Jim Bennett
reinterpreting the Communist manifesto
I wander through the graveyard reading
headstones looking for my ancestors
according to the stones there are no dead
children are asleep parents are at rest
loved ones simply waiting or gone before
accompanied by chiselled angels crosses saints
these are the people who died in neat rows
among the mausoleums and sepulchres
I was told that if I did not find my namesakes here
they could be in one of the anonymous plots
a lot of people could not afford a family grave
so they buried their relatives by the walls
there the ground is like an unmade bed
mounds and undulations show where bodies lay
unrecorded but not forgotten in their time
they were loved missed and mourned
but come the resurrection day the important
dead stride forth from their crypts
the clean marked graves will be ripped open
for the dead to rise again
while the ones in the holes by the wall will be left
to claw their way out
they will probably be happy to be included
and the others will be pleased to see them
after all someone has to do the work
and without them how can anyone feel superior
here is a clock I can dangle from
a freed slave would make a wallet or box
to kept their freedom document safe
it was often metal and secure
because if the paper it contained was lost
the person could be made a slave again
like an unbranded steer that wanders
finds its way onto someone’s land
gets claimed as their property
human rights and freedoms are like that
but the box we make to hold them
must be iron heavy enough to stop
anyone who tries to steal them
xyst
​
there is a big secret out there somewhere
they let you know its all your fault
as we buy into the dream its all there
for the taking but it has already gone
just the garden walk to clear a head
other than the sweet floral smell
there is nothing to make you feel better
there is no great forever getting better
it is a rolling descent into a snowball
with no chance in hell they won’t even
let you out because they have the key
and are busy drinking martinis on the
grand marche go paint it write it
but do not try to own it or possess it
it isn’t what you think its all theirs
and if they let you think you own it
then that is just part of the dream
the slight of hand they play on you
to make you think you have some say
you don’t but you can believe you do
if it makes you feel better stronger
every four years you can pretend
you can make things better
but there is just too many of us
and it all balances out comes down
to one guy in Wakefield who got a job
on a zero hours contract last week
these are hard times and mostly
dreams turn sour like whisky
so just keep waling in the garden
keep walking
advice to miners on strike (Christmas 1984)
take a newspaper spread open at the centre
roll it into a tube along its long axis
hold the shape in place with some tape
next cut from one end to half way down the tube
cut down the tube as many times as you can
when this is done carefully tease the centre of the tube
start to pull it out make sure it does not unravel
it will open up into the shape of a lovely Christmas tree
secure the end in a plant pot with some sand or soil
take some old match and ciggy boxes
wrap in coloured paper with some string tied in a bow
to put around the tree like presents
other decorations can be made using ingenuity
old magazines and newspapers
colourful cereal boxes if you have any
thistles stretch their prickly arms afar
Jim Bennett, has written 74 books and numerous chapbooks and pamphlets in a 48 year career as a poet. Jim lives near Liverpool in the UK and tours giving readings of his work throughout the year. He is widely published and has won many competitions and awards for poetry and performance. He runs www.poetrykit.org one of the world’s most successful internet sites for poets.
thistles stretch their prickly arms afar
Militant Thistles