Tag: 1987

Your garden on the corner
sits and waits to alure
to lead astray
innocent passers by.
You cannot live the scents
you won’t survive without the roses
the blossoms around you.
They must smother you
and others
are drawn in through the
red bushes and the yellow bushes
scattered in your Heaven.
Flowers surveying the wind
and sending out “love” and “peace”
and “be what you want”
“who you are.”
Like alcohol it works everytime.
For why not? Led in drawn into your garden.
Deeper and further on the grass
through the stalks
fresh the smell of Vermouth
in my mouth and my mind.
Hitting and tickling
“Come on! Come further! Come in!” said the spider…
I believe in me
and all I do
I have confidence
these beautiful flowers all around me
tell of cool things and nice tunes
and wonderful things like those…
then I draw I too am led astray
one more sip and I’ll be away
but am stopped.
Your garden triumphs once again
on the corner
down the road and full of pretty flowers.

Blind I am, and
Deaf I am, and
Dumb though I trip go
The smells get over,
No odour more spelling
Than that rumaging
In your empty stomache.
The boy you never knew
Rushes past and pushes
Foreign jellied smells
Upon your memory
You never knew,
But now you do
And you never shall forget
The beauty. The want.
Day alleys down wander
Stunned and stenches
Made niceties by powder
Muffling the horrid odour
And weaning it to your
Tase. How nice it is,
Frozen ices.

THERE IS A BUSH THAT BURNS,
THERE IS A FIELD THAT NEVER LEARNS,
AND TAKES IN CHILDREN SUNDAYS
JUST FOR GAMES AND INNOCENT PLAYS.
LITTER PIECES LIE ABUSED AROUND
THE DIRT EDGES OF THE HOVEL.
DUST FILLED PACKETS CRUMPLE
AND COWER AROUND MY HEAP.
MY SECRET EXPECTATIONS I KEEP.
THE DECAYING BRANCH ARRIVES.
HOT, STINKING ASH STAINS THE AIR.
GREY, NO HEART, NO FACE OR HAIR.
FLOG MY FLESH, FLOG ME CHEAP,
THE DANGEROUS PLEASURE IN BEING
WANTED, THE NEED BE LUSTED.
FLOG ME BLIND, STRAIN MY LIMBS,
AND GRIEVES.
I HAVE NO MORE WANT OF LEAVE.
I CAN NO MORE BE INNOCENT
THAN TO BE DEAD.

2 nights running
the bird with the cobalt blue
beak and neck which this family
had acquired as new
sat in the north-west corner
of whichever room we chose
to inhabit, so it couldn’t run
or escape to its fatal foes.

but the bird who couldn’t run
as long as it was sat
in a northern westerly corner
looked grim, sad and flat.

I loved the thing so unknown
that I shouted at my world
and upon the first acceptable thing
I loved, myself I hurled…
“I love you, don’t go”
but it was cruelty
and only the blindness of charity
is too stuborn to see.

so I put it in a Southern corner
to see if it could fly.
the following morning I cried
to see the bird curl up and die.

A selection of East Indian overtones.
East India was published in 1987 by Scott Hill.
Copyright S.C Hill 1987, Patent S.C Hill 1991