A few questions for your iron laddies as they face their daily oblivion
Can you really dictate this vernacular?
Suggesting you understand where art is here.
Here in this salty, arcane Atlantic outpost
Where leisure is cockles crabs and currents
Is this culture pert or does it have swagger?
To understand this place you can’t be a bystander
Because when the tide comes in and your things are not to be seen
These people will still be heard here
They will gather
As they’ve done
And as they will
Playing amongst the swimmers that never dream
Can your romance fit this reality?
They’ve made this their place
To make life bearable
And a whole lot less meek
So when they see need to redecorate and renew
Don’t cry foul
As you’ll look a fool
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The poem has been created with exactly 60 words to commemorate atrocities past, present and future.
One Minute Silence
for a moment we stand while our earth moves beneath
Stand in dignity of decency beyond desire or decree
ticks by with unrelenting speed leaving us standing silently in its wake
Standing against the abhorrence of the untimely
is a protest against inhumanity
A protest leaving a scar in the droning tumult of the day
Meta minds spouting meta thoughts in in a meta space.
Everyone’s here but not
Just like everything they talk about is said
From the subliminal to the ridiculed
Bogy boys and girls fart fear into opponents misunderstood
While the league of the un-bigoted saunter into disrelished view
This ain’t passive aggressive
This is ow down dirty
A rabid dog frothing funk
Circles cycles abound in time
Agitated relations interpersonal
each year each cohort exhaling ambition
Friction frames new percussion
and fall through precious time
each clutching tickets tightly
for the next chapter in this life
Five millilitres every five minutes
Every five minutes
Like the churning attrition of the trenches
The time between
As slow as tides sinking us in boredom
The lingering green of summer
Before the afterglow of autumn
And the deceit of winter
The last dandelions
Cut of grass
Before all the green washes away into nothing at all
as the red leaves fall we whisper
Where is summer?
As I hold you in a last embrace
The last green of summer burns in memories of running and jumping
Of scrumping for something sweet
You breath deeply and dissolving southwards
Turn to the salt air
promising to return days from here
This poem is dedicated to Artist and collaborator Karen Wood as, she is the first to really read it
Throw me far
Far farther than I could ever imagine
As far as learning will take me
As a seed ready to
To meander through unseen vernaculars of unfolding idles
To skip an long and over borders painted in colours with meaning that has long washed out
Beyond cities and states
And from here
they scattered far
across seas unseen
filled with the fizz of success
they made new homes
forged new families
and gave life to new culture
Vicarious is as a vicar can ponder
Can pain of other be universally wondered?
Does one feel pain differently
when they read the book of roots
If their forebears wore the boots.
When we read of injustice is the pain less or more if the creed of those oppressed contrasts to our own.
If two beings, equally oppressed
Can’t understand the other need for redress
How can we call ourselves one human race
In the inner ear of the mind
where all things lost
at least what we think we lost
Listen for a while
in invisible state
and hear all of the
to form a new oldness
for what we assume others have forgotten
without a thought for what we thought was- was
and listen to the synthetic tinnitus