These are not the times
for poetry…
For lofty prose or
roses budding in
warm sunlight
to gently perfume
the wind with
a delicate reminder
of tenderness.

These are the days of
****** knuckles;
chipped teeth.
The days of beating the truth from strangers,
then strangling that truth
with a piece of garden hose.
The bad days, the ugly days
when poets take up fighting and
fighters take to ******.
The goddammitfuckyou days.

Welcome to the clinched fist.
Beautiful things must be whispered.

Two thousand odd years ago today
a Hebrew freedom fighter
was brutally and mercilessly tortured
before receiving a
summary execution.

Happy "Good" Friday.

regarding labelling.

we are not what people think of us, it goes deeper than that,

we are not the words people say, it goes deeper than that.



we are not made by our history, it is something,

deeper than that.

then  in a picture, it is not what you see on the surface,

it is far deeper than that.



#repeated.



sbm.

When the ground jumped up to meet me
it was with the warmth of a former lover
left on good terms
(the timing just wasn't right.)

Surrender generated complicity.
Pound foolish, long face
betrayed something lost;
So with arms spread I fell
and fell…
and fell.

Lessons taught, forgotten...
Something about having big dreams.
A house doesn't need ghosts
to be haunted.

Send in the gods
so I can spit in their faces
one by one.
Just not Shiva.
Not yet.