A Point Missed

A poem from 2019

Someone can read the signs

But I, I am blind

The sound of a trumpet is unclear

Even for one with ears to hear

We once spoke of a God who died

Then in His name we killed and lied

Still they argue, devour, behead

Yes, I am blind, but you, you are dead

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

https://pixabay.com/photos/people-woman-cloth-hair-2574506/

Killer Queen

A poem from 2019

She keeps cigarettes and alcohol in her pretty cabinet

She can’t give up either as much as she wants to

She knows they kill but only ever other people

Her lungs are not black, her liver not scarred

Her life not sad, her body not wrecked

The mirror mirror on the wall tells her she’s still pretty

It wouldn’t dare say anything else

It would spell seven years bad luck in landfill

Among putrid, decomposing rubbish, the flesh of the West

Picked over by Indonesian children trying to get a few more rupiah

Smelly money never killed anyone

Keep that consumerism coming, folks

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

https://pixabay.com/photos/woman-smoking-cigarette-tobacco-918616/

Windbag

A poem from 2019

Somebody likes the sound of their own voice

As words pour out like hurricanes

Debris flung in the faces of objects of wrath

Placards, banners, prefabricated

Beat down imaginary opponents like riot police

Words cuff hands and drag you to court

A sense of super-self-importance

The proud will be brought low

The humble shall be lifted up

The ignorance of all is there to see

Image by Iván Tamás from Pixabay

https://pixabay.com/illustrations/fire-and-water-fight-hands-fire-2354583/

Scratchcard

A poem from 2019

If only I can win, everything will be better

I’ll move to a nice district with a big house

Give up work and take holidays every month

Living off the interest, I’ll buy all new gadgets

Drink champagne for breakfast

Stick up two fingers to the world

Spend my days eating deluxe Belgian chocolate

Lying in bed watching a giant TV

But the only thing I cannot change

I will still be me

Image by Linus Schütz from Pixabay

https://pixabay.com/photos/business-empire-money-man-suit-3716552/

Floppy Disk

A poem from 2019

People say I’m out of date

But does that bother me? No!

I am a fount of information

You couldn’t dream of all I know

The essentials

The meaning of life

Not all manner of gossip, hate and nonsense

I know truth

I am solid, four square

You can rely on me

A slim model, hardly

Perhaps you find me clunky

Within my hard shell is a soft centre of love

I am protected but the ashes to ashes

The dust to dust of wicked man

Can twist me out of shape

That is not me

That is a rogue copy

Image by PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay

https://pixabay.com/photos/black-business-computer-computing-18320/