Fernanda / Corona
She was an Art Historian
From Costa Rica
And had never learned
To ride a bicycle
Now she was in Brussels
For her studies
Not for sprouts
I asked her if she was safe
But she never replied
'Wish we were high up
In the mountains'
I said
And closed my eyes
Thinking of
The Cerro de la Muerte
From the city of San Isidro
The mountain of death
The summit of death
Chuckling at the thought
And the irony
Of self -isolating there
Bristol, March 2020
For John Dorsey
At 8pm
From our nation’s doorsteps
From our nation’s windows
From our nation’s balconies
From our nation’s gardens
We were urged
To clap and applaud
Our National Health Service workers
I was caught unawares of this
While talking to my Uncle
About toilet rolls
I heard the sounds
Of pots and pans
Cheering and clapping
Staring out of the window
Seeing them all
Young, exuberant
All I could think of
was Howard Beale
From 'Network' saying:
'I'M AS MAD AS HELL
AND I'M NOT GOING
TO TAKE THIS ANYMORE!'
Bristol, March 2020
Can Historians Cook Gourmet Meals?
'Then he had to smile at himself. He was still a student at heart, a rebel against the powers that be. As a teacher, he was directly under the control of a government body and was often exasperated by ‘committee’ decisions, but he knew there were fair-minded men and women who really did care amongst the committee members, who fought hard to get the right decisions.
He’d heard many stories of individuals who had fought the government ban on free milk for kids, for instance. Of men and women, including teachers, who had all but lost thin: jobs because of their opposition.
No, it was no good becoming over-wrought with authority, for he knew too well that apathy existed on all levels. The gasman who neglected to fix a leaky pipe. The mechanic who failed to tighten a screw. The driver who drove at fifty miles an hour in the fog. The milkman who left one pint instead of two. It was a matter of degree.
Wasn’t that what Original Sin was supposed to be all about?
We’re all to blame. He fell asleep.’
- From ‘The Rats’ by James Herbert
A History teacher once wrote
That I had the makings
Of a great historian
All I needed now
Were the right ingredients
Years later
I piddle about with words
With the blinds drawn down
In a Georgian terrace
Not my own
While a virus is here
It’s death toll
Sloping upwards
Phlegmatic
Half-arsed
Laodicean
Oh yes
Trying to be so clever
Erudite
Sagacious
I ask myself
Can Historians
Cook gourmet meals?
Oh dear
I clearly misunderstood
The advice of my betters
Bristol, March 2020
KBO (lockdown blues)
Keep buggering on
Was Churchill’s ‘sage advice’
I’m told we’ve suffered much worse
Meanwhile
There are still cigarette butts
Outside the front door of my flat
A menstrual pad
Smeared with blood
Drifts around there
Like tumbleweed
In the Mojave Desert
And I’m buggered if
I’m going to do anything about it
Bristol, April 2020
April 8th (21 days of isolation)
‘The demonstrated truth is that to walk the same route again can mean to think the same thoughts again; thoughts can be, as it were, objects in a landscape that become visible through movement. In this way, walking is thinking’.
- Rebecca Solnit ‘Crossing the Line’
It’s a dark and eerie night
And I’m attempting to avoid
Any form of life
I imagine that perhaps
Around the corner
Of the ‘Coaches and Horses’ pub
I might see Delvaux’s
Female nudes
With their ghostly perfections
And If I walk far enough
To St Nicholas
Of Tolentino’s Church
I might actually see
Spilliaert
Alone
With his head
Filled with mists
Or
James Thomson
Wandering aimlessly
As he did
Street after street
After street
Instead I see
A tall black youth
Wearing a baseball cap
Glaring at me
And spitting on the pavement
Bristol, April 2020
April 9th (22 days of isolation)
My brother insisted
Via Alexander Graham Bell
To enjoy the sunshine
While there was still some left
I hadn’t seen him
Since the New Year
He told me
He was learning Latin
Properly so he
Could appreciate
Cicero more
Absorbing the discourses
Of Epictetus
Brushing up
On his Chess playing
He was always
More disciplined than me
Reluctantly
I walked outside
And strolled down
To the park
Wondering why
I hadn’t been there more often
Feeling nauseous
I heard a male’s voice
Saying
‘Fuck Boris!’
Curious who said it
I saw a young couple
Overlooking the balcony
Of their flat
‘What’s he done now?’
I said to them
‘Nothing at the moment’
They replied
They had been isolating
Two days longer than me
I wished them well
And told them to stay safe
Once I got back to my flat
I made damn sure
I locked the front door
I resumed reading a book
On British and Foreign Tram crashes
And accidents
Bristol, April 2020
COVID-19 Proudly presents: Fulci’s ‘Demonia’
Eleven minutes
Fifteen seconds
Into the film
The Mayor of Santa Rosalia
Bald, fat and wearing
Sunglasses
Clearly not a man
Of modest means
Wants to pay a small visit
To Professor Paul Evans
Of the University of Toronto
A noted Archaeologist
Surveying Ancient Greek ruins
In Sicily
The mayor
Has a persistent cough
And its disgusting
The way he covers his mouth
With his handkerchief
Only to use it again
To wipe the sweat
Off his shiny forehead
‘For Christ’s sake!’
I shout out loud
‘You must stay home!’
You may only leave your home
For very limited purposes only!
Haven’t you read
The prime minister’s letter!
I urge him to stay home and save lives
He should have thrown away
That handkerchief immediately!
I’m certain his hands aren’t clean
But the mayor’s not listening!
The Canadian professor
Asks for local collaborators
For the upcoming dig
But the mayor explains
That the locals don’t like foreigners
There’s this local saying
‘The past stays dead!’
The dead must rest in peace!
But the Professor insists
They are Archaeologists
Not Gravediggers
The fools!
A virus is here
To wipe us out!
Can’t they see the priest
And the doctor
‘In their long coats’
Running over the ruins!
Bristol, April 2020
Manchu 731
‘The very fact that the commandment says ‘Thou Shalt Not Kill’
Makes us aware and certain that we are descendants of an unbroken chain of generations of assassins for whom the love of killing was in their blood as it maybe is also in ours
- Sigmund Freud
5:08am
No time for fun and games
Or to say
Thank fuck its Friday
I’m clueless
As to what is really going on
Bring on the
COVID weekend festivities!
Yet I’m aware
That in the 14th century
One third of the population
Of my homeland
Died of what was called
The Black Death
A virus can be manmade also
Don’t you know?
Yes
Fast forward
Towards the end
Of World War II
The Japanese
Prepared experiments
On bacterial weapons
Perhaps you know
About the Manchu 731 Squadron?
Perhaps you know
Of a Mr. Kitano’s research?
Increasing the production
And number of bacteria
To use in their lust
For empire
These ‘men behind the sun’
To race towards victory
Gave birth to an insane virus
60 times more fatal
Than the Gavocciolo
Boccaccio bore witness to
According to their calculations
It had enough power
To wipe out all of us
Following there
Humiliating surrender
By June of ’46
Bubonic plague
Exploded in Ping Fang
From the shit
Left behind by 731
Within six years
Bacterial armoury
Made its stage entrance
On the killing fields of Korea
Now if you’ll excuse me
I’m going to pour myself
A glass of water
And try and get to sleep
Bristol, April 2020
Dancing Nude To Sanford Clark
‘Drink to a fool, a crazy fool’
‘The Fool’ Naomi Ford / Lee Hazelwood
‘Hecker was also fascinated by another mystery disease that was contemporaneous with the English Sweate: the dancing mania. The most celebrated case occurred in Strasbourg in the summer of 1518, when a woman started to dance in the street. Bystanders began to join in. Soon hundreds were dancing and wouldn’t-or couldn’t-stop. At the peak of the phenomenon, about 400 people were dancing. The authorities decided to let them carry on, in the hope they would exhaust themselves. They didn’t. Some danced themselves to death.’
‘A Short History of Disease’ Sean Martin
11:04pm
VIVA ROCKABILLY LOCKDOWN!
Attempts to mash potato
With the lights turned off
You never know
Who might be watching
Perhaps the ghosts
Are howling with laughter
But I can’t hear them
This music
Was not made for men
To stroke their beards to
But those yearning
For a modern romance
About cuties and honey’s
Spendthrift with their monies
There’s a chance of a kiss
If you can do the twist
The stroll and rock n rolling!
Bristol, April 2020
The Sneeze from John Cozen's House
As I walk down
Gloucester Lane
Towards the park
I’m starting to look
Like Poor Ben Gunn
With my unkempt beard
And faded brown shoes
My dear departed Grandfather
Used to wear
Is my voice
Hoarse or awkward
Like a rusty padlock?
I’m weary of metaphors
Each time I walk outside
All I can seem to hear are sneezes
I listen to one
I’m sure it’s coming
From John Cozen’s House
A few moments later
I’m sneezing also
As does a man
Not so far away from me
Are we washing
Our hands with soap
And water often?
Shit
I had no tissue or sleeve
To cover my mouth
And nose with when I sneezed!
I watch a mother playing games
With her young son
Beautiful
Enjoying the sunshine
He waves at me
From the distance
With his tiny right hand
I lower my head and sigh
Fighting back the welling tears
From behind my eyes
Bristol, April 2020
A Michael Henchard Sort of Mood
‘Why else keep a journal, if not, to examine your own filth?’
Anne Sexton ‘Letters to Dr.Y’ January 1st, 1962
I’d like to speak
To the mayor if I may?
I know he gets these gloomy fits
Where it seems
The whole wide world
Is black as hell
And I’d say to him
Michael you know
Funny thing is
Some never feel like that
He needs to read
Some Colin Wilson
Boy, that will cheer you up
‘Pray God I never will’
Michael!
Wow, Am I glad to see you!
Nice to see you
Wearing your studs
And gold chain
It’s a strange sort of place here, friend
Full of Christ knows what
Can’t you feel it Mr Mayor?
Its 3:46am
And I’m amongst
My books and notes
Plenty of filth
There for virgin eyes
‘Our disgraceful lives
Will be absolutely unopened Mark’
Wonderful Michael!
Let’s smile the best way
We can old fruit
I propose we meet
In three weeks
After this cursed lockdown
And let us meet at Weydon Fair
For some well-deserved furmety
With two Penn’orth of Rum in it
Perfect for two teetotallers!
Bristol, April 2020
Isolation Dream (For Anne Bean)
‘What is man
But his own dream?’
‘Three Songs for Surrealists’
Edward Lucie Smith
Life did return to normal
We were all
Exonerated of any blame
For past errors of judgment
And those ‘minor’ mistakes
That are so easily made
I must have been outside
Aldgate East tube station
A man was talking
To someone on his phone
Something must have
With a fierce and mighty twist
Pulled the skin away
From his ribcage
I could see the bones
But his tie was neatly knotted
‘A’ve seen woss’
Bristol, April 2020
You Always Puke Alone
‘Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.’
Ephesians 4:31-32
Prince Louis
In a Tu Check bodysuit
Which the papers tell us
Costs £12
Grinning up
At the camera
With his brightly painted palms
And fingers
Rainbow grease
Across his chops
Intended beacon of hope
To the dulcet tones
Of Captain Tom
And Michael Ball
If I was a PR gent
I’d released it as
Ghoulag and the Gravemakers
‘You Always Puke Alone’
Bristol, April 2020
May 4th (46 days of isolation)
All I can think about right now
Is the rocking chair
Of Katie Elder
And that
Dennis Hopper’s characters
Always died violently
In any film he made
With Henry Hathaway
All I can think about right now
Is Matthew Borczon
Removing 156 staples
From an Afghan detainee
And the laughter
Of a nearby marine
Standing guard
All I can think about right now
Is John D Robinson’s
Nose job
And his unimpressed
ENT Doctor
And the way
Clare’s cleavage
Mesmerized him
More than any Blackberry pie
Ever could
All I can think about right now
Is how a Monk
Named Gaufier
While praying
Saw the Ghosts
Of solemn Monks
Killed by Saracens
Wear white robes
With purple stoles
Led by a Bishop
With a crucifix in his hand
All I can think about right now
Is Malcolm Morley
Painting
‘Out Dark Spot’
How the paintbrush
Rendered a kitchen knife
Stabbing a fragment
Of a red Swastika armband
All I can think about right now
Is Mad Frankie Fraser
Attacking Eric Mason
With an axe
And Dave Courtney
Hitting someone
With a golf club
Unconvincingly
I’m told
While listening
To Vivaldi
In ‘Full English Breakfast’
All I can think about right now
Are two Joana’s
And how one of them
In 1652
Ordered by a vision
Gathered a procession
To control
The rain and storms
All I can think about right now
Is just about anything but this virus
Bristol, May 2020
Rednecks and Lions
Screams
Coming from the TV set
I ask my stepfather
What the fuss is all about
He explains to me
That a man is pulling
His own teeth out
He’s disinterested
Preoccupied
With whatever’s
On his iPhone
My mother
Want’s to see
A documentary
About Rednecks
And Lions
But it turns out
To be about
Big Cat breeding
Don’t you think
Rednecks
Is as derogatory
A term
As calling someone
An Uncle Tom or a Redskin?
I couldn’t be bothered
To ask this question
She’s painted
A watercolour
Of an angel
Cupping an acorn
In its hand
And I’m
Scratching
My testicles
Like a Simian
Unashamed
In some rundown Zoo
Meanwhile
In El Paso
5,073 miles away
Found out
Via a google search
Somebody warns
Our apathy
Will provide
The virus
An opportunity
To spread like wildfire
Mother falls asleep
Half way through
watching the wild cat film
I think to myself
Interest is everything
Before forgetting it all
And thinking of something else
Bristol, May 2020
Spring Hill
It’s staying mostly cloudy
In the West of the region
With clearer skies
Toward the East
In the far Southwest
There will be outbreaks
Of showery rain
In the early hours
But will remain
Dry elsewhere
And in other news
A bearded man
Was spotted
On Spring Hill
Earlier this afternoon
Quoted as saying
‘I haven’t spoken to Josh
Since I got out of jail
He’s a stuck-up little prick!’
And finally
Only 9% of us
Want things
To return to normal
Bristol, May 2020
Wesley Way
According to latest advice
From the
World Health Organization
Whenever feasible
We should consider cycling
Or walking
For essential journeys
Lawrence Ostlere said
It’s been rarely
More tempting
To get out on a bike
Wesley Way
Is a valuable
East Bristol
Cycling link
Connecting
Kingswood
St. George
And Redfield
Apparently
It’s one of the
‘Quieter routes’
But I overheard
Two Cyclists conversation
A loud din
Enough to erode
My brains ability
To listen selectively
And decode words
‘What about Ben?’
‘What about Ben!
He’s a fucking toe rag he is!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He robbed his own fucking mother!
And in recent years!
Yeah
A lot you don’t know about Ben
The cunt!’
Bristol, May 2020
Reaction To The Prime Minister's Lockdown Exit Plan
It was a chilly
Monday morning
Strong winds coming
From the North East
On Prince Street
Iron swing bridge
Across Bristol harbour
My spiral snail-shell
Overheard
A fat man’s
Reaction to
Our Prime Minsters
Lockdown exit plan
‘I decided to watch
James Bond
in Skyfall instead
Stuff Boris!’
Bristol, May 2020
Blood
Strolling past
The Haematology
And Oncology Centre
Where workers
Are nearby
Digging a trench
For reasons
Which remain unclear
An elderly lady
Wearing a face mask
Attempts to engage
In a conversation with me
I try to get
The hell away from her
Aware of the noisy drilling
Adding to the absurdity
Of the situation
‘I cannot hear you!’
I keep telling her
All she wanted to know
Was if I was
Going to have
My blood taken
No
I was going
For my daily walk
Trying to avoid people
She ogles me
With a toxic scorn
As if I rubbed one
Out in front of her
Or decided to drop
My trousers
Pulled down my boxers
And taken a big steaming shit
Bristol, May 2020
