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poetry by lou sid linesman - on life, love & politics
Monday, November 15, 2004
The Free Ranger
Don’t lead me through the forest tangle,
Lessoned in your blustery wake.
I must define my own sweet angle,
Cutting a tailored trail for my sake.
Have you nurtured instinct’s sense
To set a course for Truth’s pure source?
Or have you bought for paltry pence
Invalid maps, false-drawn by force?
Your charter up, I’d be astrand
Amid high wooded oceans of ignorance,
Never to tend the seeds sown on my land
With a freshwater draught of experience.
’Round ridge rock-sharp and dire wide marshy sink,
Must I finally reach where my ford meets the flow.
At the last lake’s still brink, I’ll drop and drink
And convey its clear cool - down a path I’ll alone know.
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2004. All Rights Reserved.
A
You were not A, but your false self, the glass I could not break
Without assuring self-destruction for blind hatred’s cowardly sake,
For in your contradiction hard glared my reflection not as A
And thus my anger at your scorn had in sweet tears to melt away.
You forced me A to recognise, you bared our lack of worth,
So I could take one first small step of knowledge on sure earth.
I won’t submit to sorrow for that failure to gain A,
Instead, I’ll thank you, mon Amour, ’til night draws closed my day.
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2004. All Rights Reserved.
The Sum of Terror
When Terror met Terror with Terror,
He made an Almighty great error!
For he was not prepared
To find Terror shit-scared!
And his sum became Terror times Terror!
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2004. All Rights Reserved.
The Messengers
They come from the alien lands of reality,
Smuggling a truth full of potent profundity,
Language so strange we cannot comprehend
The grave meaning of signals those lands try to send.
They come tumbling out cheap, off the back of a juggernaut,
Prey to a mirage of freedom, then caught
In a mined-out desert where life has no rooting,
The vulture’s economic dominion of looting.
Sub-contracted by our greed grown native,
Newcomers labour in enterprise furtive
To lift the gold paving the City of London
For shares in a dream they are bound to abandon.
With benefit’s unnatural sweet treacle they’re tarred,
When most would settle simply for fair crust earned hard.
Beware, as your doorstep you proudly do cross!
Don’t trip over welfare-addicted home dross!
We want to contaminate, with our sad disease,
Their emotional health, that now threatens our ease.
We dare not stand out, in sick souls’ mass-designed agony,
Lepers ensconced, fat, in our own sovereign colony.
Our insecure, slack, sluggish, realm can’t dismiss
Migrant side-effects of social-care’s anodyne kiss;
From frustration’s command-and-control fantasy we call
On recruits’ full foreign service in this burgeoning raw brothel.
Divorced from necessity’s hot drive for invention,
Our sperm (not committed to regeneration)
Laze, vacantly letting the gene-pool lie still,
But we can’t afford shrinking - we need new strong will!
Narcotics they bring to our market of weakness,
Piled high on the subsidized stalls of our idleness.
Craving an unreal price, others we mug,
So dependant are we on the cheap power drug.
Crudely addicted to oil-laden tits
Of the small lands, the weak lands, the lands ruled by shits,
This unsated unhappy babe cannot grow up,
Unless weaned onto good solid nutritious sup.
Reservoirs ripe from remote subjugation
Fuel frantic guilt, sapping mature motivation,
And warm up our corpses complacent in herds,
Exiled to the wastes of a winter without words.
The time-taxing weeds of pervasive repression
Have strangled fresh buds before blooming creation;
The real scents of beauty stay stifled in night,
Since undergrowth snuffed out the vital sun’s light.
Dragged into the sink-hole’s great down-swirl, just gasping
For energy, desperately other lives grasping,
We whip up the whirlpool’s inexorable lure,
Drawn nearer to drowning - in our self-centred sewer.
So distant the memory of reason’s cool breeze,
With nuclear oppression we now vainly squeeze
On humanity’s atom perchance it produce
Some almighty sensation - not vigour’s dark thick juice.
Coercion can master but one heavy tune,
Well-practised at home on dull ears grown immune,
But performed on a tour to set foreigners free,
Will transpose to a sharper, more radical key.
Lashed to our hostage with tapes made from fear
Of reprisal prescribed by one creed both hold dear,
We’re sponsoring the instruments of global molestation,
The only sure refund - state-policed self-deprivation.
Old Democracy’s meaning is gagged and abducted,
Identity stolen, by evil corrupted;
Disguised can the demon’s renamed seed of hatred
Be o’er the world’s wide face ejaculated.
When our towers won’t stand tall enough views to afford
Of the lands which our powers have under the sword,
Then revenge will fly out with the despotic call
That those towers of blindness should not stand at all.
Thus castrated, the rapist, his face in the dirt,
Can hear very clearly, though grievously hurt,
His victims’ short bloodthirsty immature thrill,
As they gloat at his anguish with whooping too shrill.
To annihilate preachers who drink at the source
Of despair, is to turn evil’s taps on full-force.
So don’t shoot the messenger until he has said,
"You’ve got the gun aimed at your own fucking head!"
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2004. All Rights Reserved.
The Interview
Perfected during schoolgirl afternoons,
Full-grown, from practice did she not depart.
Her kiss a cello improvising tunes,
A trust-test, an audition and an art!
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2004. All Rights Reserved.
The Escarpment (Three Poems)
The Escarpment
When I set out upon the course,
The false winds at my back full-force,
My upward climb was as a breeze;
The scarp-crest I did reach with ease.
The prize, gained by a path so lazy?
Views which proved unclear and hazy.
Home effaced down in The Vale,
No high-points marked the forward trail.
Descending from that pyrrhic hill,
I did not fly the flight of thrill;
The fickle gusts, now doubled round,
Were safety nets that damped my bound.
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2004. All Rights Reserved.
The Vale
Cloaked monotone in mistiness by muddied and unmotivated mind,
I strayed onto the comfort of the gently rolling mattress of The Vale.
No character nor monument was built there and so none did I there find,
Just stagnant pools and drowsy rivers weakly distributing pissy ale.
When every disused flooded pit of putrid old emotion I had plumbed
For depth, and there not one straight answer nor a stirring spring had ever found,
I faced, opaquely mirrored in the shallow pond wherein my quest succumbed,
A ghost that told my wordless future story lest I seek the higher ground.
Pursued by fear I charged the headwind, pushed into a strangely upright stance,
With urgent primal instincts calling to me from a neolithic age.
Directed now, I gasped to gain the grass-green hill-foot of my only chance
And, stumbling right across the ancient chalky fault-line, felt the storm assuage.
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2004. All Rights Reserved.
Return To The Escarpment
The slope was sharp, and though it showed no path,
Uphill I made a to and fro attack.
The cross-blast, keen and constant without wrath,
Would fight my wayward steps or pat my back.
At last I hit the ridge and turned to stride
The long-known way picked out by men before.
The whistling air from which I could not hide
Flowed free of all vegetation and higher than law.
The Beacon’s vantage swept the vista clear;
The Vale of Waste was death - but life would be
Pulsating undulations in career,
A range of links to the endless ultimate sea.
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2004. All Rights Reserved.
Topsy-Turvy Land
In this topsy-turvy land
We’re taught that uphill is a breeze.
Never could I understand
Why no descent should come with ease.
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2004. All Rights Reserved.
The Contract
My dream was to toil to carve my life,
But already it’s gone and been mass-produced.
I’m told I am guarded from every known strife -
If I miss an installment I’ll soon be traduced!
It’s more than my hoping could ever afford -
So you deem my hard sweating should benefit others.
But what if I don’t want your bed or your board?
Do I still have to sleep with you and keep your brothers?
Your meals are all bland and your house never functions
As home, just shelters a worked and tired head.
Your mattress so soft that good sex gains no sanctions -
The service is priced-up it has too be said!
The question is "How have you once really helped me?"
And "Have you yet served one good deed on mankind?"
The debt which I owe bears well-falsified an history,
The contract us binding never seen, sealed nor signed.
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2004. All Rights Reserved.
You
You were the rose of my intense imagination.
You wore the thorn that spiked the quick of my dulled conscience.
You unlocked the kiss which sucked me deep from in a coma.
You released the spring which shot me up with pure freedom.
You poured out the radiance till my heart was overflowing.
You unveiled the sunshine to the germs of my creation.
You unleashed the power that was my regeneration.
You feared the truth as I was cowering from reality
And You fled my love when I fell shy of sexuality.
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2004. All Rights Reserved.
Soft Collision
Frozen out cold, by deep-winter fear,
We shed all protection and dared to draw near.
You trusted the strength of your brotherly kin,
I tested the truth of my feelings within.
My pre-programmed smile strained to reach your cool eyes,
But I shyly tried covering my real surprise
At your natural round and responsive grin,
So prone to being taken in.
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2004. All Rights Reserved.
No Head for Heaven!
If your lady's too reticent getting a taste
Of your sleek silk-skin cream and sweetmeat core,
Reverse it till over her pretty pert face
And dangle an invite whilst preening her fur!
Her ripplings will gain a more scintillant strength,
As your mouth sucks in cram-full to tongue-up her swoon,
And her head, now between your spread knees at some length,
Should be searching for extra distraction quite soon!
Both relaxed and aroused, in a hot blissful haze,
Her small aching wrists can no massage more do,
And, forgetting herself, she might set you ablaze,
When tempted to casually lick round the end
of your glistening pulsehead of oncoming dew!
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2004. All Rights Reserved.
The Private Ringlet
Some girls have gold-rings on fingers and toes,
In the earlobes and through the occasional nose,
But how you did give me a smile of surprise -
A lip-ring to greet just your lovers' wide eyes!
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2004. All Rights Reserved.
Stand-Off
Must I stand upon the bank
And watch your lifetime soak away?
It makes my heart an empty sink
Which swallows love without a sigh.
To shirk what I would willingly do
May not amount to mortal sin,
But, when I would enjoy it so,
My guilt's sick self-inflicted pain.
I'll pour a dream drawn from my lake
To fill the promise of your pool.
This tense relationship is fake
Until our stagnant waters swirl.
My mouth is dried of nature's juice
And waits for soft replenishment.
It needs your open fertile sluice
To gush warm fresh-pressed nutriment.
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2004. All Rights Reserved.
Stray Feelings
A close satellite drifting far
Is how I find you usually are.
And even when you're stunningly near,
I do not have your sensitive ear.
You gave me an imagined chance
To break out from my tired trance.
But will we really ever make
The love we could not bear to take?
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2004. All Rights Reserved.
Reach Far, Reach Close
I'll now transmit the truth,
Via globalspeak worldwide,
In the hope that due reflection
Beams a signal to your home.
Good equipment can receive it,
Clever boxes will decode it,
Intuition then converts it
Into language of your own.
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2004. All Rights Reserved.
Be My Inspiration
Come into my foreign world,
By showing me the path through yours.
Fresh energies will then escape
To open those unhandled doors.
Discover virgin far terrain
Where visions lucidly combine.
Step inside that trusting space
Where two lives join in natural rhyme.
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2004. All Rights Reserved.
Let's Cross Tonight
By daylight our lips shared a lithe common tongue,
Till dark drew the blind for that kiss they did long.
Then fear stopped the mouth of expressional flow
From revealing emotions we fought not to show
And both wanted - yet refused to know!
That heart-sickening vacuum linked two of a kind,
Our terror redoubling of the twin empty find.
But void down inside has no form to disguise
So let's stride right across this wide main-street which lies
Between hard-to-love-hearts and their hate-softened minds.
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2004. All Rights Reserved.
