Hobo Magazine - Poetry Pages 1973 / 5 (Part 2)

Continuing from Part one, further contributions of poetry or connections to the local or regional poetry scene.
These have been transferred from the original Hobo Vox blog from 2006 / 7

SADNESS by Gina Grunskis
(Willenhall Wood - Coventry)

Piercing tears from cold grey eyes,
Falling gently, forming pools on
once dry ground.
Arch your body, cover your
feelings in pride.
Swell out your chest to show
your thumping heart,
looking round for a place
to hide,
to lie in a dark corner and
sob yourself to sleep.
To toss and turn out nightmares.
Wake up cold and shivering,
all alone.
Wonder how long this never ending
friendless night would last.
If only I could catch your sadness -
take away, dilute it in sugar'd water,
to form a floating reed on
a silent flowing river
going far away
Rippling happy water on
the pebbles of your broken heart.
..................................

Poems by Lyndie B.

This one appeared on the front cover of Hobo No 3 February 1974

The blinds are up

daylight hurts
The sun is cold
I've an empty cup
The trees are bare
Winter lives
The birds are dead
I see and care.
Lyndie B
.................

What is there without you?
The milk bottles on the rain washed step
A cat with fleas and kittens due
The same old alarm clock without a bell
and a bed that has grown too big.
Strawberry jam in the making
making an effort without you.
A new dress in crinkle brown paper
But there isn't a mirror without you.
What is there without you?
The same old tomorrow morning
with its middle in yesterday.
Homemade bread to be be kneaded.
I needed and now I'm without you.
Tussled hair blown in the wind
No need for brushing without you.
What is there without you.?
Lyndie B - 1974
...................

Four to a square
Three to a triangle
Too many to each person.
At least two
in an argument.
But One in a marriage.
A coin goes both ways
A sperm splits the egg.
Life has one end
Birth is the beginning
Life is the end
Death the resurrection.
Birds have fans
Dogs have tails,
Men have only stories.
Lyndie B - 1974

........................................................

At Peace in a Wood

I am ageless
My roots are in the earth
With the trees
And I too have grass
Between my toes.

I am nature
My mind is in harmony
With the trees
And I too have leaves
At my fingertips.

I am peace
My form moves with the wind
With the trees
And I too live on
For eternity.

I am strong
My death is not real
With the trees
And I too die at the sharp axe
Of society.

Lyndie - 1972.
..................................................

Poems by Dave 'Byron' Reid

Tell me once again Malcolm
About the magicians.
What spells are they into now?

David (Byron) Reid by Jackie Finch 1972

It’s true Malcolm
they never could teach me magic.
Yes Malcolm I was lost
way lost and all they were
doing was showing me the simplest spells
all they were doing was 

arsing about.and I was 

looking on with my sternest 

eyes what a laugh Malcolm, 

they were laughing tell me 

once again Malcolm 

how we arrived you and me
on the same day.
at this asylum reception desk.
you with your luggage full 

of magic and me 

empty handed?

David Reid (Known as Byron in Coventry) 1972
Published in Hobo No 2 Aug 1973

.............................................

My father Who I hadn't seen for donkey’s years And who hadn’t spoken to me for so much longer. Came to piss in a toilet where I was already pissing. We looked across the crashing water. I saw his red face ...his lovely tyrant eyes. I looked down and saw.. he held his prick Like I held mine. If only we'd known this Earlier! David Reid (Known as Byron in Coventry) 1972 ........................................................ If  I got Somehow Paralysed Would you stay With me? Don’t talk wet,   He said. He shook his head Why do you fuck evenings Up with asking Me such things? Me, who paid for your Cherry B! Who’s given you more than one ‘Players’   This night. He then pulled her close Gave her mouth a jawbreaker Band with his. She sprang away as if his lips Were drawing pins. I've got to know!  she screamed. The pub suddenly had faces. He went bright red. That night In lover’s lane He beat her up. He’d done it before And this time he spat ‘Paralysed’ as he clobbered. David Reid (Known as Byron in Coventry) 1972 ........................................ they tell me the pretty pop star is god almighty they believe it if you could hear them praise him you'd believe they believe it the pretty pop star says to the world I certainly don’t believe I’m god almighty I’m no angel says pretty pop star one eye on the mirror the other on his belief that he can make ‘em scream like no one can make ‘em scream no hero no a-bomb no acrobat no dracula can make ‘em scream like he can ugly fat sweaty man called manager pats his bottom and says ‘go make ‘em scream’ pretty pop star sayeth ‘ hey! I feel pretty good!’ leaps up to the mirror so his nose is against the glass and winks at himself ‘tomorrow, it’s a sauna bath for you,’ guffaws the manager signing something or other with gold plated biro ‘hey! I feel pretty good!’ says pretty pop star and well he might so many cute little eyes so many tingling little thighs are about to tell him he’s god almighty tremble and scream a massive wave of worship over his little body attempt to sink their souls into this pretty god almighty. David Reid (Known as Byron in Coventry) 1972 .......................

They
The baldheaded ugly men
In morbid suits
Blood red ties in
Colourless department of
Employment offices
Chat to me.
‘and why haven't you got a better working record?’ 

'Why you?'
And I bow my head
And weep 

I..... suffer.....from...... tired......tiredness.

and
In the streets by the January
sales shops 

filthy with bargain hunters
Christian hunters 

David (Byron) Reid by Jackie Finch 1972

hunt me down
Shove 

salvation passports into
My eyes and squeal the
'end – beginning – beginning - end

is nigh, why haven't 

you saved yourself?' 

And I bow my eyes 

to the slush choking the gutter 

and weep
I suffer from......tiredness.....tiredness

and

in my bed
The girl rubs the ointment
of her limbs 

into the sore of my need 

and I hold 

on to her like 

one holds a leaf
In an autumn wind

And she

cries 'why d'you stranglehold

my flesh?'

'Why d'you pin me to your rotten life?'

And I 

Bow my heart and

Rage I  I  I  I

David (Byron) Reid by Jackie Finch 1972

SUFFER

suffer from tiredness

Tired....tiredness.

And she dresses

Hurriedly

And when she's

Gone I

Too tired to sleep

Watch the darkness from above

Till it suffers from tiredness.

And bowing my mind

I squeeze

Out a poem that shouts

brag of tiredness

Tired..ness

So i shout till the poem

is happy

with tiredness...tiredness....

David Reid (Known as Byron in Coventry) 1972

Dave (Byron) Reid also wrote plays, submitted to the BBC

................................


Poems by Jackie Finch

15 HOUR JOURNEY by Jackie Finch 1972

Giggling madly, I had to turn away

The sad pathetic face and distorted limbs

Lino cut print by Jackie Finch

Hilariously sad.

My body was floating on a millimetre blue cloud

But as long as I acknowledged this, I was ok

Complicated thoughts – turmoil

Sudden fear – distorted time and motion

Badly did I fly

Reality turned its arse on me

I stretched out, all gone

Father was alien so was cat

Oh, Christ,

Hospital gushed out sores and blood

On my body, on my brain

Complete ignorance on their behalf.

Shaking, trembling long through the night

Reality had really travelled far

Three days, maybe four and finally I stopped

Questioning, grabbing, testing for materialness

Normality?

............................

A POEM by Jackie Finch 1972

Peaceful drops of me and silence

Wound together in hazy gestures of

Shining eyes. Together we-us-now

Are

A swirling, churling, Furling mass of

Landscape, handchase, day dream dissolve

Around you I loved, we shared-changes

Into a loud quack – duck fear realization

Wings in water – beating, sweating rhythm

Black,bright your eyes are shining now my love

Only we can ever know

But oh such disaster; Great gigantic lumps of metal,

Brick,

Shit, mess,

Rubble, dirt,

Noise, being, people shattering, crashing, crushing us. If I

Had a bomb –

Ho peaceful drops of silence flowing from your brow

I’d kill us all.

............................

By Jackie Finch (written in the Golden Cross C. 1973)

Strangers

Self, forceful beliefs

Breaking the fibres of warmth

Intolerance causing an anger

You do not feel

Smile without contempt

Smile on your friends and give way.

.......................................................

Poems by Ian Gage

Some of the poems contributed to Hobo Magazine by Ian back in 1973.

HONESTY LOVE AND YOU

Honesty is a concept,

And we use it to condemn each other.

It is an opinion

Just as right and wrong.

Love is a goal

Which sometimes gives peace.

It is expendable

As everything else.

You are my friend

But it’s only society that’s thrown us together

We could’ve both been

Quite different.

....................................

For an oak tree you have

The princely stance of a guardian,

As if in your silence, you

Guard the door, to the house

Of light.

Endless pages I see tortured,

By the pen of thoughts.

Unfounded theories, which,

Though kind, cannot break

Through my brain.

Yet in your wooded suit,

Surrounded by friends and visited

By timeless magicians of skies,

No books can lead me through

The storm, as you,

Unto the presence of the holy man.

.........................................

O God,

so greatly garrisoned

By your guardians the stars.

You live hermetically hidden

So eoen Thomas, one of the

Learned, could not see you

As you are.

You are far

As a mountain,

O God

Who can climb your mind

And look down, lovingly

On it all?

Like a lake is your heart

O but you are an ocean,

How can I drink you all,

To stop my drowning.

.............................................

I planted a root,

her barren soil arose

And fled.

....................

I wear a ring, which holds my hand,

Comforting and clasping maternally.

It carries zodiacs and tales of ancient

Myth, attracting faces wherever

It guides me.

It’s a companion, that was lost

For such a time, and now

I can hold it in my arms and love it

Or let it roll.

My ring is a pride, a descendant

From the apple tree

A giver of patience and sight

Into all hearts a guiding light,

It tempts me

And I with bleary eyes pursue.

..............................

IN THE SKIES OF YOUR EYES

I never hurt you, but because I’m 

like me….

Don't conceive, it’s sadly blind, an 

injured mind

Like the wind my heart is here 

to find

Your friendly soul, O that you would

Give it all you could to reach me.

And I'd teach you how to lay

With the clouds, above our guilty shrouds.

O your worry, I see it all a lie

As we dovely fly through the woods

Of your stormy past

Now explained away by my dictionary tongue.

I lead you through a path

Of your long and winding mind

They call it peace to find.

And I found it in the skies

Of your eyes, cavern-hearted.

...............................

House of humble, beseech me

a space in your darkest corner

of your darkest room, on your 

blackest floor.

So is my person shameful, and

I crawl, my chin drooped and

hair all dripping sadness,

away from the world.

Out of this blinding light

of confusion and into the security

of myself.

Punish and wreck me for my wrongs,

gorge my eyes, but then,

let me crawl away to love.

.............................

Wish each night your

together shines

bright.

Hope each path that

you walk

is love.

And if ever you feel

that you're 

lonesome

May his face

brighten

your mood.

If ever you feel you're

dreading the tears

at the parting of ways

Then may the thoughts of 

the good times 

together

Enlighten the cloudy haze.

.................................