OFFERINGS

DANNY ERIN
15 POEMS
Offerings.
1. Beside Me
2. Examination
3. Tapestries
4. When Our Silence Is Broken
5. Venus
6. All That Hasnt Happened
7. For Yvette, At My Window
8. Tonights Dream
9. To Estelle
10. Flying Again
11. Regret To Inform You
12. Street Scenes
13. Some Advice For You
14. This Room
15. The Very Last Day

OFFERINGS
Because I am not handsome
like all the young heroes
from Greek mythology,
because my likeness
will never be cast in bronze
to be admired by people
on its museum pedestal,
because my silhouette
against any evening sky
would mean nothing to an artist
it is because of all this,
because of all this and more
that I lay these poems
as offerings
before you.

BESIDE ME
Rays of
soft January sun
fallin across me
fallin across you.
Strollin over the grass
all wet an shiny
with fingers interlaced,
your hand in mine
my hand in yours.
Streams of love
flowin
from me to you
from you to me
softly
to an fro
to an fro.
To walk with you
an be amazed
that you are
beside me.

EXAMINATION
There are times
when I feel
that my body
is the obscene creation
of a
semi-successful devil
and that I should be
as distant
from your form
as are the mythical gods
of my childhood dreams.
There are times
when I feel
that your body
is a mountain
I have to climb
to be stunned
by the view
from the summit
and that your eyes
are the last
guiding lights.

TAPESTRIES
When you come to me
with the news
that your body
no longer contains
the intricacies,
the mysteriousness
which first won me,
come
we will weave new spells,
new tapestries,
for me
to be amazed by
and lost in.

WHEN OUR SILENCE IS BROKEN

Listen,
when that day comes
and our silence is broken,
when the grey men find us
and lead us back
to existence
(for this is what they call life),
remember
the rain and the trees,
remember
the rooms we loved and touched in,
remember these real things
and nod your head wisely
when they tell you
we were dreaming.

VENUS
Venus, Goddess of Love,
shimmering naked against the horizon,
no evidence of distant lovers
mars her timeless form
her eyes,
beaming out messages
from planets
on the other side of the sun
her hands,
cupping the changing seasons
of our world
her words,
like petals of a sea-mist
engulfing me.

ALL THAT HASNT HAPPENED

I would convey to you
by means
of the legendary sign language
of the angels
all that hasnt happened
between us
in the past two days silence.
if I could only be sure
that you didnt understand
the legendary sign language
of the angels.

FOR YVETTE, AT MY WINDOW

For Yvette
leaning naked
at my open window,
apart from me
apart from you,
imagining elves and fairies
to delight the people
in the street far below,
her sun-kissed breasts
daring the breeze
to chill their nipples
to perfection.

TONIGHTS DREAM
Tonights dream
is a repeat
of one previously dreamed
several weeks ago
and its a particular favourite.
Its main features are
that I read my poetry
to a hushed audience
at the Royal Albert Hall
and that women faint
from sheer bliss
if I even glance
in their direction.

TO ESTELLE
Its like this, Estelle,
I need
to be loved
like I need
to breathe
and I cant
hold my breath
for very much
longer.

FLYING AGAIN
If you should
wake up
one morning
and find
some feathers
scattered in the bed
where last night
there was me
dont panic,
just clean up
the bird-table
in the garden,
put the remains from
your breakfast table
on it
and maybe tie up
a small net bag of seeds
to the branch of a tree.
Oh
and do me a favour
will you?
Keep the cat in
till I master
flying again.

REGRET TO INFORM YOU

Regret to inform you
that your
eyes, nose, lips
are all dead.
This leaves you
approximately
one hand,
an ear,
several teeth.
Our men
will be along
to collect these.
Shortly.

STREET SCENES
Police sergeant dreams
of ways
to drag me into back
of black police van
rip my hair with razor
an add it
to pile
already lyin
on floor
aromas of blood
in police van.
Pretty brown skinned
tourist girl
makes eyes at me
over her
pale blue sunglasses
an high flyin
wild street orgasms follow
with wind
runnin over my skin.
Guy with rucksack
grins at me
an laughin American couple
ask me
where they can sleep tonight
I direct them
to a favoured haunt
under a railway bridge
where cracklin fire
an shared hashish
dreamily beckoned sleep.
Drunk tramp
lurches across the road
gets knocked down
by speedin taxi
immediately
a crowd gathers
an some begin
to take pictures
but fat cigaroed man
erects tent
round dead an bleedin body
an charges admission
to see it

1am cleansin truck

comes round
an takes the body
for rubbish dump cremation.
My love
last nite
we almost
touched heaven
but the stars
distracted you
and anyway
the moon
looked too comfortable
to pass
alas! I am no longer
an angel I pawned my wings
long ago
(I once knew
a man
who had
an attic full
of angel wings).
Meanwhile
back on the street
eighty year old man
invites me in
for coffee
he opens his shirt
an shows me scars
where the Nazis
tortured him.

SOME ADVICE FOR YOU

Forget them,
the men who would have you
recite parables
under your breath,
who would have you
chant scared words
to the beat of a metronome,
who would carve
holy diagrams
into your dreams
with replicas
of nails from the Cross
forget them,
they will have to follow you on
they will have to enter other rooms
or else fade
they are fading.fading.
Forget them,
the men who would lead you
through museums,
drooling as they point out
their favourite rack or thumbscrew,
then suddenly throw back curtains
and expose a hired crew
re-enacting rape scenes from history
forget them,
the floor is wet with their spit
spiders weave cobwebs
in their blood
they are fading.fading.
Forget them,
the thin men in blue suits
with poison in their stomachs
who would search for your reflection
in wishing-wells and windows,
who would whisper for the waiter
to bring more wine
even when your glass is full,
who would compare
the smoky patterns
engraved in your smile
with the ancient cave drawings

of some extinct tribe

forget them,
they are pale as dawn
and one upturned, unrehearsed
flick of your eyes
would paralyse them
like the figures
in a moth-eaten tapestry
forget them,
forget them all
they are all fading.fading.
But beware of the men
who would casually ask your opinions
on tv dinners, fashion or the colour of the sky
or in the event
of the government being wiped out
whom you would like to see
as our new leader
and who scribble your replies
on cunningly concealed notepads
when you turn your back
to light your cigarette against the wind.
And beware,
when the small man with the clipboard
who wears his raincoat even in summer
stops you in the street
asks you what your favourite day is,
I know you
youll laugh and say - tomorrow!
Quick! Run!
Dont wait to see his face freeze
or foam appear at the corners of his mouth
run to the nearest telephone booth
dial my number
and let it ring four times
then hang up.
Ill know
Ill know where to meet you
Ill know how to rescue you
how to rescue you
from them.

THIS ROOM
Outside this room,
people come and go
immersed as they are
in their struggles
against walls,
surprised when
one more hope
is shattered,
one more dream
strangled at birth.
The aftermath
is always despair
but let them discover that
for themselves
while we exchange
the feathers of doves
and hope that neither
will remain perfect
when carried across
our threshold.
Outside this room,
visions die unattended
at the bottoms of gardens,
tears are sold
on the black market
in old whisky bottles,
titled men decide
where to hide
when they see
young girls coming,
cities are covered
in the blood
of politicians mistakes.
To all this
we are oblivious,
to all this
we are as
gold or ivory are
to the leaves
of a tree,
turning brown
at the whim
of a season.
Inside this room,
made holy

by the loving words

forever on our lips,
we, entwined,
adrift on a sea
of nakedness,
demanding so little
yet with each
intake of breath,
each ecstatic
shared sigh,
would expect so much.
Inside this room,
the bed
is the altar
we perform
our sacred rituals on,
the bed
is the altar
where we send messages
to any god
who will listen,
where hands
aid hands
to caress any part
of the body
feeling ignored,
where fingers
aid fingers
in ballerina dances
over trembling skin
and the altar
propelled towards the sun
alternately by a hurricane
alternately by a breeze
explodes in space
in the climax
of a thousand sighs.

THE VERY LAST DAY

It was the very last day,
the strippers
had all gone home,
the hookers
were in bed
with their lovers,
the call girls
had disconnected their telephones,
the businessmen
had returned to their wives.
The pimps,
were sitting
in front of the fire
with their mistresses,
repeating all that had happened,
laughing over the vulgarest parts.
The lights were all turned off,
the lights were all turned off.
It was the very last day,
Cain made up with Abel.
Waterfalls were given the day off.
The rain and wind were told
okay, stop, have a rest,
go visit old friends.
The birds were told
listen fools,
stop singing, quit that ridiculous whistling,
nobodys bothered,
nobodys listening anymore.
Somebody was sent
to the forests, the jungles,
advised the animals
stop killing each other off,
be friends,
relax,
its the very last day,
be happy,
theres not much time left.
It was the very last day,
the prophets were all in bed sleeping,
after all,
nobody was going to listen to them
on the very last day.

Soldiers,
supposed to be patrolling border zones,
broke up their rifles,
set fire to their uniforms,
bought drinks for enemies
in foreign cafes.
The Generals just laughed
no-one would be court-martialled
on the very last day.
Most people stayed home,
joked about old times,
drank a few beers,
watched television.
Gardens,
once lovingly tended,
were abandoned
anyway the plants
refused to grow
since it was the very last day.
It was the very last day,
lovers everywhere
decided not to be cruel to each other,
decided not to send spiteful messages,
or scream at each other down telephone lines,
instead,
spent the whole day in bed,
traded secrets freely,
performed slowly,
or as often as they pleased
after all,
it was the very last day.
And towards midnight,
singly,
in groups,
in homes, in gardens, in streets,
people waited
around the world,
awed by their own silence.
You could hear for miles
on the very last day.
listen.