Rg Gregory

when the dog began to sing
the people ran amok
a man shinned up a flagpole
...

the children played games
getting from here
to where the truth was
...

i want to hold the horse's string
cried the girl (three) stamping her foot
told by adults she was much too young
...

do you think an old heart can't sing
do you think an old heart can't dance
with a love that belongs to spring -
...

we say blame the teachers
don't we send our young to school
to be taught the simple rules
...

(from a painting by hugo simberg)

those who bear the wounded angel
are they honoured or destroyed
far beyond their comprehension
...

i want to hold the horse's string
cried the girl (three) stamping her foot
told by adults she was much too young
the black horse stood staring at the wall

it worries us you may get hurt
the adults whispered - meaning to offer
comfort to the little madam (not convinced)
the black horse stood staring at the wall

i'm stronger than any old black horse
the child shouted parading round the ring
thinking she was the star turn at the circus
the black horse stood staring at the wall

well i suppose.....take care ....ok
the adults muttered full of apprehension
the girl (three) poised - flexing her muscles
the black horse stood staring at the wall

now take the lead and grip it tight
they sighed fluttering hands like pigeons
she scoffed at the soft instructions
the black horse stood staring at the wall

it's easy-peasy lemon-cheesy
she triumphed (but doing as they asked)
the adults tried to swallow their fear
the black horse stood staring at the wall

so off to the man in the moon
the girl (three) laughed jerking the lead
swelling to the size of a goddess
the black horse reared like pegasus's colt

don't wait for me - i could be ages
the girl (three) sang to the shrinking adults
as the black horse leapt above the wall
the flowering cherries and the church spire

when i'm a grown-up - then i'll come
was the last the adults heard as the horse
and the girl (three) changed into pinpoints
and the world collapsed to its dull old self
...

yesterday the man was pleased
the sun sat in the tree and all
upon the land held to the harmony
...

snow is a thousand flowers
the chinese probably said
hundreds and thousands this morning
...

the great thing about the tall white daisy
is that it knows how to laugh at itself

some flowers for all their rich displays
won't preen themselves without a primness

in their sap - nor let their stalks abide
bending this way that way in the thick wind

the large daisy is happy to be slapdash
is not snooty about the company it keeps

it does have a flair for being noticed
it's the way it lets its petals out (ragged

and not wanting everyone the same)
that appeals to nervous garden sufferers

(weary with pretending flowers per se are
god's gift to the dull earth and somehow

the human race is privileged to be there)
the daisy knows everything there is to know

about not taking yourself too seriously - about
relaxation and how to be naturally yogic

how to be part of the rough common stock
yet have a whiff of the immortal about you

a patch of such daisies growing artlessly
contains the dreams of all good health
...

schnyder schnyder
the bouncing spider
had a song
wound up inside her

she'd had it taped
on a silken spool
this was the song
she sang as a rule

o little fly
come be my friend
i have fly's gold
for you to spend

i'll wrap you in silks
to make you pretty
if you refuse
then more's the pity

the silk-voice warbled
through the wood
the best bird-song
didn't seem so good

but no flies came
they were too fly
looking through the song
to the web's black eye

o schnyder schnyder
the bouncing spider
who had a song
wound up inside her

passed through hunger
to the edge of death
the wood stopped growing
and held its breath

one day the silken
web was still
and curious flies
came to find how ill

the spider was â€" but
becoming too daring
many got stuck
in the silken snaring

but schnyder schnyder
the bouncing spider
who had a song
wound up inside her

presented thus
with a feast of flies
cried weakly in anger
i despise i despise

such dull victims
that have no ear
for the silken song
i keep in here

but when in silence
this web is wrapped
stupid and nosey
they all get trapped

and the web grew slack
in the dying wood
the poor flies wriggled
but it did no good

and schnyder schnyder
the bouncing spider
who had a song
wrapped up inside her

spun into herself
to disappear
he was lost to the world
for many a year

but whether she meant it
or it was a fearful tangle
she came out one night
in the african jungle

she was in a tree
quite close to the sun
in the topmost branch
her web was spun

its silken strands
in the sun's gold rays
dazzled her neighbours
into fulsome praise

and soon the jungle
was wrapt in a sound
(as the bouncing spider's
song unwound)

whose piercing beauty
brought dew to the eyes
of every creature
but the jungle flies

no one could tell
what the song might mean
the song and the web
made so rare a screen

and schnyder schnyder
the bouncing spider
who had a song
wound up inside her

wove her sad magic
both day and night
the moon and the sun
never shone so bright

and after the rains
had moistened the jungle
it wore the spider
like a jewelled bangle

the jungle flies though
soon went mad
unable to hear
a song so sad

they buzzed and bashed
uncontrollably
every tree bore signs
of their mortality

it couldn't be guessed
on what the spider fed
no victim was lured
into the sparkling web

yet schnyder schnyder
the bouncing spider
who had a song
wound up inside her

never stopped singing
and the jungle grows
to this very day
in the song's sad throes

but don't go looking
for the bouncing spider
who has a song
wound up inside her

what you can't see
you can always dream
what's song to one
is another's scream

and each one is born
with a touch of fly
that can't tell beauty
from a spit in the eye

and schnyder schnyder
the bouncing spider
who has a song
wound up inside her

with intolerable sheen
puts the price too high
love me or fear me
be enchanted or die
...

i'm going to give up loving you
i'm going to hate you instead
living's so difficult difficult baby
...

when the old man said
i know everything
the young girl replied
...

(to where the ashes of both
my parents are strewn)
...

when the dog began to sing
the people ran amok
a man shinned up a flagpole
a woman chewed her sock

children danced the drainpipe
a policeman robbed a bank
the mayor and all the councillors
fired doughnuts from a tank

the queen embraced the dustman
the clergy showed their knees
librarians in their thousands
begged mercy from the trees

the dog sang in the market
it didn't understand
the panic and predicament
it'd loosed upon the land

its head had always been
a lot where songs were parking
but when it tried to sing
the noise came out like barking

maybe this time the air
crystal-clear since rain
stripped raucousness to leave
such a melodious strain

none could bear the sweet
enchantment of their ears
dogs sing - then pigs could vote
such an avalanche of fears

they called the army in
to ring the singing dog
with cannon mortar small-arms
they shot it dead as a log

but when the log stood up
and sang a christmas song
the people fought themselves
over what was right and wrong

so harsh and hoarse they came
(to beasts within their hearking)
when they joined in the song
the noise came out like barking
...

peaches exude this thrall -
reminders of those luscious
whereabouts that lips
best find their precious sips
to cry let this be all

they lull so well endowed
with dreams of wanting flesh
who can resist their touch
not they who wishing much
sigh o you do me proud

and yield in fruitful dreams
to the nectars of delight
that peaches bosom forth
(no better biter's worth)
or so the vision seems

till age sends suckers out
to tease such juice away
and longing's hardened crust
admits a fraying trust
that o the joy's run out

believe that if you will â€"
till death the sweetened flow
haunts lips the peaches kissed
embalms taste-buds so blessed
no timelessness can kill

where peaches nestle - hopes
cannot be pensioned off
they cluster down the ages
drop softened onto pages
libido fondly gropes

so peach (of all) impeaches
yearnings that lose their lustre
yet stir goodbyes to house
remnants of lust's carouse
(glow of the heart's far reaches)
...

for all my country poses
my cells belong to a town
grass is symbol-deep in me
but brick dips deeper down

mountains knock me sideways
a moor chills my bones
a field of wheat exults me
i'm awed by ancient stones

but lines of dowdy shop-fronts
mean unpolished streets
sever the green man in me
coddle my heart's retreats

my marrow's grey as asphalt
my brain's a shirley tram
the royal pier dreams fish for me
what southampton was - i am

i'm an ecological liar
a trickster with mother earth
dreaming grass may ravel me -
bricks nourish my birth
...

when the body of a woman dissolves
within are the three feared faces

the man who dares to trace them comes
to grief - but nothing personal is meant

waves and particles transvest - vulva
breast and womb are sexless doors

beyond whose suck a sensual light
swings life round its little finger
...

martin's death
has made me scared
of the old bat
that clings to the eaves
waiting to enter the house
...

loneliness is a state
the lonely cannot reach

it carries a grandeur
that doesn't fit into

bed-sitters or rejected
ideas - it's the label stuck

on the bottle after
the tables have gone
...