Nobody heard them, the 900,
But still they lay screaming.
We were much further out than they were,
And not waving but drowning.
Poor migrants, lured to a better life –
Now they’re dead.
It must have been too hot for them
In Gambia, Senegal, Syria, they said,
Oh no no no, it was too hot always,
Still, the stranded ones lay screaming.
We were much further out than they were,
And not waving but drowning.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 8:02 AM UTC
Party
He gropes her ****
She grabs his ****
He reckons she wants it
Bad Bad Bad
He was a ***
She was a farce
Her husband saw & he’s
Mad Mad Mad
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 4:37 PM UTC
This is a wordy piece of prose
Jumping in and out of rhythms.
I hate to be negative of any expression
But this is of no use to anyone.
I am not advocating return to form
But it might help
If you know how it works.
The simple vocabulary
Does not stretch the reader
And the Mystery of Darkness,
Is philosophical rambling
Defunct of elegance.
A consciousness exists
Beyond our understanding,
Seek this, close your eyes
And enter the darkness…
Poetry is more than just
Writing down your thoughts.
Some material needs formality
Of poetic armoury.
And your images? Where are they?
There are all the trappings
Of abstract thought –
But I can’t see no ****** horse.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 7:49 PM UTC
The pale smoothness of your skin;
sleek face and pointed chin,
clarifies, enhances dark and oval eyes
an oyster shaped mouth smiling –
red lips, opened – an interesting twang
springing from the larynx, compels
me to wander to The Muir Éirean:
a fierce wind whistles over my shoulder
at dusk; your embroidered headscarf,
a wild element decorated with tiny shells,
cloaks my head on the shoreline,
keeping me warm until you get home.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 7:45 PM UTC
Shyly curious you smile at me.
Tender, delicate I lightly stroke you,
friction ridges of long index finger
brushing fine hairs to attention.
A sensory meeting, pupils contracted,
I impress upon your pale skin
from the glenohumeral joint to your elbow,
Then our mouths align, entwined,
Soft lips parted, eyes closed and tasting;
Your worldly generous thighs slightly ajar
pressed apart by a firm hand, the sensitive
multifingered extremity searches out,
Reaching for where you’ve been waiting for years.
Beautiful, wide-spread in close proximity,
Touching and sizzled by that sweet odour
from your neck, pleasing the soul,
I do not ask for more delight
Upon slipping into your wet and woven silk.
But you suddenly unglue our lips and ease me
back with a firm hand,
Your voice articulates a silent pause.
There’s a fierce and undeniable attraction here,
Tempered as I sit back for a moment,
Excited, quiet and praying for nightfall.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
Know my soul
sometimes goes
on expeditions
for the wretched
hate of boredom.
It’s no good!
Excitement is
not sane when
travelling alone.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 7:35 PM UTC
My mother always told me to salute you,
With a brisk striking motion with my hand from the head,
The first time I ever saw you,
You lowered your head and bowed to me.
You have been despised for years I told,
For hanging around battlefields and gallows long ago,
Disturbing people with your chattering call,
When from a distance heard is unmistakable.
One morning you perched on my garden fence,
The eye in the sky shone buoyant and bright,
I was surprised you didn’t shoot off,
When the patio door slid open.
But elegant you perched on my garden fence,
I tiptoed towards you tentative and slow
And stopped and looked into your brown eyes,
I never thought I would get so close.
I stroke your velvet textured head,
My long finger tickles your oily white bust,
Your two tone colour mystifies me,
A cross between a crow and a dove.
My mother always told me you symbolise,
Bad nuns, bad priests made visible again.
You shoot off and my superstition dies –
No need to salute Magic Bird, chatter-pie.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 7:33 PM UTC
The prism is dark
Gravitating to light
Violence pursues
Navigating right –
Unperturbed living in
A secure state with
Nukes, Military,
Order is great &
Resources dip low? You
Will see us very soon
Protests, Faces then
Guns propel your ruin –
The prism is dark
Gravitating to light
Violence pursues
Navigating right
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 7:31 PM UTC
Open the gate and let us enter,
Or we’ll wrench the lock and kick down the door.
If it doesn’t drop, we’ll sledgehammer through
Forcing our way into your homes.
And bring up the dead to eat the living –
And the dead will outnumber the living.
We demand the precious ring عيسى بن مريم
Now show us the secret place:
We bomb the fiery doors of Hell –
Our slain disturbed they rise again.
Sleepers awoken from their beds.
They sing for the dust gave up it’s dead.
The whipping spur of mercenaries greed,
Roaming, ****** take souls for the cause –
Casually pledge for the Leader’s sake
Whole heart and mind was taken –
They stroked, caressed and kissed her.
Marked men turned into wolves.
Now woe to whom you honoured!
The fickle god paid you back cruelly.
Passing you by as a cheating lover,
As if fairy tales can be heard.
He guided you from above the sky?
It’s fallen in and you pay dearly
Enslaved by things of worldly nature,
Your vigour was lost, vision unsightly,
Now history’s gone, snared –
The traps you fell into laid,
Manufactured by slick rulers,
Your nobles are now lying down.
Sandy graves have been prepared,
Rows of seven, Jannah, Heaven,
For proud in battle we never falter,
Whips flashing and blades to the ready
Hear AK-47s shooting idly
And dare you not squeal:
“My brother, do not let me perish!”
For this day the vocals of our song
Smother the kaffirs weeping
Women lamenting sacrificed children,
Slapping their faces because
The dead will rise and inhale the stench.
Are you sleeping paupers of the globe;
Rich folk feast yet you are fasting.
Who is there to help on these wretched streets?
There is no relief. The wound is incurable.
Some around the world hear and rejoice,
For this evil is transmitted continually.
Open the gate and let us enter,
Or we’ll wrench the lock and kick down the door,
If it doesn’t drop, we sledgehammer through
Forcing our way into your homes.
And bring up the dead to eat the living –
And the dead will outnumber the living.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 7:29 PM UTC
Aint goin’ anymore
would like to claim the same
but rely upon you and others
to do same
heavy boots
sturdy *****
choosing the ground
was minded to travel
unorthodox / paradox
did sneak to the place -
entering by the flaky monolithic gate
Tool in hand, above dark, calm at Southern Cemetery, the outskirts of town
though a bunch of vociferous crows
buzz amongst the stones.
II
Stabbing the bearer repeatedly turning over
the green
After lengthy work in the moments foray it was then I left and
floated away
from the scene
III
Time sensed = Time up
I place my part quietly in
Obscure
Time Future
is this absent body sure?
Though I hope you will come
return the soil and sing
songs for me…. ***** eat dance and parteeeee
Some of you will have *** at the end of the fête -
this TOIL, SWEAT, RELEASE, CelEbraTe
Going to a few as well,
we know how it
drops
in
the
pit and maybe ***
(ill or well smelling with the other congregates)
will drift through the pub or communal hall
and who will dare to say: “Put out the roll of Bogey -
don’t you have any respect for the dead right now?”
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 7:36 AM UTC