leaves
I came into a clearing
And there was a monk
Tending a small row
Of glossy leaved beans - his feet
Were bare and caked in mud

"I am Francis tender of forest
Beans" - and on his shoulder
Alighted the same bird yet
It was now pure white.
He smiled, "This bird
Is called a rainbow dove
It mates for life"
And he stroked its bill

"Let us eat" he pointed
To a small wooden cabin
Covered in scores of crucifixes.

Dear Pope Papa Pulak the 2nd

As your representative in the North
May your authority rub off on me
(especially onto my purple parrot's
Feather crown, which remindst
Me of yours, my gold god).

I hear, your majesty, you are leaving the South
soon and travelling to Yorkshire. Your Be-Bopancy
I have reserved the best table at Betty's Tea shop -
we hope marble Is not too cold

I can't wait to rub your fourteen wives;
We have readied real handbags of English leather -
a rainbow of calf leather and two pounds fifty
to spend!

The treaty will be laid out by
the cake counter and should ensure the South's
G.N.P goes through the grass leaky roof - I think cakes
and parrots is a strong base for any economy -

Please note the English also have a weak tooth
for Sherbett Dip - I am working on the secret of their
recipe and are close to a breakthrough - we may have to
go to war with all ten of our canoes to sneek a peek at this though.

Must Go-
I want to catch news of their Royal Family
Who seem to be real actors in Eastenders the Soap

"Tally Ho Mighty Pinto Bean"

Yours Puluk Ambassador of the Fair

A MUSHY COSMOLOGY?

Rainfall from
Measured stars

God wears a bib
And dribbles
Making the Earth
Green

Sundays are also
For roast humans
And a side dish
Of terror

We play with guns
Proud of their mechanisms

Whispers destroy
The loving
Apparatus of
An expanded heart

RESTORATION

Restoring the magic
To the Universe
You play the trumpet
I crash the hearse

Tanned scientists report
That blinking increases
The honest probability
Of a world of soul
Popping out of
A Black Hole

So we fiddle with it
Till dawn
And the angels become
Sworn into the new regime

In this new simple crowd
Only photons and
Old-time pearly light
Are accepted to
Spread to comfort us
Through prairies of the night

FLYING BLIND

Flying blind
In an electronic
State of the Art
Bucket

Being kind
To the natives -
Oh fuck it

Sinking wells
In my Mother-in-Law's
Golden terra firma lawn

Politically
The big freeze
Ends in big thaw

***

And so you drop streamers
Goodies plus tinned
Carrots on the permafrost

You drop crackers
Full of Western quips
And decade old
Private Eye mags

Then you fly away
To a friendlier timezone
Knowing you've sown
the idea of
Democracy, soap
And Singer sewing machines