ALL POEMS OF PHILIP KIRKLANA

Poetry Series
Philip Kirkland
- poems -
2
A Poet's Lot
In vain, essaying to transcribe
A poet's gilded thoughts
The pen, misguided, often strays
From what the mind exhorts
Countless hours of fruitless toil
And myriad expunctions
Are wasted in a futile search
For substantives and conjunctions
But gallantly, the writer's hand
Eschewing trivial verse
Bravely ploughs the furrow to
Defeat the poet's curse
Then, when hope is evanescing
Inspiration springs afore
A sumptuous, crafted lexicon
With rhyme and meter in rapport.
Philip Kirkland
3
Be Yourself
Be yourself, don’t ride the wave
Of fashion, be it word or deed
Your sentiments are valid too
Go forth, and weaker minds concede
Posterity recalls the thinker
Passionate, with sturdy aim
Whose utterances are cast in concrete
Whose principles define his name
Be strong, and carve your niche with passion
Don’t follow,
Lead with fortitude
Although your deeds are oft derided
And well-meant words are misconstrued
Say what you think, don’t be diverted
Ignore prevailing, shallow thought
Stoke the furnace, forge your path
Of iron, from which great men are wrought.
Philip Kirkland
4
Call to the Dispossessed
Statue standing, voice complaining
Lack of mother wit constraining
Mentations barely entertaining
Life's opportunity
Why do you seem to little care
And yet your life live in despair
Afraid, unwilling, unaware
Of how your life could be
You seem to cherish worthlessness
Yet live your life in crass excess
Of the meagre means that you possess
Society's absentee
There is another path to choose
Of summer days and morning dews
Where even winners sometimes lose
Awake, life's course is free!
Philip Kirkland
5
Dear Margarita
I’ve built our home on honest blood
And worked my bones to set you free
I’ve told the truth and paid my dues
And given you the best of me
I’ve never stumbled in my quest
To be the man your heart desired
I gave you children as you wished
And all the love that you required
I always tried to understand
And listen to your point of view
I could have said when you were wrong
But never contradicted you
These things I write, I wish were true
That I could change what went before
But thank you for your faith in me
Sincerely,
Love for evermore.
Philip Kirkland
6
Destruction of the American Dream
The speaker at the seminar expounds his hollow case
Hideous complacency defines his callow face
His pristine suit encompasses his lithesome youthful frame
As a sycophantic audience applauds his every claim
His residence is situated in the finest urban zone
With architectural flourishes, uncouth and overblown
His luxury Mercedes is his symbol of success
As lacking as his accent in discernment and finesse
And holidays are spent assimilating latest foreign trends
The all-essential savoir-faire on which his name depends
Creative avocations are simply labelled picayune
By the misdirected standards of a voracious young tycoon
If only he could see himself with another's heedful eyes
And recognize the shallowness behind his swank disguise
The conceited young executive with his narcissistic ways
Would realize he's not the man his outward gloss portrays.
Philip Kirkland
7
England
Should I one day return to see
The country that created me
Whose inward looking eye disowned
The toil and wisdom I once loaned
I’ll plant my flag of liberty
Unstained by insularity
Which marks the history nobly gained
With platitudes, and honour, feigned
Look to yourselves, my countrymen
Your sword is not as sharp as then
Your shield is battered on the ground
And Rule Britannia makes no sound.
Should I one day return to see
The country that created me
I’ll stop and taste your rural charm
My countrymen, I mean no harm
But Albion has lost its way
It sold its glory yesterday
Until the blindness finds its cure
By looking to the days of yore
I’ll not return again to see
The country that created me.
Philip Kirkland
8
Hour of Desperation
Oh, sweet inebriant, a truth, a lie?
What power you hold to calm me now
My hour of desperation
But are you honest?
Would you hang the cowardly
Or else pretend to be
A panacea?
Does your promise still hold true
Or will you
Abandon me?
Now
My hour of desperation.
Don't let me down, I'm weak
And need a faithful friend
Though long I sought
And never found
Expect in bacchic vein.
I celebrate, inebriant,
Your helping hand
And steadfast company
Will you abandon me?
Not now
Now
My hour of desperation...
Philip Kirkland
9
Lennonesque
Born of mother (dies by policeman)
Virtual orphan, Mimi cares
Wayward childling, only plucking
Auntie living deep despairs
Muchly better young McCartney
Teaches roughneck tuney strings
Jam together, fledgling combo
Rock 'n' Roll 'n' Blues 'n' things
Off to Hamburg, popping Prellies
Playing socks off, kiddies' cheers
Man, we're groovy little group now
Playing Cavern, Epstein hears
Richly contract, muchy money
Funny haircut, shiny suit
Liddypool is distant memory
Muchy fame and girls to boot
Jappy Yoko, avant gardly
Arty Johnny, falls in lust
Beatles crumbly, end of era
Golden Apple turns to dust
Uncle Sammy, John and Yoko
Little Sean and baking bread
Starting Over, not for muchly
Mad assassin - JOHNNY'S DEAD!
Philip Kirkland
10
Lost in a Dream
Lost in a dream, all sentience
Adopts another attitude
Vexation melts in restful state
Dissimulating restless mood
Such circumstance ameliorates
Exasperation's dire trance
An idealistic simulacrum
Of stress and tension's bold advance
A hypothetic resolution
Emerges in such tranquil mode
When peaceful, still insouciance
In blissful slumber is bestowed
How eminent the towering mind
With innate equanimity
Accomplishing an equal feat
As daylight's fuddled nominee.
Philip Kirkland
11
Low
What I know I only know
I learnt through many years
Fears
Tears
Tearing at my heart
Hardly giving space to lucid thought
Wasted years
Yielding little
Standing small
Stalling in my quest
An uninvited guest
Molesting me at ev'ry turn
Where did they go
Knowing that I needed them
And standing on the precipice
This is all I know
I know the fool
That I became
A name
Unknown and now forgotten
Forgive me
I didn't really know
How low
The fool could go
This is low
So low.
Philip Kirkland
12
Mexico, Your Tie is Crooked
Mexico, your tie is crooked
Badly stained and out of place
Your carelessness and lack of grooming
Disfigure your resplendant face.
Philip Kirkland
13
On the Death of Susan Chilcott
Many years have passed since when
With untrained voice I heard you sing
In ignorance, I dared not think
What joy that voice would bring
Aloof, we said, no modesty
A Prima Donna born
My heart regrets such unkind thoughts
The disdain and the scorn
You took your talent far and wide
To Europe’s concert halls
To light the stages, bathing in
Applause and curtain calls
Then tragically the curtain fell
Too soon, a cruel discord
The orchestra is silent now
Your voice, it seems, ignored
I never heard you sing again
Or saw how well you bore your fame
But humbly write this epitaph
In memory of your name
RIP Susan Chilcott (1963 – 2003)
Philip Kirkland
14
Once on the Fells of Coniston
Past copper-coated waterfalls
And burnish'd silvern tarns
How apt I found my Shangri-la
Chez Wordsworth's fabled yarns.
Philip Kirkland
15
People-watching in Paris
May I permit myself to guess
Where Monsieur Dumont spends his days?
Perhaps in Left-Bank galleries
And sophisticated French cafés
And does he drive a 2CV
To some suburban pied-à-terre
Perhaps he takes a mademoiselle
An Angeline or Marie-Claire
And does he read the Paris-Soir
Or intellectual magazines
And visit Comédie Française
To sleep throughout the boring scenes
As Monsieur Dumont takes his leave
And puts his pourboire on the bar...
...Ah! Welcome Madame Balladur
I'll try to work out who you are.
Philip Kirkland
16
Poetry and Wine
When the muse deserts me and goes out for the day
I search for inspiration in a glass of Chardonnay.
I think of love, or death, or war
No wait! Those themes were done before
I need another top-up - Quick!
A Cabernet Sauvignon - Hic!
And now my rhyme has gone awry
Perhaps because my glass is dry
I need to find another line...
...or, why not? ...another wine!
And now my meter isn't true
Another swig is overdue!
Let's see, which wines are in the rack?
Will Merlot bring my poem back?
I'm struggling now to write a thing
My eyes are red, and start to sting
I cannot think it gets much worse
I KNOW! - I'll write some free-form verse!
The snow falls darkly
On a distant salmon
Waiting
Hoping...
...I know, I'm not much good at those
I'll leave that art form to the pros
And as my muse has gone away...
...I'll have a glass of Beaujolais!
Philip Kirkland
17
Simple Pleasures
Would that I were debonair
With pearly teeth and perfect hair
Sarcastic wit at my command
Well-honed phrases on demand
I'd know each wine by its bouquet
And understand a Shakespeare play
The classic novels I'd collect
To demonstrate my intellect
I'd talk of Brahms and Pachelbel
As if I knew their music well
I'd visit Ascot, finely dressed
Invited as a royal guest
The Paris Ritz would keep a suite
Where urbane friends and I would meet
To talk of Kafka, Proust and Freud
And denigrate the unemployed
I'd talk in German, French and Dutch
Of literature and art and such
The world's elite would cite my name
And hold my judgment in acclaim
Alas, I'm not so worldly-wise
But here's a worthy compromise
I have no need to cut a dash
Just send a million dollars cash!
Philip Kirkland
18
Sin Esperanza (Haiku en Español)
¡Asómate, güey!
¡Abre tus ojos, cabrón!
¿Dónd' está tu sol?
Philip Kirkland
19
The Angel's Song
‘Twas fate that brought me to this land
Or else, the will of the almighty hand
To speak the truth that you hold dear
To close one book and open another here
But that will is a beauteous thing
Whose golden rhyme the angels sing
To relieve the weary traveler’s load
And set him on a straighter road.
Though troubled times may burden me
And ties that bind won’t set me free
Your love is constant, fair and true
My every breath, I owe to you
To keep and hold you as I once vowed
Beneath the cross, in voice aloud
For richer, poorer, when ailments strike
Better, worse, two states alike.
When evening falls, the chill will bite
But love’s awake, a potent light
The flame may flicker in the breeze
To bring the lovers to their knees
But that we have will make us tall
And let us see the demons fall
Till morning comes and we rise above
The gathering rain-clouds, buoyed by love.
And so, when daggers pierce your heart
And being together, we feel apart
Remember dear, the angel’s song
That keeps us close and rights the wrong
A celestial gift bestowed by chance
A living dream, a courtly dance
And when the angels go to sleep
Their gift is yours and mine to keep.
Philip Kirkland
20
The Career of J.K. Rowling
Young lass
Needs brass
Wizard book
Kids look
Sales soar
Writes more
Sells rights
Film excites
Stops there
Billionaire!
Philip Kirkland
21
The Virgin of Guadalupe
Beneath the shade of Tepeyac
The flowers turn to stare
One million faithful, Strong of heart
All met, ‘neath the virgin's glare
Oh, virgin, take us to your heart
Adoringly we pay
Our homage to our patron saint
On Guadalupe’s day
San Juan Diego, equally
Esteemed by pilgrims still
That gather from provincial towns
To meet below the hill
Cross yourself, your Lord has looked
Upon you, full of grace
Absolved your sins, and sanctified
The virgin of your race.
Philip Kirkland
22
Truth in a Fleeting Moment
With hope I watched as darkness’ veil
Fell slowly o’er the rage and spite
Extinguishing the daylight’s pyre
To welcome in a kinder light.
What chance the stars be prescient
Of destiny prescribed?
Their secret plans wrapped in their orb
My future thus derived.
What chance the moon be secretly
Reflecting on my fate
And if, by chance, a cloud may pass
What truth would it relate?
Not once was I a slave unto
Something I could not see
What state of mind, what happenstance
Had made this fool of me?
But as I watched, just fleetingly
My mind conceived a thought,
Could prejudice deprive me of
The peace of mind I sought?
Philip Kirkland
23
Who am I?
In context I am the everyman
He that is greater, is less than I
I am the fool, romantic and pretentious
He that is lesser, is greater than I
My persuasion is resistless
My lexicon abstruse
I am the charlatan
Your judgment justified
Your may deride my every line
But I am the artist
Painting portraiture with words
You are the magistrate
Sentence me
My sentences beg censure
I beg you only venture
Beyond your prejudice
And read between the lines
You, the everyman, as I
Philip Kirkland
24
Winter on the Riviera Maya
Achromatic winter moon reflects on turquoise sea
Verdant forest, emerald shade, repletes my reverie
Distant islands, lustrous jewels, appear in twilight gloom
Resplendent floral strands abound, breathing sweet perfume
Gentle, shifting ardent sand that permeates my toes
Swooping seagulls hollering, as day draws to its close
I long to savor once again the Riviera's spells
And bask in its tranquility, where ataraxy dwells.
Philip Kirkland
25
Wonder
Still midnight, the crystal spheres,
Like a family unto me, speak
Of their melancholy mood
The moon like a son
Possesses latent virtue
Yet is still and unsounded
And then, I am acquainted with
The aura of a cloudless sky
I am at one
With the eerie void
The night possesses me
And I
Possess the night.
Philip Kirkland