An Orchestrated Madness

An Orchestrated Madness

1. Air
The dent in the day was a dent in his car,
Wing winged by a winner - tra la la
Road rage roared in the bypass wind:
Driver, brave driver; driven, he sinned.

Punctured tyre for a pungent liar -
Never tires, this automotive trier.
Day to dented day, ticking over and over,
Day to lucky day in his four-wheeled Rover.

He parks in his bed and he lies in it.
He barks in his bed and he cries spit -
On the hard shoulder, broken down and a plea -
Ringing for rescue by the RAC.

Spinning on a sixpence with the juggernaut roar.
Spinning and a spinning: ?'I implore!
Do not cut me adrift when I'm outside my car.
They will squash me to jelly!' Ha ha ha!

?'Driver driver, burning oil,
In the rush hour, over-boil.'
Spinning, the driver is buckled and bent,
He lies in the ditch, now a bad accident.

?'Leave him be! Oh leave him be.
Give him some room and some dignity.
Clean air for his lungs, not this filthy stuff,
Come on, let him breathe, till he's had enough.'

2. Earth
On this close night,
Still as death, silent as dark,
I linger like a slow breath,
Warm as pleasure or a yawn, but soft -
And wait for dawn.
Watching the cat sneak past me,
Wary by me,
Leaving a wake of shifting air
Only I can see,
I hum a morbid tune to neutered Tom.
No one else dare see me as I stare,
Subtle as mischief, dangerous as death,
From the dark cast by an orange lamp.
Look left: nothing: not a soul.
Then right: quiet as the mist.
And amused I ponder, what foolhardy folk
Would cross my patch
When I am in my bad mood.
Still, though, and warm - close, as it is,
I dislike the sticky film on my skin.
I feel filthy: soiled.
Last time - last summer - before the last storm -
Late - it was very late - maybe four -
Someone came.
There were heavy metal footsteps
Upon the paving stones:
Above me: clack clack. Clack clack!
I moved back into my dark.
I held my breath and felt my heart thudding -
But ?'Clack, clack!' they went,
Louder and louder, in time with my beat.
I stared in terror but dared to peer
Through the dark as it came nearer
Into the orange glare - and there! There!
There's nothing there. It did not matter
It does not matter.
But I like to linger - a loathsome thing -
Though only in the stillest of the late nights,
Mindful of the sinners -
Vanished by dawn.

3. Fire
Force of fiction
Fear of fact
Subjective depiction
Or report exact…

On a hot, wet, sunny evening in winter,
Llanelli soldier, Daniel Aphrodisiac,

Stated that he may well be missing in action
After his last attack, in Serb-held Albania,

Near Pontefract, in fact, later last month.
But he offered little hope of being certain

As to his whereabouts
Just before Christmas, nineteen seventy-four.

?'It is tragic,' he added, ?'that it has to end this way.
The lad was very popular - he will be sorely missed.'

Later this year, Aphrodisiac hopes to regain his post
In the Main Battletank Division

Of the Chinese Liberating Army of People - ?'CLAP'.
When asked why, he replied,

?'There's no point to accurate living -
It's just an orchestrated madness.'

Well, this reporter for one still believes
That black is black and might is right -

And I give my consent to the people's fight
For truly I have seen the fire light!

4. Water
a dismal dawn struggles to light the resting town
growing in shades unnoticed as growth is
the orange glaring light practically shielding fear of the night
overlaps these strange few hours
when daylight creeps and darkness glowers
and I lie face-up safe in the knowledge
that my day will come
merely observing listening to cars
smash through the fragile consensus of silence
and how I envy the early risers
the workers rested and ready
travellers determined with direction and purpose
sleepers all slept out

dare I walk to town just now
down the hill then left then right
just to see how it begins
dawn after dawn year after year
an organic lifetime routine
unifying humanity

Or an orchestrated madness:

The loony wolf howling across her wilderness;
The poor man taking too much sun
And scurrying into his cave
When his inspiration vanishes.

I hide in dreams, like anyone.
Dreams of pleasure and of fear -
It comforts me to hide in sleep
Where no one else can be so near.

The child in me then dreams:

?'I dream of T.V.
And things I've seen
And books I've nearly read.
It seems to me from dreams I've dreamed
And ones still in my head,
That nothing is as fun as dreams -
I'll dream until I'm dead, dead, dead.'

5. The Blend
Mix it up
Give it a shake
Stir it up to speed
Voila! The original
Killer cocktail -
This is what you need.
Pour the smoking liquid into a glass marked ?'sane'.
Serve it with an umbrella
To keep out any pain.
Drink it down in one great gulp.
Feel it turn you inside-out
And mash you to a pulp.

Then wield the mighty club, my friend
Wield the mighty club
Strike out and shout in glorious voice
?'I have reached the hub!'
Then with your lofty plans in place
You can conquer the day
And as the red-mist clouds your eyes
You have found the way!
Be mad, thus glad for in this game
There is no place for sadness as you
Hear the conductor conduct the last bars
Of the orchestrated madness.