This sparkling wine is all but empty
Too late for trains and no taxis
I know the feeling
Seems all too contrived
There was no master plan but the fact is:
you must stay with me and learn the secret language of birds
A tentative dawn about to be breaking
on a Rousseau garden with monkeys in hiding
The truth of the matter, yet to be spoken
in words on which everything, everything's riding
Now stay with me and learn the secret language of birds
Circled by swallows
in a world for the weary
Courted by warblers; wicked and eloquent trilling
Lie in the stillness, window cracked open
Extended moments, hours for the taking
Careless hair on the pillow, a bold brushstroke
Painted verse with a chorus in waiting
Stay with me and learn the secret language of birds
The Little Flower Girl
Down at the church the flower girl sits Legs innocent, apart
I make the picture puzzle fit to start your heart
Painted sister stopped beside A word upon her saintly lip
Perhaps admonishing the child inside the open slip
I don't know where she might go when she runs home at night
It's for the best: I wouldn't rest when I turned out the light
No little flower girl singing in my troubled dream -
just an old man's model in a pose from a magazine
I have touched that face a dozen times before And I have let my pencil run
Laid down washes on a foreign shore, under a hot and foreign sun
My best sable brushes drift the soft inside of her arm
Her chin I tilt, her breasts I lift I mean no harm
I close the door She is no more until the next appointed hour
Northeastern light push back the night: painted promises in store
No little flower girl singing in my troubled dream -
just an old man's model in a pose from a magazine
Down at the church my flower girl sits Legs innocent, apart
I make the picture puzzle fit to start your heart
My golden sable brushes drift the soft inside of her arm
Her chin I tilt, her breasts I lift I mean no harm
I mean no harm
Montserrat
Fires on the mountain, and the dogs bark
Crash of the ocean swelling; crickets in the dark
The temperature is rising
The village gets no sleep
It's hardly surprising, given the hot company they keep
Somebody's home in the ash-fall margins;
Somebody's life in the lost and found
Breaking news from the hotel Vue Pointe
Sinking feeling, sink another beer down
Hey, Jimmy What you doing here?
Looking up at the high cloud cover, so far and yet so near
Flying in with the chopper Lieutenant of the crown
Tell the boys from that CNN, the good cops have come to town
Angry island, no-one's listening Shamrock villa, green to grey
Down in the swamp, iguanas glistening
Toast tomorrow, if not, today
Hey, Jimmy What you doing here?
You a scientist? You a newsman? Or simply come to feel the fear?
The temperature is rising And we're in too deep
There really is no point in disguising the hot company we keep
Postcard Day
My eyes are white circles above cheekbones on fire:
pale hand gripping my pen
Rounding up to the zero, adding infinite fractions,
letting nine become ten
Two pink doves strut the shingles
picking crumbs from the breakfast I saved
for you dear And I wish you were here
on this postcard day
Focus on the fine indeterminate line
where the sky meets the sea
Desperate midweek words, banal and absurd
freely flow out of me
Well, I may be a hostage to summer
but I'm a hostage, not a slave
And I'm clear that I wish you were here
on this postcard day
Precious cargo of flotsam; mixed memories on an ocean tide
swim madly with spice from the orient
on a mystery watery carpet ride
But with the sun going down, the wind goes around;
blows them back out of mind
My eyes are white circles staring down past the point
of my restless pen
While the ghosts of my youth all sworn to the truth
call my name again
Two brown legs don't make a summer
But two brown arms couldn't keep me away
Well, my dear, I wish you were here
on this postcard day
The Water Carrier
Crystal fountain springing from the hill
It irrigates your soul
You may drink your fill
Water of life, carried high
One hand upon the gallon jar Feel her fix my eye
Every good traveller's for the taking
All good money for the making
Seller's market: wet appeal
Water carrier -- let's make the deal
Covered face and black pool eyes
Between us, no words spoken: no words to the wise
Here's to another time and a drink somewhere
Plush on a Nain carpet; on a cafe chair
Set-Aside
Hard black crows bobbing where once ran deep furrows
Frazzled oak silhouetted in her ivy dress
Winter sun catches dog fox through thin hedges:
throws his long shadow north to the emptiness
Farmhouse in tatters; shuttered and battered
Even lovers don't go there these last few years
Spider-web windows on set-aside heroes
standing lost in a landscape of tears
A Better Moon
I see you better now, shaded in deeper blue
Hardly needing to carry the find-your-way lamp
down to the river
Tonight flies a better moon
Sad water buffalo lie fast near the shallows;
a splash revealing the fly-catching fishes
Dark Gods silently watching
Tonight flies a better moon
I guess you've known lovers here, compliant in passion;
softly laid in the old reed bed, harshly
lit in the noon sun
Tonight flies a better moon
Now cloaked in this milky light, new as the virgin dawn,
shrouded sweetly in all kinds of mystery,
you turn, smile and then are gone
Tonight flies a better moon
Sanctuary
Dear uncle sold her into the purest kind of slavery
Hood-eyed little middlemen profited from damaged goods
along the way
Good angels brought her back to a last Nepal summer
Debased, hollow-faced, a smile might become her
Now she's cosied up, cosied up and comforted
in the warm flush of September
Gone before winter
Wondering as to might-have-beens
Somebody's daughter in sanctuary, waiting
Seen through softer cage of kindness, far and further still away,
from time-warp Victorian zoos
where staring ice cream gameboys play
Big paws, worn claws and swishing tails
More damaged goods in the market sales
Too proud for anger, too late for hate: resigned in dignity
Gone before winter
Purring might-have-beens
Somebody's kitten in sanctuary, waiting
Somebody near you in sanctuary, waiting
The Jasmine Corridor
In all my lives, I never knew anyone like you before
Woke up one day, swore I heard the sound of heaven knocking on my door
And after all these years long passing,
time to reflect, no time for wasting
Walking down the jasmine corridor
Reflecting echoes of quiet laughter
In all my life, I was never better served than I was served by you
And in my way, hope you agree I tried to serve you too
Out on the headland I stepped once unsteady
You there to catch me , I breathe more freely
Hand in mine down the jasmine corridor
Through all my life, I chased flitting illusions at a faster pace
Never stopped to think: the moment was for seizing, had myself to face
You made my bed to lie in, stately
Mad cats, grandchildren, here more often lately
The final view from the jasmine corridor
Reflecting echoes of quiet laughter
The Habanero Reel
Cool in the corner, tom cat sitting
on the edge of the yard; sand-flies flitting
Orange order on a field of green
Smothers me to smithereens
Rum and cola, ice cubes crashing
Jumping beans and brown eyes flashing
Long hair swinging, tell me how d'you feel?
Well, hot and fancy, it's the habanero reel
Troubled skin? Pour oil upon it
She's fit to burn in her new Scotch Bonnet
Spice up anybody's stew
Frogs and goats and chickens too
Rum and cola, ice cubes crashing
Jumping beans and brown eyes flashing
Long hair swinging, tell me how d'you feel?
Well, hot and fancy, it's the habanero reel
Barefoot in the sunshine
Kicking empty beer cans down on the high tide line
Big wave nearly float your dress away
And I'm thinking that it's just another day:
just another day
Rum and cola, ice cubes crashing
Jumping beans and brown eyes flashing
Long hair swinging, tell me how d'you feel?
Well, hot and fancy, it's the habanero reel
Feel that hot rush start its tickle
Sweat is rising, taste buds prickle
with ears of bat and eye of eagle
It's just as well it's strictly legal
Rum and cola, ice cubes crashing
Jumping beans and brown eyes flashing
Long hair swinging, tell me how d'you feel?
Well, hot and fancy, it's the habanero reel
Panama Freighter
Night close in on a shanty town
Panama freighter wearing rusty brown
She sails tomorrow and she's homeward bound
Head up on a lumpy sea
On a lumpy sea
I'm not the only lonely planet rider
in this one horse town, I'm thinking
And I won't over-rate or patronize you
I know we're as different as chalk and cheese;
as black hole winters and salad days
and I wouldn't like your mother much anyway
But it's not her I'm taking home with me
Don't intend to dress you in silver threads
like some trophy in sublime seclusion
Won't try to educate or civilize you
Night close in on a shanty town
Panama freighter wearing rusty brown
She sails tomorrow and she's homeward bound
and you're bound to come home with me
On the Panama freighter with me
The Secret Language Of Birds, Part II
No buzz words, fuzzy fudge words,
so freeze those goalposts, don't take the Admiral on board
This Hardy's not for kissing…
Expression, no explosion,
or whispered promises in cliche or in rhyme
Instead let's talk the secret language of birds
Right time but the wrong idea
Well, you're making it all sound just the same
Try taking it up a key like that Nightingale
still over there in Berkeley Square
Do we have problems of communication?
There's something I don't know and you can't explain it to me
Let's talk the secret language of birds
Step out of the circus now
Learn a new trick and make it stick
Try taking it up a key like that Nightingale
still over there in Berkeley Square
Finger tracing on misty window:
I'm reading loud and clear this salacious semaphore,
as you leave me standing at the station
Give it to me - the big dawn chorus:
no whispered promises in cliche or in rhyme
Let's talk the secret language of birds
Right time but the wrong idea
Well, you're making it all sound just the same
Try taking it up a key like that Nightingale
still over there in Berkeley Square
Boris Dancing (Instrumental)
Circular Breathing
Pick up my wings and fly
into a Constable sky
Look down on the world and try
to make you out on the distant ground
Lonely toy in a lost toy-town
Suspended in spiral sounds -
Sounds of circular breathing
I'm a kite on a silver thread
Daring lightning to strike me dead
Harsh echoes of things you said
banished me to a thinner space
with unholy ghosts of your bedroom face
Hands cupped to my ears to place
the sound of circular breathing
Matchbox cityscape below -
I watch Lowry matchstick figures go
Caught in the timeless flow of discreet silence