Grief on a page

 Stark. Black on white.

Dark like winter’s night.

Tears; a waterfall.

Fears defeat us all.

Whole. Not when apart.

Hole. Within my heart.

Shade, upon my soul

Made black as blackest coal.

Rage; it overwhelms,

Wage wars in hellish realms

Within my fractured mind.

Begin, the quest to find

Peace. Somewhere serene.

Cease. What’s been has been.

2020

The world around us seems to be falling apart

and the vilest of us show the darkness of their heart.

One man kneels in silence; he’s cowed.

Another kneels in violence; that’s allowed.

One rule for one, another for the others,

it’s there in black and white. Where blue brothers

stick together and the rest are separated,

the rich laugh at the poor and decency is denigrated.

Statues look down on ignorance, saluting

a shameful symbol once defeated that’s again uprooting

the seeds of peace and harmony that should still flourish.

In a world where love and friendship should continuously nourish

the body, soul and mind we find ourselves divided

by fanned-flames of hatred. The tolerant are derided

and called woke by those that are sleepwalking through

an existence which is manufactured to

maintain the status quo of us and them,

the haves and have nots. It’s time to condemn

the actions of those who are supposed to represent us,

who in a heartbeat throw those who are poorer under the bus

and take no accountability for their actions.

Instead they create further factions

between the disadvantaged and disenchanted.

These feelings aren’t yours, they’re planted

to distract from incompetence and corruption,

money made from market disruption

and while they take the lions share,

everyone else is left with whatever is spare.

But while number 10s hold number 10 to account,

it feels there’s no problem we can’t collectively surmount.

So when it feels like you can no longer cope,

close your eyes. Breathe. Smile. Hope.

Political Class-less

Double barrelled names playing double barrelled games 

of Russian Roulette,

Sawn off shotgun held to the head of the country.

Is there a single moral left amongst thee?

The priority; political capital with the fanatical,

It’s all slightly hysterical

But not in a funny way, nay, not amusing.

Parties that have no definition, one that can’t even agree ON a definition, and the public signing another ignored online petition.

And the leadership? Too busy checking whose lead has slipped 

in the national polls, 

Save our Souls 

when the ship sinks and the rats flee.

We forage for food in tin cans, spam, jam and condensed milk for stockpiling.

Farage leaves our fair isle, laughing to the Banks that he’s Trumped in his big FX short, smugly smiling.

All the while the blue, red, yellow and green that’s left mix into a shitty shade of brown and there are clowns to the left, jokers to the right and 48% want to be stuck in the middle with the EU.

Fractured City

I walk along on cracked paving stones in a fractured city

With feelings of sadness and anxiety, yet I try to be witty

When asked for my opinion on a political topic,

Despite fears that our future will be fraught and dystopic.

It’s hard to be optimistic with people sleeping on the street,

Ragged clothes on their shoulders, cups of change by bare feet

Discarded by a failing society of the elite

In nylon rubbish bags on a concrete trash heap.

While our attention is focused on nostalgic ideas

Of going back to blue passports and “cheerio, my dears,”

We’re missing problems at home, we should look at ourselves

Before casting blame on migrants or refugees or elves

Or whatever other magical, mystical scapegoat we find,

When it comes to our own faults we seem to be blind.

So if we’re ever to repair this damage that we’ve done

We need to stand and be counted and united as one,

Rebuild and regrow what once was abundant,

Beauty and friendships and all that seems redundant

In this world of “us and them” and he who has more

Where the little guy loses, this can’t be what’s in store

For my children and yours, the next generation,

Let’s not have our nation end up in isolation.

Umbrella Army

Is there anything more fearsome than a Londoner with an umbrella?

In a September shower, hustling in rush hour

hypnotically spinning like an airplane propeller,

seeking decapitation, making me cower

like a peasant in the face of a charging knight

a waterproof lance heading straight for the face –

the pointy bits of a brolly are always just the right height.

So I duck and dodge at a frantic pace

like a cockney ninja hidden under my hood.

Then out of nowhere comes the leader of their gang,

A Mary Poppins type looking wholesome and good,

I think I’ll evade her – at the last second, bang!

I’m gouged in the cheek with a stainless steel spike,

blood flows freely and she doesn’t even slow.

Then I’m soaked with a puddle by a speeding superbike,

Steam rises from me as my ire starts to grow.

I stomp off in a strop with my hand to my cheek,

duck my head into a shop where it’s warm and dry,

check the weather forecast for the rest of the week

and buy a brolly of my own to poke in someone else’s eye.

Underground

Down through that yawning maw,

On moving metal machines,

Where people leave their manners at the door,

and the end seems to justify the means.

Hustle, jostle, push and shove,

It's the same on multi-coloured lines,

For fellow man there is no love,

Just a destination to get to on time.

Ladies stood, clearly with child,

A barging businessman must have the seat,

Survival of the fittest in this underground wild,

Leave the less able struggling on sore feet.

Does the lack of fresh air make us morally redundant?

No excuse me's or sorry, my apologies-

Seemingly assholes are abundant,

Is mine the rarest of ideologies?

To be as polite and friendly as I'm able,

On seeing an elder, offer to stand,

Maybe manners are fantasy or fable,

This Underground must be a different land.

Poetry

Words bleed from me,
Letters leave my body from open veins of creativity.
Sometimes jumbled, incoherent,
Into the aether they're sent, to be read or ignored. Augment
them, turn them outside-in,
anagrams or acronyms, with pride or chagrin
put your poetry out there.
Language is to be shared, embellished with flair.
Emotion translated into verse,
Eyes will traverse stanzas and then we converse
about what makes us really sad
or what makes us angry, or glad.
We realise that life is the best poetry we ever had.