How to Mxit

I like to smile
and cuddle
and kiss
and

well, it was cold on Thursday.

The Buttons Of Your Mind

You’re not mine any more
as we take our last walk together
along the midnight shore
before we say goodbye forever.

Shall I call you love, use your name?
Shall I wear my sadness face or look the same?
I am careful to avoid the touch of your hand.
I must not be drawn into the bedroom of your eyes.

You could say you’d see me soon.
But you’re as silent as the moon.
You could say Let’s talk together,
but you think of other men.
I wonder if I ever knew
the more elusive inner you,
for the buttons of your mind
were difficult to find
and my fingers far too clumsy.

[Roger McGough? 1968?]

This was, I think, the b-side of The Scaffold's 1968 hit, "Lily the Pink" & is suitably dada for the time. 1968 was also the year of the Bonzos' "I'm the Urban Spaceman/ In the Canyons of your Mind" & the Beatles' "Happiness is a Warm Gun... Number 9". Also 1968 was the publication of Adrian Henri's "Tonight At Noon" poetry volume, which included a discussion on dada/surrealism & examples of 'poems without words'.

Men--Two Poems

Men

When I was young, I used to
Watch behind the curtains
As men walked up and down the street. Wino men, old men.
Young men sharp as mustard.
See them. Men are always
Going somewhere.
They knew I was there. Fifteen
Years old and starving for them.
Under my window, they would pause,
Their shoulders high like the
Breasts of a young girl,
Jacket tails slapping over
Those behinds,
Men.

One day they hold you in the
Palms of their hands, gentle, as if you
Were the last raw egg in the world. Then
They tighten up. Just a little. The
First squeeze is nice. A quick hug.
Soft into your defenselessness. A little
More. The hurt begins. Wrench out a
Smile that slides around the fear. When the
Air disappears,
Your mind pops, exploding fiercely, briefly,
Like the head of a kitchen match. Shattered.
It is your juice
That runs down their legs. Staining their shoes.
When the earth rights itself again,
And taste tries to return to the tongue,
Your body has slammed shut. Forever.
No keys exist.

Then the window draws full upon
Your mind. There, just beyond
The sway of curtains, men walk.
Knowing something.
Going someplace.
But this time, I will simply
Stand and watch.

Maybe.

[Maya Angelou]

Bloody men

Bloody men are like bloody buses
You wait for about a year
And as soon as one approaches your stop
Two or three others appear.

You look at them flashing their indicators,
Offering you a ride.
You're trying to read the destinations,
You haven't much time to decide.

If you make a mistake, there is no turning back.
Jump off, and you'll stand there and gaze
While the cars and the taxis and lorries go by
And the minutes, the hours, the days.

[Wendy Cope]

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