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  and tossed a plastic fried egg into the air

  and caught it again the other way up

  and then tossed it and caught it again and again

  all the time emitting squeals of excitement

  through a series of holes in the top of his head –

  but apart from that…I want to forget High Holborn.

  September Love Poem

  I flop into our bed with Thee,

  Ovaltine and warm milk-o

  And there we lie in ecstasy

  Watching Sergeant Bilko.

  All Fool’s Day

  A man sits counting the days of Spring.

  His hands may tremble but his mind won’t stir,

  And one thought runs through all his watching:

  ‘I would have burnt my heart for her.

  ‘If she had recognised my face

  As I knew hers, and listened to me sing,

  I would have left the careless human race

  For one hour of her careful loving.

  ‘When spring swings round again, and I am here,

  I will forget the terrors of her voice –

  But I would stay with terror at my ear

  And burn my heart, if I had any choice.’

  Riddle

  Their tongues are knives, their forks are hands and feet.

  They feed each other through their skins and eat

  Religiously the spiced, symbolic meat.

  The loving oven cooks them in its heat –

  Two curried lovers on a rice-white sheet.

  Take Stalk Between Teeth Pull Stalk From Blossom

  Throw Blossom Overarm Towards Enemy Lie Flat

  And Await Explosion

  I staggered in the garage and handed them my heart.

  ‘Can you overhaul it cos the bloody thing won’t start?’

  They hammered it and sprayed it till it looked just like a toad,

  They told me that it shouldn’t be allowed on the road.

  They said I’d better trade it for a psych-e-del-ic screen.

  They said ‘What d’you call this aboriginal machine?’

  I said

  It’s a rose I suppose.

  A unicorn is bathing in the shallows of your eyes.

  You’ve got a mouth that’s whispering between your thighs

  You bring me foreign honeycombs and science fiction ties

  And every time you touch me you declare your surprise.

  Your language is a code that I haven’t yet cracked

  So I can’t be sure of your message or a fact

  But

  It’s a rose I suppose.

  When they see us walking, they’re puzzled what to say.

  We’re so obvious in a mysterious way –

  Clouds that fly south when the wind goes east,

  Hovercraft feet and faces all creased

  We draw our wages in musical wine

  And what our business is, well that’s harder to define

  But

  It’s a rose I suppose.

  Well Tennyson’s on television selling bad breath.

  Lyndon’s in the pulpit and the sermon is death.

  Hitler’s in the bunker playing nuclear chess,

  Judas got a column on the Sunday Express.

  The zombies are lurching all over the town,

  There’s only one weapon seems to bring them all down

  And

  It’s a rose I suppose.

  Top-Notch Erotic Moment Thank You

  the slime was soaking through my khaki

  barbed wire scratching the star-bomb sky

  my rifle was heavy as Europe

  as i prayed to the snipers for a Blighty

  then her breast brushed my shoulder

  a thousand thousand lights were clicking at each other

  yes the galaxies inside my head were coming good

  and i was a visionary scientist on the verge

  of creating a multi-versal language and a source of free food

  then her breast brushed my shoulder

  i was studying despair in Kentish Town Road

  and i began to envy a torn cardboard box saying Oxo

  being blown along the gutter by a tough November

  in the general direction of Euston Station

  then her breast brushed my shoulder

  now i sit in a dark armchair and think about it

  and first i smile about it and then i nearly cry about it

  and i know i’m so knotted i’ll do nothing about it

  but write these lines to remind me of how my ribs went twang

  when her breast brushed my shoulder

  Coming Back

  this auburn autumn

  this free-for-all

  free-fall fall

  the trees are making so much money

  that the river’s bulging with gold

  and i’m coming back to life,

  love,

  i’m coming back to leaf

  The Angels in Our Heads

  Our angels, spiralling,

  Climb the sky like two, like one,

  With wings flowing and easy-going

  Rippling the current of the sun.

  Altitude one hundred miles.

  Our angels level out and hover,

  Humming delirious pop songs,

  Quivering at each other.

  Silent suddenly, they shrug

  Their rainbow wings around each other.

  A thousand multi-coloured hairs

  Vibrate along each feather.

  And then they drop.

  Birds in crowds

  Watch and admire from

  Grandstand clouds.

  The angels both spreadeagle, braking,

  Over the ocean, gold and deep.

  They slide into its heated waters

  To sing in bubbles in their sleep.

  Waking, they wander underwater,

  Gulping the seasoned sea food, free,

  Then they take off in fifty yards

  Sprinting across the surface of the sea,

  Circling waterbirds, circling higher,

  Those weighty feathers dry, and then

  Zoom up to a hundred miles

  And – there they go again.

  But when they look out through our eyes

  To see the rain piercing like wire

  Or the white wind throw hurtful snow

  Burying men in drifts of pain and fire

  Sometimes our angels hunch and huddle,

  Grounded, sad ducks stuck.

  But they should moult and stomp outside,

  Socialists fighting dirty luck.

  For they can talk or march against the winter,

  Get home in time for aerobatics, try

  To teach their children to be flyers and swimmers

  In a warm planet with a cleaner sky.

  Out

  when I broke the light bulb an orange dropped out

  when I peeled the orange a rabbit jumped out

  when I shook the rabbit a parcel dropped out

  when I opened the parcel your house fell out

  when I rang the doorbell you were out

  To a Godly Man

  Don’t waffle to me about Kingdom Come

  I’ve often loitered there.

  My left hand was on Celia’s bum,

  My right hand in her hair.

  Hello Adrian

  (for Adrian Henri)

  Hello Adrian – I just crawled out the far side of Xmas to scrawl my report on the wall

  We breathed nothing but wine all the time till the group got liquidated on the twelfth day with turkey soup.

  Well it was a feast of the beast and half the animals were kissing when they weren’t pissing

  Though there were days when the haze turned jagged and I walked into a room full of stainless smiles and white tiles –

  But I will confess

  I never had it

  Halfway up a pylon

  Never ha
d it

  Under the stage during a performance of Ibsen’s

  An Enemy of the People

  Never had it

  In the Whispering Gallery at St Paul’s

  Never had it

  Up against a parking meter

  But where – it doesn’t matter

  When – it doesn’t count

  All you got to total

  Is the total amount

  They’re doing it for peace

  Doing it for war

  There’s only one good reason

  For doing it for

  CHORUS:

  Fuck for fun (Fuck fuck fuck for fun)

  Fuck for fun (Fuck fuck fuck for fun)

  Fuck for fun (Fuck fuck fuck for fun)

  Everybody want to (boom boom)

  Fuck for fun.

  They’re doing it in Paris

  ’Cos it taste so sweet

  They do it by the Mersey

  ’Cos they like that beat

  They doing it for Mother

  Doing it for Freud

  Reginald Plantagenet

  Somerset-Boyd

  (CHORUS)

  They do it for publicity

  Doing it for cash

  Might as well be robots

  The way they bash

  They do it in Chicago

  Just to fool the fuzz

  They do it down in London

  Just ’cos Mick Jagger does

  (CHORUS)

  They do it up in Edinburgh

  With cannon balls

  Newcastle girls do it

  High on the walls

  Now there’s too little action

  Too much talk

  When the bottle’s open

  Throw away the cork

  (CHORUS)

  Well North Riding girls taste of cedarwood

  South Riding girls cook the wildest pud

  East Riding girls melt your soul like lard

  West Riding girls well they try bloody hard

  North East West South side by side

  What you care so long as they ride

  So ride your lover

  Get on your little lover and ride

  They do it in the Palace

  To preserve the line

  But we’re going to do it

  ’Cos it feels so fine

  I’ve got a red-hearted woman

  I’m a socialist man

  We’ve got a great leap forward

  And a five year plan

  (CHORUS)

  An eye for an eye

  Tit for tat

  Batman fuck Robin

  And Robin fuck a bat

  Fuck for fun (Fuck fuck fuck for fun)

  Fuck for fun (Fuck fuck fuck for fun)

  Doesn’t matter if you’re incredibly old

  or absurdly young

  C’mon everybody and (boom boom)

  Fuck for fun.

  THE COLLECTED WORKS

  OF APEMAN MUDGEON

  Apeman Keep Thinking It’s Wednesday

  Woken up in fork of tree

  By usual jungle jangle

  No tom-toms.

  No metal bird

  Full of Nazi paratroops.

  Jumped down

  THELONK!

  Into turtle pool,

  Splashed massive torso.

  Searched for berries with mate.

  Ate berries with mate and young.

  Groomed mate. Groomed by mate.

  Groomed young.

  Sent young to learn

  Ways of jungle.

  Bashed chest with fists,

  Gave mighty howl,

  Loped off into undergrowth to hunt.

  Lay along thick branch,

  Saw longhorned poem approaching.

  Dropped on poem’s back,

  Grabbed its neck.

  Big poem, threw me off.

  Bump on head.

  Tried liana swinging.

  Good swinging.

  Ninth liana bad liana,

  Dropped me on rock.

  Ankle go blue.

  At water-hole discussed crocodiles

  With seminar of chimpanzees.

  Inspected poem-traps.

  Only found one squeaky poem

  Without a tail.

  Too small, let it go.

  Limped back to tree.

  Told mate and young

  About head and ankle.

  Mate said she caught fish.

  Ate fish with mate and young.

  Fish taste like a good poem.

  Sent young up trunk into tree.

  Mated with mate.

  Climbed up trunk.

  Lay down in fork of tree.

  Huge moon.

  Dreamed about a poem stampede.

  The Apeman Who Hated Snakes

  Was an apeman lived next door to me

  In some kind of prickly tree.

  That apeman had the angry shakes

  Spending all his sleep in dreams about snakes.

  And every morning he would shout

  How all the snakes have to be stamp out.

  Pastime he enjoy the best

  Was to poke a stick down a mamba’s nest

  Or he’d have a slaughter down the old snake-pit

  And look pretty happy at the end of it.

  He tattooed snakes all over his skin

  Coiling and hissing from knees to chin.

  For breakfast he hard-boiled the eggs of snakes.

  Suppertime – Boa-constrictor steaks.

  For a man who hated reptiles so obsessively

  He spend an awful lot of time in their company.

  Now where that apeman lived next door to me

  There’s a vacancy in that prickly tree.

  I reckon snakes are like me and you –

  They got a mystery job to do.

  So when I see one in my path I salute

  And take a roundabout alternative route.

  The Apeman’s Hairy Body Song

  Happy to be hairy

  Happy to be hairy

  When the breezes tickle

  The hairs of my body

  Happy to be hairy

  Happy to be hairy

  Next best thing

  To having feathers

  Apeman Gives a Poetry Reading

  Apeman travel much in jungle

  Sometimes he swing for many miles

  To taxi down in some new clearing

  No concert posters up on trees

  Tiger who arranged the gig

  Has gone down with sabre-tooth-ache.

  Gazelle apologises nervously.

  Apeman and gazelle shift rocks around

  To form a semi-circle.

  Two or three crocodiles trundle in.

  Four flying squirrels. One sloth.

  Various reptiles and a fruit-bat.

  Suddenly – ten-eleven multi-colour birds.

  Apeman cheers up.

  Gazelle checks time by the sun,

  Introduces apeman.

  Apeman performs a series

  Of variegated apeman howls –

  Comic howls, sad howls, angry-desperate howls.

  Apeman runs out of howl, sits down.

  Senior crocodile asks questions:

  What use is howling?

  Howling does not change jungle.

  Apeman stares at him,

  Nods, shakes his head, gives up.

  Animals begin to drift to holes and nests.

  Apeman swings home heavily through the gloom.

  If you meet apeman in this mood

  Give him a hug.

  Unless your name is Boa-constrictor.

  Apeman as Tourist Guide

  Apeman show you round Jungle?

  All right.

  Big cliff with holes in

  Is baboon high-rise development.

  Dusty clearing

  With banyan tree full of honking birds

  Is discotheque for elephants.

  Quic
k! Jump in water – breathe through hollow reed –

  Safari party of lions going by.

  Tell you something:

  Apeman love this

  Hot and rowdy jungle.

  Tell you something else:

  Jungle not all like this.

  You keep on walking

  And sooner or later

  You will find the other jungle –

  The frozen jungle.

  Black ice

  On every branch, tendril,

  Pool, path, animal and man.

  Black ice jungle

  Where it’s too cold

  To see or hear

  Too cold

  To feel too cold to think

  As heart and brains

  Turn into black turn into ice.

  Don’t you worry.

  Most of the jungle

  Given over to

  Sweaty celebration.

  You may not stumble into

  Black ice jungle

  For years and years.

  You like to see

  River of boiling rock

  Or giraffe motorway?

  No? Got to catch boat?

  Go well. Got any shiny discs

  So Apeman can buy firewater?

  The Apeman’s Motives

  He not hunt the poem for money –

  The kind he catch fetch nowt.

  He no hunt the poem for fun –

  He not a very good sport.

  Apeman go after poem

  With fists and teeth and feet

  Because he need the juices

  Contained in the poem meat.