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The Wound We Wind

THE WOUND WE WIND

Round and round we wind
The wound we wound around us
Tight in our own grasp
History is history
The present we give ourselves

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Far From Home

FAR FROM HOME

Racist illusions
There is no one to defend
Painful foolishness

The Next (Goose) Step

THE NEXT (GOOSE) STEP

The “top” one per cent
Terrified, naturally
Of those they exploit

Their diagnosis?
Organised supervision
i.e.: police state

Dirty Business

DIRTY BUSINESS

Too much pollution
In our air, in our water
In our politics

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“There is the path of wisdom and the path of ignorance. They are far apart and lead to different ends … Abiding in the midst of ignorance, thinking themselves wise and learned, fools go aimlessly hither and thither like the blind led by the blind. What lies beyond life shines not to those who are childish, or careless, or deluded by wealth. ”

– Katha Upanishad,

If You Prick Us

IF YOU PRICK US

Shed blood, whoever’s,
Is always the same colour.
Not white, nor black. Red.

Madly In Love (Repost)

MADLY IN LOVE

Her life redrawn as a comic strip … sans comedy.
No longer that dynamic duo. Batteries flat.
Bats in the belfry, robbin’ bewildered senses blind.
And … adrift might best describe it. Hooked, blind and snookered.

…..(He is the one?)

Even lying beside her, not truly here, he lies
oceans away, behind cold fronts, lines of icy bars,
biting winds, squalls of temper, hurricanes of contempt.
Comforts herself with poetry and sweet memories

…..(He is the one!)

that turn to nightmares where he’s drowning, calling her name.
Then she is there, reviving him (mouth to mouth, of course).
Waking to find him gone she recaulks her leaky fancies,
sets her sails for yet another day tacking upwind.

…..(He is the one!)

Eschewing havens, but never her hope, she soldiers on,
soiled sails reduced to tatters, she rows from pole to pole,
trawls the seven seas. Her treasure? Nowhere to be seen.
He has unfurled his true colours: the skull and crossbones.

…..(He is the gone.)

Adversity

ADVERSITY

This one’s for Audrey (and many another).

I hit the road
It hit me back
We paused a mo
Now here we go

Gender Issues

GENDER ISSUES

The suicide decided after all to cross the river.
Styx a stone’s throw away – Too many thrown stones.
Crossed over now into who knows what or where. Into
who knows beneath all that faith and charity after all?

Cruelly abandoned by us all; backed up into corners.
All those accusatory closed doors, shuttered windows.
Words not the sole way to show a soul’s distress though.
Tiny gestures, reactions, dress choice speak volumes;
sightlessness alive and well among the seeing.

The suicide decided to cross the river.
(Styx a stone’s throw away after all.)
Many too many thrown stones.
And words not the sole way
to show a soul’s distress.

Countdown To Gratitude

COUNTDOWN TO GRATITUDE

7 – Losing you woke me screaming
6 – The screaming subsided
5 – Took a look around
4 – Discovered I’m
3 – Even so
4 – Still here
1 – Whole
0 – Boundlessness … ness … ness …

The Cuckoo

THE CUCKOO

Alarm bell rings out
Cuckoo in the nest!
Cuckoo in the nest!
Cuckoo in the nest!

Knowing onlookers
(Programmed so to do)
Pity these deaf parents
Puzzled yet obeisant

Watching their progeny
Thrown overboard
By this guzzling
Immigrant

No one though pities
The cuckoo’s offspring
Motherless, abandoned
Left to fend for itself

Still there’s always poetry
As there’re always poets
Who never quite fitted in
Left casting their pallid light

And treating Spell Check
As a servant rather than a god

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