Writing the Cheque

WRITING THE CHEQUE

Loneliness is a biro pen and no paper.
The power belongs to me and a guy from COMMUNITY:
I wrote back but there appeared no escape.
I borrowed another drink. Anyway, he was marooned.
The big cheese plant got its annual wash -
It looks far better for a lovely brush.
It's ridiculous to speculate.
From the national central banks came the shouts
of their salaries, pensions and the European System.
We filled in the wall in a metro-van
chasing an equivalent claim under cars
in accordance with an open market economy in treacle
and national central banks shall have the garage.
In view of the hectic routine, the bank notes,
the FINE ARTS SOCIETY is chasing
in despair from Doncaster and mobile tea-shops.
We go to Byres Rd TESCO; children are playing.
We get hamburgers - an efficient allocation of food.
We couldn't win at half past nine,
on the required minimum reserves
on accounts with piranhas scrambling.
Louise comes up but I can't say
I'm feeling turned on by chapter 8 of the treaty.
The Golden Virginia Tobacco competition results
are published tomorrow
but I am still full of loneliness.
Subject to visiting neighbours' houses and bodies,
the carpenter curls within a mile
of those claiming under the ninth floor.
Let me introduce you.
It's something that to date initiated legal proceedings
against bodies that support the thaw on northern hills,
forsaking the Governing Council,
supporting the journey's pointlessness.
Visitors go to town on the council,
in the smooth conduct of a letter.
Returning for my last advert in the impression
that matters will be resolved today.
Ah well, in the morning perhaps.
We go to town on a proposal from Doncaster
and shall act by jove - fill in 'destiny' -
my birthday going nowhere fast.
The worst of money - a bounced cheque.

© Gerald England

Composed: Gee Cross, 17th October, 1992

Publications

1994 Radio Void (USA)
2006 Other Voices (Internet)

Fall

FALL

Six a.m.
The full early morning moon
lit my way to you
though the traffic was thick

Away the next morning
Four a.m.
The moon not yet risen
Beyond the city limits
the vehicles I shared
my twentyone miles of road with
numbered only seven
The last seven miles
I was completely alone
but for a cat that crossed my path
The leaves were fallen in the road
Brown windswirled leaves shone up in headlights,
crackled under tyres that trod on leafstrewn highways
The trees, shed now of clothes,
were naked in the dark,
exposed to the searching glare
of lights that shone
not with full intensity
through emotion-clouded glass,
yet clear enough to perceive
the new blossoming
that will occur come spring

© GERALD ENGLAND

Composed: Ackworth, 1st October 1972

Publications

1973 ENVIRONMENT (Thames Ditton, Ember Press)
1974 Hyacinths & Biscuits (USA)
1994 Radio Void (USA)

Scene 393

SCENE 393

Men
were gathering in the harvest.
Womenfolk
were washing the sweat
out of yesterday's clothes,
keeping a wary eye
on children
playing in odd corners
of the market place.
Dogs
of the villagesized town
were sniffing round the fountain
where a gendarme
sat
sleeping.
Flies hovered
around the dogshit.
A young girl,
soft blonde hair gleaming in the autumn sunlight
her white dress hemmed with dustgrey,
brought a donkey
to drink at the fountain.
Her cheeks were radiant
but blue eyes were hard
cool under the heat of the sun.
Even today
it isn't fun
for a Gascony peasant girl
stared at by tourists.

© GERALD ENGLAND.

Composed: Sheffield, 26th March 1971

Publications

1987 Dictionary of International Literature (USA)
1989 Centre for Hispanic Performing Arts Supplemento (USA)
1992 Bouillabaisse (USA)
1992 Radio Void (USA)
1992 STEALING KISSES (Hyde, New Hope International)
1997 The Bard's Library (Internet)