Fin de siecle

A poem from 2018

An era ends

The bad old days

A new dawn on the horizon

Progress

Optimism

Excitement

This, too, will end in tears

Alcopops

A poem from 2018

A little bit grown up

A little bit fashionable

A little bit sweet

And a little bit tasty

Sip away

Ply away

Play away

Fly away

A little bit happy

A little bit used to it

A little bit artificial

And a little bit preplanned

Smile away

Stare away

Dream away

Flare away

A little bit older

A little bit young

A little bit naughty

And a little bit dumb

Life away

Frown away

Night away

Drown away

Map

A poem from 2018

A pearl of great price
Hidden where few will find
A way, a truth, a life
A map to guide the blind
X marks the spot, defiled
By the enemy of mankind
Intervene, O God
Restore the true design

The Village

A poem from 2018

They look smart in dresses, in suits and ties

But their native language is lies

Aloft and aloof they stand

Sneering at the common man

Appreciate your concern

But hope that you will burn

A democratic pretence

Always talking nonsense

Trapped inside a bubble

That’s the trouble

Talk and talk into the night

A preordained decision, ayes to the right

With weasel words they hide the truth

They deceive both old and youth

Dishonourable machinations

The Village serves its own imagination

Snouts in the trough, money talks

You cannot beat the system

Choose your leaders

But they are only puppets

Shoot one down and up pops another just the same, only much worse

And still we defend them, attack them

We petition them and it makes no difference

On it grinds, the wheel that crushes the population

Isolation

A poem from 2018

A big, bad world
We see it on TV
Murder on every corner
Death on every street

Brick up the doors
Keep the wicked out
Obsess in front of CCTV
Sound the panic alarm

Isolation
Keep your enemies away
And your friends further away
Trust has died

Endless Battle

A poem from 2018

They rise up, you cannot keep them down

You can brutally destroy them, yet more spring up to take their place

An endless battle, oppressor and oppressed

...Shaving

Shrine

A poem from 2018

All dressed up and nowhere to go
All lit up and no-one knows why
Modernity leaves the soul thirsty
We ache for candles, atmosphere, rituals
Prayers to an unknown god

The Ace of Spades

A poem from 2018

Death and taxes

And the sweet, sweet love of Jesus

On these things we can rely

Give me pie in the sky when I die

That’s good enough for me

I’ll eat it in that golden mansion

I shall not taste a second death

I shall not see my wealth destroyed

I think He let me win that game

There ain’t no placebo high enough

There ain’t no superstition deep enough

These three remain and that’s enough

Screams

A poem from 2018

Piercing screams

I wish it would stop!

… Young children playing

Lovegun Shooting Blanks

A poem from 1987

Listen to an audio preformance

your direction is south of me

but still you are my dominator

miles below but rising higher

I am so confused, you used

to be, I know that you were once fond of me

but that was a time

which I still remember now

though I wish it would stay dead and buried

as it has no part in the present

participle

lovegun is shooting blanks

subtlety of a tank

leaving nothing to no chance

I am so disturbed

when you are around

with me

holding me, holding on

even though I let go

still I’m tempted over you

we are two

who is true to life?

I am so defused, I used

to be, able to hold you close to me

but now I haven’t got the nerve

in case it triggers off something

inside

that died

and we buried

but is now raised to life

lovegun, Russian Roulette

maybe hasn’t finished with me yet

but whether your name will be

on the bullet

I don’t know

Nosebleed

A poem from 2018

It's serious

And so am I

Occasionally I cover it up with a paper tissue

Blood stained

Soaked in it

Velocity

Fast

Like a steam train thrusting through nasal passages

It goes:

Boom boom, boom boom

The feeling of doom

Fear of getting kicked off the show

White as a sheet

Life ebbs away

Then I wake up

It was only a daydream

The mind depressed runs away to worst case scenario

Photo by Sam Burriss on Unsplash

Modern Art

A poem from 2018

"a child could've drawn that!"
"a child did draw it"
... Modern Art

Inside The Slaughterhouse

A poem from 2018

The walls rich red, splattered by the blood of the slain

Victims playing dead, hoping for the slaughter to stop

Customers stand in line, fantasising they're not the first to hold the blade to the throat, to hear the meat screaming

Inspectors pass by, turning a blind eye, hoping for a free lunch