THE WARM AND THE KIND

THE WARM AND THE KIND

Labouring to assert itself
A tame electric light
Made an opal cotton curtain
Amber in the night.

Outside it was superfluous
As summer raged and bloomed
And all this touched my soul
So that my infancy resumed.

It took me back to caravans
And all which paints the theme
Of being cared and catered for
Under a kind regime.


TIM SANSOM 16TH MAY 2008

WE THE PUBLIC

WE THE PUBLIC

We the public
Paint our nails
Turn in circles
Chase our tails


We the public
Send our faxes
Sit on crappers
Pay our taxes.


We the public
Wash our faces
Flush our faeces
Tie our laces.


We the public
Kiss our spouses
Rot in factories
Dwell in houses.


We the public
Go on line
Send our texts
And read true crime.


We the public
Drink in dives
And break up with
Our modern wives


We the public
Do our best
To earn more money
Than the rest.


We the public
Forward notions
So as to attain
Promotions.


We the public
Hope all see
When we tend
Our Bonsai trees.



2


We the public
All invest
We plan ahead
We feather nests.


We the public
Ail and age
Lose our zest
And quash our rage.


We the public
Roam round lost
But always keep
Our fingers crossed.


We the public
Trust and vote
And swim the
Party leader moat.


We the public
Pass and die
In the public
Turf we lie.


We the public
We the public
We the public
We the public
We the public.


Some of us
Walk other ways
Do different deeds
And solve the maze.
3


Hymns and things
Help us hope
We’re resolute
To never mope.


Prayer can’t hurt
The hard try game
Pause to reflect
Be done with blame
For me the Man
And you the girl
And him the soldier
And them the cousins
And we the public.



TIM SANSOM 17TH MARCH 2008

BUT NOW IT'S AN ARCADE

FORGOTTEN CAFÉ


Here Nosegays got dragged on by dishevelled spivs
While intrigued historians observed how one lived
And bank jobs got planned over fowl cups of tea
And the loveys came in from the theatre at three

But now it’s an arcade.

Overweight ruddy faced ladies guffawed
And drunks spewed expletives as coffee pots roared
And tobacco smoke billowed to form a dense cloud
So that even eccentrics got lost in the crowd.

But now it’s an arcade.

Mods aired contempt here for old die hard Teds
With a quid’s worth of blues they’d be bombed off their heads
Sipping on cokes telling bum pinching jokes
Their Vespas a gleaming from mirror to spokes.

But now it’s an arcade.

Old girls with beehives would moan at the prices
‘Is that all the change from ten Bob for two slices?’
Occasional vagrants came in trying it on
‘ Giv us a tanner son and I’ll be gone!’

But now it’s an arcade.

Everyone listened to heavyweight fights
On a crackly wireless on Saturday nights
They’d congregate with an at tentative ear
And in wonderful unison hollowed and cheered.

But now it’s an arcade.

This was a place to come in for a warm
And where lasting and meaningful items were formed
This was a haunt where we came to be sane
In that pleasantries could be explained and exchanged!
But now its an arcade.


TIM SANSOM 20TH MARCH 2008

LITHE GIRLS AND SUMMER BALLOONS

LITHE GIRLS AND SUMMER BALLOONS



Halcyon seascapes shimmer to the optic nerve of now
While such a breadth of fragrances pollute the giddy lanes
Boutiques with acquired tastes will not throw in the towel
Up at the Marina throb the tycoon’s mid life pains.


Let them wield pounds Stirling all at pseudo happiness
Each one comes accompanied with wide eyed callow Janes
Janes and busty Julies who invariably know best
Their indifference to substance disappoints but entertains.


“Let me try it darling” “Oh its so last year!” she jibes
Call into the Cricketers and Porter’s place of play
Look down from The Dials feel the nauseous “New Age” vibes
Watch the West Pier wither because pink money won’t pay!!


Who would chose above this aqua place an inland life?
When all at once auld organs wheeze sweet crotchets from the fair
Though by The Sussex Arms I took God’s vowels and gained a wife
And only sad confetti fell upon her short brown hair!


A stone’s throw from The Hand In Hand I dwelled then Lansdowne next
With a view to reinvent but both times headed home
For I was impecunious and solitary and vexed
And finally at Montpelier we felt equally alone.


TIM SANSOM 7TH APRIL 2007

YOU CAN TELL BECAUSE OF ALL THE SCARS

YOU CAN TELL BECAUSE OF ALL THE SCARS



The Ivy brogues and Crombie ring
Cheekbones high and sharp protrude
Blakies scrape and spark the pave
All this mood he must exude
He needs it to be known he’s brave
And you can tell because of all the scars.


The very way he strikes a Swan
He’ll tilt his head and cup his hand
To toque the snout then spit and swear
Established now as without care.
He glamorises broken homes
And speaks proud of his court summons.


Alleging that he won’t conform
He does so very surgically
He does so very carefully
Acknowledging that given code
And whilst an audience watch and see
Competing in delinquency
With other rogues to see who’ll win.


He knows the slang he’s been around
But on the contrary most profound
He’s been nowhere nor heard no sound
And you can tell because of all the scars.


The truth that lies beneath his trick
Is emptiness and want for love
The rules will not permit this known
“Bravado don’t allow it guv!”
And so the days and years go by
With him living out a lie.


Deep inside he hates the sin
He’d love to change and chuck it in
Embrace hi friends and kiss his kin
And you can tell because of all the scars.



2


Me? I turn to philosophy
And opiates like imagery
I kid myself I’m not the same
But in the end I’m in the game.


I might not claim a tough veneer
I’ve other ways to cope with fear
But in eventuality
I mould my personality
Around my current company
An equally sick conformity
The world’s a stage we’re all agreed
And you can tell because of all the scars.


TIM SANSOM 1987

THE ANIMAL

THE ANIMAL


I loathe the fowl taste of losing control
When dignity dies as the animal thrives
For he who’s composed is in tune and is whole
Whilst when rage takes its hold virtue never survives.


Arrows of viciousness roll from the tongue
Blood pumps and flows through the vascular routes
One feels invincible holy and strong
With the waving of fists and the stomping of boots.


It is then we exact those regrettable acts
Which say not a thing of the ethics we hold
It’s as though we’re possessed as the impulse impacts
By an inner impostor remorseless and cold.



We relive the child in a tantrum of gold
It gives us the permit of visceral zest
This licence expires as life’s norms tales are told
I loathe lost control; yet I love zeal the best.




TIM SANSOM 21ST MARCH 2007

A LINE OF URBAN STEAM

A LINE OF URBAN STEAM


A gentle line of urban steam
Drifted from the ear
Of the house that’s opposite
Forty yards from here.


It made me think of Larkin’s sighs
And Coronation street
And all those contemplations
Evoked by feline feet.


Though zoomed in far too closely
To see the neighbourhood
I just know it’s a weekday
Their maths I’ve understood.


The auditory Sabbaths
They give themselves away
And even with the sound down
Their logo won’t decay


The roads fill up with clouds of guilt
And rain severity
The retailers recoil a jot
And play at piety.


A gentle line of water vapour
More now than before
Made me introspective
I watched me watch for awe.


It made me think and reckon on
Life’s Tuesday afternoons
Whose kindred Wednesday mornings
Spill unique shapes and tunes.



TIM SANSOM 25TH FEBRURARY 2007

CERTAIN OF ASYLUM

CERTAIN OF ASYLUM



I’m climbing the breeze of home welcome
Amidst the philanthropist’s charm
They will not do deeds that would help them
They’d rather indulge in self harm.

The whisker between two themes racing
Can hardly be said to exist
So kindliness means “ self effacing!”
And charity’s purpose is missed!

Feasting is ample escaping
It offers deliverance and calm
From all things routine in the making
We’re back on the opiate farm.

Shouting and laughing and guessing
We’re rueful when we reminisce
But phantom wounds heel without dressings
They are mended with time’s silent kiss.

So warming and savouring the invite
We hope we can do the same back
The flavour of mercy gives insight
Which is something that most of us lack

TIM SANSOM 22ND FEBURARY 2007.