Selected Poems
By David Milsom
Small talk The song of the salesman The screaming dribbler Cinderella of Southmead Canteen Words
Smalltalk2 The Presidents Fist Epistle to Paul Two Wheels Good Winter People DNA Meme Sprouts Kenneth
Tunnel White Collar Blue Collar Bogie Men A colleague Announcement Greenbelt Fire House bound Images of Life
People counting change and talking of ham
never look up
there’s nothing up there
only stars.
People running for buses
guarding borders
chasing paper
don’t want to know the scale of life
light-years are words and
Buzz Aldrin never counts his change.
1972
You have to dig the ditches
before you build the walls
You have to draw the plans
before you build the halls
and you have to learn to listen
before you hear the calls
and you don’t get nothin’ for free
You have to hear the rumours
before you hear the truth
You have to sell their futures
before you control youth
You have to believe in God
‘cause there isn’t any proof
and you don’t get nothin’ for free
Maybe it’s our history
Maybe it’s the light
Is it such a Mystery?
That we never get it right
You have to sell the birds
before you sell the trees
You have to sell the fishes
before you sell the seas
You have to train consumers
to get down on their knees
‘cause they won’t get nothing for free
You have to tell the truth
well maybe that’s a lie
You have to sell the air
before you sell the sky
and you have to keep on selling
until there’s nothing left to buy
and you don’t get nothin’ for free
Maybe its our nature
to suffer all this pain
Maybe there’s some purpose
to turn the wheel again
You have to have a budget
before you make a cut
You have to give up hope
before you’re in a rut
The east maybe starving
but in the west we have a glut
and they don’t get nothin’ for free
Relate to the product
see it in your hand
pinefresh harmony
and all at your command
Life will be so easy
Step into the light
post the coupon
Your future will be bright
You have to have a dream
before you can awake
You have to place your bet
before you win a stake
You have to empty garbage
cause there’s so much more
You gotta take
and you don’t get nothin’ for free
no you don’t get nothin’ for free
Maybe it’s our science
Maybe it’s the cars
Maybe the future
is written in the stars
There has to be disaster
before a change is made
We have to deal with failure
before we make the grade
First the fools must babble
before the wisemen trade
and you don’t get nothin’ for free
no you don’t get nothin’ for free
Maybe it’s evolution
Maybe it’s our gold
Maybe revolution
is waiting to unfold
He kept his art to himself
in a little book
He scribbled and dreamt
Of seeing his name bigger
than the title in lurid airport colours
Of crowding fans
keen for his mark
Of packed halls of acolytes
soaking in his wisdom
ready to realign normality with his words
Of calls from queens and presidents for help
Of evening in buffing his Nobel Prizes
Of Handing the booker back
Of desert Island Disks
Of sitting next to Stephen during the bio-pic of him
Of rescheduling the pope
Of having national holidays named after him
Trouble is he has left his book somewhere
So much depends on him finding it
1998
Cinderella of Southmead Canteen
Cast in sugar
silent grace
sad eyed starlet
fallen from childhood’s innocence
clearing tables
endless tables
platescraping monotony
mothers delight
shuffles in trainers
between the suited pigs
still being good
already a past
never a future
young arms in ritual motion
a trolley of dirty dishes
a ship of broken wishes
to sail the alleys
beauty bewitched by class’s
bitter potion
She vacant stares
seeing nothing
nothing to see
crush the petals
paint them polyester grey
a company conveyor
to take her soul away
and after years she becomes:
sullen as a seaside donkey
focused on the middle distance
floating in a wistful reverie
given up to trance, no resistance
‘peas or beans’ a monotone sigh
ladle poised
no light in her eye
Flick !
back to dream
another passes by
life has left her here
mouths in endless queues
touch them they’re so near
but only here for soups and stews
Younger men every year
come and go and leave
her here
her here
yes she was pretty
yes she was bright
but no one to pity
or notice her light
faded guttering out
now only dreams relieve the anguish
only musing salves the doubt
when hope is left to languish
Tommorow she’ll work on sweets
doling custard and meringues
somewhere in the distance
a heavy ladle clangs
‘peas or beans’
by a vocal thread
reality hangs.
25/11/88
When this pen stops
And I am no more
A pale memory
Yet uncovered now
With your eyes I breathe
Life in these symbols
Though fossils
Waiting to be set free
And in their liberation
I touch you
Whisper in your ear
Leave my mark
Carve in you bark
DBM was here
1988
We were sailing in the Banal sea
Talking of mortgages and starter motors
Fishing for a tasty bit of cod
Oblivious to the gossamer threads of stratos
In the azure wonder
And someone shouted
‘Man overboard’
And it was me
Drowning in trivia
1979
You can hear the guns
From a long way off
See the smoke
From a long way off
Taste the violence
From a long way off
Feel the heat
From a long way off
The war and the peace
are a long way off
Million dollar missiles
Addressed by technicians
Clean room killers
A long way off
From humanity
From sanity
A madman’s vanity
And they gave him a mirror
A cruising scalpel passes down the street
A presidents fist knowing more than me
Redefining the meaning of free
Allah save us and give us defeat
1991
With a cell phone pressed to his ear
And a Filofax under his thumb
With his wallet close to his heart
And a BMW under his bum
He plays and deals
and travels the motorways
with his personality
hanging in the back
No wife in his life
No, just too much to pack.
10/12/97
He dreamt of Kawasakis
of open roads and skies
of winter cares behind him
of a future free from ties
of looks of admiration
how they would gawp and stare
now he dreams of surviving
in intensive care
He dreamed of loves hand touching
a leather biker babe
all curves and smiles and freedom
a princess he could save
someone to share his passion
with eyes that really care
now he dreams of surviving
in intensive care
For he found her in a cafe
over coffee they talked of bikes
she rode an RD350
liquid cooled
finely tooled
they talked of hates and likes
of fairground Goldwings
of a Fireblade heaven
a heaven they could share
now he dreams of surviving
in intensive care
He dreamt of Kawasakis
of speed and wind and light
of his love behind him
clinging left and right
She’s fast with lots to spare
but she left him for a Lexus
kicked him in the solar plexus
left him in intensive care
1998
Winter people from the east
Who sell their souls
To feed the beast
With solid pride and etiquette
Immortals here for all they can get
Ivory hearts and glass eyes
That steady stare and smile lies
Gold card people from the south
With leased personas
And well plumbed mouths
Time managed automata
Neatly clipped
Hollow consumers ready shipped
Ebony hearts and crystal eyes
That steady stare and smile lies
Spreadsheet commuters from the smoke
Can breathe the filth
and never choke
dark suit execs
empire men
waiting ‘till we rule again
iron hearts and marble eyes
that steady stare
and smile lies
1992
In moving mist
the ticking hand decays
the thumbbeat
drumbeat
browbeat
nowbeat days
relentless churning
never stays
Spinning seasons
dooming mortal pride
Whilst within the gel of every cell
immortal travellers ride
Numbered curves paired in dance
emotionless acids shifting
in a sea of chance
While we a web of worry spin
mere vehicles for those within
quartz cannot be denied
save where immortal travellers ride
1988
The angry sprouts need frost
To break their spirits
Gossamer veils of whitefly
Shift before the allotmenteers honest boots
Nurtured shoots
Smelling spring
Smooth green pushing
From the toil tilled soil
Delicate lettuce
Delinquent strawberries
Sharing beds
Potting sheds
Shuttered sentry boxes
Scattered in the greenery
Pipe smoking
Slow moving
Soldiers of the bean trenches
Grow with their handiwork
And wait for brow mopping summer
And buzzing sun
Light feeding life feeding light
Pulling produce
Maris pipers, Aran pilots
Secrets burgeon underground
Earlys swelling, lates behind them
Solid spuds
Tubers firm and round
Thudding now they hit the barrow
Shortened days bring them to light
Gone the runner and the marrow
Only sprouts withstand winters night
1/12/88
Kenneth bought some time
from a friendly man
it came in little packets
labelled ‘Open me if you can’
Kenneth puzzled for a year
to get them all undone
but all they held was empty paper
with a ? on every one
Kenneth sought the friendly man
to question him his pointless task
but the man gave him a mirror
saying ‘he’s the one to ask’
Kenneth asked the friendly man
what does all this mean ?
the sage replied see where you are
not where you might have been
Kenneth stared into the glass
into an image clear
and saw sadness there
with just a hint of fear
The friendly man was waiting
when Kenneth asked him why
he smiled softly and looked up
saying ‘the answers in the sky’
So Kenneth lay and watched the clouds
painted by evening sun
and there he saw a message
and his life had just begun
Now Kenneth keeps good time
he keeps it in a box
and protects it from prying eyes
with hasps and bars and locks
One day he will sell it
and become a friendly man
wrapped in little packets
labelled ‘open me if you can’
1998
To die in a tunnel
When you might have been queen
Where tabloid weevils click at the scene
Pick at the glamour, the veneer and the sheen
To die in a tunnel
An empty black tunnel
When you might have been queen
To laugh at the camera
And make it your own
To lose count of causes
And flags you have flown
And now the mad mirror
Has taken flesh from the bone
Such a sad harvest,
A mad withered harvest
The flashguns have sown
To fight on the right side
Using your face
To win hearts and pockets
Earning your place
But your chair now is empty
Merely a space
Just leaving an image
An ethereal image
Of sadness and grace
To die in a tunnel
Your image burned white
To cut off your life
in the pit of the night
to make us all angry
‘this cannot be right’
to leave us all stunned
with a memorial fund
the dwarves have murdered Snow White.
1998
We’re offering BUPA
and the pension is free
All we ask is your soul
hear the clocking cards toll
Trapped in the harbour
no sign of the sea
Yours is the corner
next to the wall
Here’s your calendar and pen
I’ll send you some memos
about nothing at all
And when you’ve read them
you can read them again
See you each morning
remember your tie
coffee’s at ten and at three
Nothing much happens
but we learn to get by
Trapped in the harbour
no sign of the sea.
1988
On the tools
Spanner handed
Overall worker
Working with a whistle
to the whistle
Aiming for
Teabreak or
Lunch or
Home or
Holiday or
Retirement
A trade for life
Swarf and coolant
Machine driven
System soldier
Working to the rules
Hoping for
Ten minutes or
A sick note or
An easy number or
The lottery
but
you can’t get the parts
Buying one of those
is where the trouble starts
he’s done
A trade for life
1998
Infant growing
Wide eyed innocent
Learning fear in the dark
The bogie men are real
They killed Santa when you were seven
And celebrated Yuletide
With turkey genocide
Adolescent aching
To be in on the action
Satisfaction
Eluding
Girls are games others play
No one explained the rules
Run with wolves and fools
Young man chasing technology
And chances mist
List your possessions
Confessions
Come later
Comb watching
middle aged bogie men
selling insurance and planning
concrete futures
in the steam bath
laugh
at the losers
beggars and choosers
breakers and abusers
teachers and confusers
trying to be
honoured bourgeoisie
Old tired
Coldeyed dying
Shedding tears
And years
in the dark
alone
except for the bogie men
1972
"This is a colleague announcement, would the First Aider please come to the medical room".
So much fuss, she felt silly, she was a little out of breath, that was all.
A little out of breath.
Harry looked at her and tried not to convey his panic but you cannot be married for 40 years and hide.
" Don’t you be silly, I’ll be all right, just a little wind, Ohhh", Molly winced as a pang of mortality crossed her chest.
"This is a colleague announcement, would the First Aider please come to the medical room".
A hundred or so shopping trolleys paused for a moment and then went in search of the next item.
"someone will be here in a moment pet" Harry held Molly’s cold hand in the cold tiled medical room. She did not respond.
Meanwhile, Sally the First Aider was taking her chance in the stockroom with Eamon the Coldmeats Manager. The stockroom with the broken speaker. The passion had been piling up for months and now was her chance, she must have him. Eamon was not so sure, he worried for a while about his next appraisal, but casting his cares and blue stripped apron away he took her.
"This is a colleague announcement, would the First Aider please come immediately to the medical room".
The trolleys paused again and shoppers exchanged looks.
So this was it for Harry, to watch his wife, his life slip away, in a room with a poster about tooth decay, a bed, a sink and a chair.
Little does he know that another 40 years is beginning in the stockroom.
The stockroom with one small wire broken keeping the speaker silent.
Salad summer sepia fading
beneath a tree swing creaking
canopy boughs protective shading
a tear for the elm
wind giving breath
the tiled leaves are speaking
Beckoning up soft bark yields
pinnacle view lift me high
Savages wood across tossed fields
other elms topsails full
tacking to my cry
a tear for the elm
wooden fist
shaking in a threatened sky
Figures in the meadow moving
Hide handed farmers
with steady tread
pause to watch the fleet in motion
a tear to the elm
only leaves are shed
Permanent wood bear down safely
journey done and nightfall made
Sunset calling homeward
but to return to bask in shadow
when singing sun lays me
in your shade
A tear for the elm
no longer speaking
and the flags no longer fly
the ancient fleet now
has foundered
and who would think
they would ever sink
into the autumn sky
Blue light night
evening of disaster
flames that are turncoats
eating all you have
siren split serenity
life was so easy
tidy slipperman
in sudden desolation
hours in an instant
rest for a moment
and nature has revenge
1977
Before the luckless dust
can settle, she is
fussing with a duster
Throwing her life in the bin
but keeping the glass fish clean
Before tactless affection
can creep in,
she sweeps it away
to repeat tomorrow
what she didn’t do today
1997
He went to the mountains and took a camera.
He framed scenes of serene snowscapes,
of majestic and powerful peaks,
in razor clean light,
of broken toothed leather faced sherpas,
of verdant lowlands,
of basecamp sunrises,
and then he came home.
They lost his film and he realised
he had never been there at all.
10/12/97
Nigel bought a suit
cleaned his fingernails
shook hands
cured his dandruff
thought about insurance
ordered an ulcer
worried about the index
practised his telephone voice
lost at squash
and now has no days
only spaces
till tomorrow.
1978
In shadows
Behind doors
In sincere
Behind smiles
In crowds
Behind banners
In security
Behind wires
In toxicated
Behind bottles
In religion
Behind idols
In trouble
Behind bars
In politics
Behind masks
In work
Behind time
In shops
Behind counters
In roles
Behind lights
In arms
Behind sights
In shell holes
Behind flags
In credit
Behind payments
In power
Behind spies
In love
Behind sighs
In vain
Behind lies
In pain
Behind eyes
1987
Don’t play the fool my friend
There really is no need
For sanity is just a passing trend
When in the age of greed
Don’t answer straight is my advice
When lies are currency
Society a hill to climb
Politics a pantomime
Believe only equity
Learn to seminar and lunch my friend
Make your diagrams more vague
Never be precise my friend
And treat compassion like the plague
And one day you will see reward
A box with wheels
A box of bricks
A box of wood
All empty
1998
Pencils lie
but lasers tell the truth
Symbol clarity
Declaring integrity
Reliable ideas
from a cleaner tooth
Believe me
the pencil sighs
print me
and I’ll sell you lies
1990