Jim Ferguson is a working-class writer from Scotland. He
lives in the north of 'The British Isles' and would accept the word 'British'
as a geographical term. As a long-time anti-imperialist Ferguson does not endorse the British State nor most
of its governmental institutions which are long, long overdue for radical
reform. Ferguson would like to see the final deconstruction of
the remains of the British Empire, which would mean the restoration of full
national statehood to Scotland, England, Ireland and Wales as democratic
republics. He has published a number poetry collections, pamphlets and so on,
details here: http://www.jimfergusonpoet.co.uk"
accumulations
how things gather
seem to seem crusted
aggregate dust
itchy eyes
with peering -
goo in the corners
moves to a crunch
a crunchy mass
a mess of this n that
sneeze it away
or rinse with tears
the newest goo re-forms
scratch it out
scratch old eyes out
everything cleared
for
the
new
*
word is a
four-letter
Word
sign and symbol
so deeply rooted
Manipulative
the outside world
as symbol and sign
Inside
the head a-dreamful
abstraction only
Tells
the names of things
unknown before
Now
the outside world
somehow predictable
Only
but
not always
impossible to fathom
Aye-aye
you sail out
somehow forward from the womb
If
you are lucky
have moments in hand
ahead of time
To
go
Bye-bye
*
Dark –
Too
is and also
a four-letter word
with time the spectacles
become more elaborate
some like
the metaphor of the milk-bottle
the eyes pearls of the head
not teeth
teeth fall
like toppled cemetery stones
the eyes are the pearls of the head
perhaps a better metaphor perhaps
they gleam still don’t let enough light
into the head
how the eyes shine from the face
in the mirror of a toothless head
what is dark
accumulation of
absence
being outwith
an almost anywhere
sense of light
*
work and rock
four apiece
what is the alphabet
all combinations
from outside the head
inside transferred to the outside
again
to understand and
simply call it
-
lanwij
magical connections
of sight and sound and
add it all up
simply call it
- maffs
eyes work
eyes pearls
work dull
work
work
work
the four-letter word
as code for survival
survival feels good
alas - all that work
to enable survival
wears out the pearls
of joy residing
in hedonism
of the heart
*
see how they run
see how they build
see how that consumed
becomes accumulated waste
forms the goo
the crust upon the eyes
that blinds you
close-down
in whispers
through the dark
good night
dark is a word
what is dark
blind-mice
mice is a four letter word
what is light
light is five
and
five is a four-letter word
boom - boom
dreams
jump over the moon
My battery
is running low
My
electric mind goes pop pop pop
Bring my
headphones
Night
vision goggles
Dance
across the top deck of this bus
Get naked
now with Oliver Twist
Got the
frozen blue-skin blues
Got a
valentine’s card in December
The memory
of you is dementia pleasure
The memory
of you is a black n white snapshot
Bring on
the dancing elephants
Bring on
Madam Exotic
Come out
with your deathly exploits
Let’s take
this acid bus into town
You know
what it’s for
You know
that it’s love
It’s a
valentine’s card in December
It’s a
must must must improve my bust
It’s the
birth of sanity
It’s the
poem of the century
It’s
ginseng ice-cream
It’s
marriage and babies
Happy
families
Men
dressed as ladies
All the
curtains come down
Take a bow
right now
Now you’re
dead
Now you’re
dead
Now you’re
dead
Bless your
low artistic heart
It’s a
grey sky above
And you’re
whisky raving
On the top
deck of this bus
Brecht is
on fire
And now
it’s a riot
On the top
deck of this shambling bus
Roll over
buddy boy
In your
bankrupt igloo
An immoral
being in an immortal zoo
Love is
dead there is no resurrection
Love is
dead there is no breathing heart
Just a bun
and a burger
No mayo or
sauce
Just baked
in mediocrity
In a
sponge full of corruption
Burn this
king’s bus to the ground
Burn this
king’s bus to the ground
Get
started all over again
New
sandcastles and starfish ice-cream
Watch the
bus melt
As our
dreams jump over the moon
- our old
bankrupt dream -
Our dream jumps over the moon
While some other nutter is burning the
cakes
at the hoose whaur tam did bide
my auld pal tam
three mile at least atween his place and
mine
easy by 44-bus in drunken time
and she, my love, off to jamaica
the why and what for unremembered
nothing between us was going right
children lost and blind to myself
the summer sky looked sad
eternal rain and heavy cloud
tam and me in boozy reverie
watched that movie called
‘the legend of the holy drinker’
a violent legacy of love and magic
for people without an address
a symphony for the homeless, the needy
and there was plenty to drink…
much later, dancing, in a garden pond
plump with goldfish
my heart glad of friends, the woman
knitting,
the thick seam on the back of her
stockings
brings in my mother from the 1960s
who would remember, who would know
the pain made softer by company
other people not being hell but gladness
solace and serenity and the blood all wine
and madness
a gentle self-destruction, in mourning for
her,
in mourning for the unborn
how those children slipped away
miscarried evening, stillborn morning
that was why she’d gone to jamaica
and that was why my heart was broken,
nothing was going right between us
and tam giving friendship to me
sharing a movie, his booze and his money
i wanted to jump in the clyde but didny ─
at the last moment clarinets and strings
did sing
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