We, the people of this country, in your eyes are:

babblers, bachelors, bafflers, baiters, barkers,
beakers, beaters, brawlers, blamers, beggars,
bloaters, bloopers, bombers, boozers, blunders,
bruisers, bafflers, bluffers, burglars and burners.

That's why you feel compelled to keep your foot on our heads
keep us down, put us down, push us down
subjugate us, belittle us, berate us.

We, the people of this country, in our eyes are:

butlers, bouncers, bakers, buyers, barbers,
cake-makers, delivery-takers, cocktail-shakers,
taxi drivers, cancer survivors, employers and hirers,
music makers, entertainers, window washers, foster takers,
plasterers, carpenters, scaffolders, sparks and builders,
boxers, carers, coaches, tailors, shoe makers,
designers, illustrators, multi-language facilitators,
dog walkers, dog trainers, bikers and cycle couriers,
doctors and nurses and all the emergency services.

We are the People, the reason you are where you are now
you sometimes forget that we exist as people, somehow
locked in your ivory towers with gold plated showers
and MP expenses and investment banker pretenses
this is not theater, its real life drama, its not just a bluff
its time to stand up
and say enough is enough.

Tethers that prevent flight
from shaken swollen tears
feathers spent in woeful plight
and a snipers cross-hair sight
amid muffled explosive cheers

Brothers in Arms
never lost to forgotten years
and the sound of a distant gunshot
is all that he hears.

R.I.P. Sgt L.J.

Let me lead you
unto the darkness of the flesh
like a master potters gift
mould from base clay
into something beautiful.

Stand among the giants of creation
touch the diamond studded starlight
just out of yonder reach.

Lay with the embrace of golden rainbows
caressing stolen mystics
as love draws her ripe breath
clinging to the curved and ample *****
of moist and salacious longing.

Broken sleep and unfulfilled dreams
caught in the middle of a cacophony;
a neighbours wife in exalted ecstasy
so loud I now know all his names by memory
and an early morning mobile car wash
high pressure jet stream like a jet engine -
a non-stop bass clef low key in E;
the worst drone gig in history.

Today I will undoubtedly
look unfavourably
upon the the world.
Lets just hope there's a dearth
and a paucity of screaming children
in the speeding tin can to work.

Even on the brink of freedom
when the shackles have been removed
and bodies drenched in aromatic wine
you seek vengeance in the name of duty.

I can only hope for you my dear friend
that when such time arrives
you'll embrace the wisdom of creation
rather than the destruction
bestowed in the futility
that never loved you.

There is no boast in easy victory
or laughter in seeing the tears
tumble from the heavens.
Set aside wounded pride
instead envision the shroud
of misanthropic deviance
mystified by the devices of illusion.

I am the barbed thorn
the serrated reward
facing savage cruel winter;
sedition in transmission.

I am the only pawn
on your chequered board
facing a feisty queen;
of restricting submission.

I am the demonic exon
a heraldic discord
facing bleak futures;
an inherent disposition.

I am the stillborn reborn
the aberration restored
facing anomalies instability;
violation on a mission.

I am broken and worn
a fallen sword
facing a grim battle;
outnumbered by division.

I am the brass horn
the out of tune chord
facing orchestral expulsion;
a musician in remission.

I am history's forewarn
the contrite accord ignored
facing penitent absolution;
clemency in transition.