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2d · 124
Turn
This light,
amber edge of autumn,
kisses souls to forget
the once welcomed lethargic sweats of summer
and gently chides us to remember

woollen pullovers and happiness
in sharp cold breaths intaken,
exhaled as a fake sophisticate
puffing on a glamorous cigarette

As the year begins its sleep
our senses wake
to ask questions in the dark
2d · 44
HR
HR
Against the backdrop of a global catastrophe
witness us busying to fix the natural damage
heavily wrought
an endeavour in itself,
which ought to warrant respect
and the gift of time and patience

Our blood and sweat
a human resource
gladly spent to rebuild the detriment,
but not at any cost
not kamikaze squadrons
dashed upon the decks of a false progress

For each of us as batteries
are finite
and our spark will drain,
our light will die
unless the blinkered
see that trying is enough
for now

When foundations are rebuilt, safe
and feet feel steady
we will readily head skywards again
Sep 13 · 115
Lamiaceae
What’s left lingers on me,
your smell on my fingers,
my hair, my chafed skin,
my well washed shirts

and I could wash
I could
I know

I never knew essential
meant impossible to be without
until the scent began to fade
Sep 12 · 29
Bear
Quit your childish, mouth breathing,
shirt buttoned up wrong nonsense
and as a grown human
witness the others around you

Sometimes they cook and talk different,
sometimes look and worry too,
but as has been said for centuries
blood is always red
and there are way too many ******

The ones truly coming to take your lives,
your jobs, your holidays,
your houses, cars and sweethearts
speak on TV, Facebook, Twitter and the rags,
demanding you fear the folk
whose hearts and hands are desperate
to protect their kin, like you

In their money nests
the few snooze and giggle at your
wasted weight and misdirected roar

Bring it to bear
Sep 12 · 125
Autumn/Fall
Mushroom promises swell into existence,
flim-flam miracles,
pristine plump “truths”
when uttered, swelling proud
alongside peach-keen
endorsing smiles

But the treacle of decay acts quickly
so even the casual observer
sees the rot before the ink dries,
smells rank mould,
and we decry ad infinitum
Aug 29 · 50
Immortality and things
You’re in our blood and marrow
guiding us each beat,
but more

through oral histories
smoothed by years and the telling
around later dinner tables
with warm wine smiles
sharp edges and harsh, too-sharp clarity
burnished and buffed away,

as our minds turn over each recollection
we feel the warm glow of worn gold
to hold us, linger-hugged,
or ride the swelling tide from a fabled talisman
as we channel your strength
to stand up to them

or we might laugh recalling pompous brass buttons
‘til stitch given tears pour
at the tenderness of your
remembered buffoonery
where wisdom dressed up daft
and sang stupid songs to love us
Aug 28 · 50
#yolo
Once around the block and done.

No extra-time or after parties,
just a head-spinning rattle
from itching frustration
to breathless incredulity
at the pace of it all

So please, by all means
saunter, dance, crawl, or wriggle
as the situation demands,
although sometimes you’ll still kvetch
at slow walking goons in the supermarket
and want to crack the back of their heads
and educate them about trolley etiquette
and getting the heck out of your
important way

Try to love pastoral pauses,
either in your mind’s green eye
or if lucky, in a glade
as real as bark and river pebbles
where cousins, lovers, friends,
pendulum on rope swings
to an abandoned splash

However hard,
hearts don’t beat well solo
Aug 27 · 1.1k
Pandemic
Pan - all
Demos - people

Everyone touched and fiddled with
tricked, cut, broken and hauled
across coals that hurt directly
or by degrees

More pernicious than a novel virus,
exposed to the utter selfishness
of folk who won’t even cover their mouths to cough
or at best will wear a cloth across their mouths
but leave their noses to bleed casual indifference

I want to love my fellow man and see them as allies
so I struggle to suppress my surprise
that too many would claw and fling
sad corpses of different colours or origins
to the rising tide
just to stay unhappily dry, never mind alive

Disposable gloved hands stretched out with open hearts,
basic ***** hygiene and an even playing field
are a tiny ask for all

Take a deep (covered) breath,
be deaf to the filthy fear peddlers
who try to cling to power
by screaming vitriol and division
one tweet and cable TV show at a time
and reach instead for the sublime and silly brilliance
of being human
Aug 21 · 29
Mellow fruitfulness
The edges of summer’s
soak and throb routine
begin their curled leaf fraying
with the last fat spoons of clotted dreams
lashed haphazard

All those weights we foisted forward
to when wet autumn
would just **** us off anyway
rattle-threat at their fastenings
in the fractious post-tropical gales

Inertia makes it clear
why our transatlantic cousins call it fall,
but pre-echoes of crisp, clear frosts
do their best to placate anxieties
that appear to be calendared
Aug 18 · 40
Hairline break
Rest as a remedy,
forced to stay put,
instead of filling my head and feet with
a million next steps
and very necessary jobs and concerns,
I have to sit

the normal distractions
I covet in the pell-mell of things,
box sets, deep cuts, long reads, levelling up,
lose lustre fast
I glaze-stare at the fictional tree line
ticks trickling to tocks

From deep below I hear the slow plod
thudded footfalls of ‘those’ thoughts,
sensing a weakness in the barricades,
heaving down the drawbridge
usually bound firm by chains of daily grind,
LED light show and the world’s digital caterwaul

My busted foot has robbed my nimbleness,
unable to glance, sidestep or dance aside,
our eyes catch and fix,
like the titans of the twilight
their inexorable, gargantuan tread reaches me

I put up a pathetic wrestle
before I am pinned by the weight
long past the three count
frantically tapping on the mat
my morse SOS growing weak

Please Doc,
just give me a dose of elixir so they’ll retreat
and my broken *** will ride
a frivolous winged horse
back to safe and anxious ground
Aug 11 · 47
Short water
I can stay and die
or I can try to go where angry folk don’t want me

Death, or raging pink faces
is a choice of sorts,
but still no place, no home

So, beheading, or maybe hanging,
lynched by dragging,
or if lucky, shot alone,

versus locking up in a green walled facility,
****** as it may be,
until someone takes a moment to judge me safe,
is luxury

Or maybe I’ll be deported,
doomed,
I struggle to see your view against me

As a young brown man I know I’m done,
I might have a degree in medicine
or years of fixing cars or houses, horses,
understand trade or charity

It won’t matter
when my photofit
reminds you of another brown man
who blew himself up or lashed out with a knife,
for a misread life and afterlife

A few white lives will always tip the scale
where hundreds,
thousands,
millions of ours,
despite your fears
will not prevail
Aug 11 · 52
Continue or Quit
I play video games on easy.

Yeah,
I know how some folk will see me,
but now, here’s the thing:

I don’t thrive on challenge.
I grow from knowing
what I’m capable of knowing
and showing all of that
polished up

I get that people see mountains
and climb because they’re there
but me knowing there’s a cafe at the top
with flapjack, tea and Kendal mint cake
seems to make it fair

Better still if a tarmac track
or funicular railway
can get me halfway or more,
I’m all over that,
you just watch me summit

To return to the original sort of analogy:
if I can beat the enigmatic end of level boss
who tosses a second or third energy bar
in the mix
by spamming the same overpowered move over and over,
I’m doing it,
end of

When I stand in the ashes of the beast
whatever it might be
and take loot or XP
that might be not quite as good as on normal or hard
I’m good
I still feel the buzz of winning

If I have to grind repeatedly
and learn intricate enemy routines to evade or parry
and die
and die
and die

It’s not for me.

It could be because I cut my gaming teeth in eighties arcades
where I judged how good a game was
by how far 10p could take me
at a time when 10ps were limited

A forgiving difficulty level was a boon
(Yeah, I’m looking at you Mad Dog McCree
50 flipping *** a go and dead in 30 seconds!)

Anyway...

A little friction in life is fine,
no drama without conflict and all that,
but given the option
to up up, down down
left right, left right
B A Start
my heart will always take it
Aug 10 · 25
Modern shadows
I’m in my forties now
and if I knock my knee it aches for days
even if I can’t say
precisely when and how I did it

Vexed I am left to neck ibuprofen
and recall what I took for granted
in the fat rosiness of my twenties

But I have my own front door
and a car
and keys for both
and when things go wrong I can fix them
or at least pay a guy called Steve
to pop round and do that for me
while I watch the news and tut

I have my own front door
behind which I can hide safe
with only the news to scare me,
I put a tire iron under my bed
to feel better

Late at night I look out the window
from time to time
to see the reassuring flash
of my car’s alarm indicator
and I wonder in the dark who else can see it

The news and my social media
say things are bad and getting worse
so I’m glad of my front door
I don’t go out too much anymore
anyway

not like the past
when knocks and bumps were shrugged off
and my guts could take a hit
and I was one of the people
making drunken noises in the night
but it was just a laugh, right?

Not like now.
These folk have no respect.
I lock the door as soon as I am in,
car or house
and check the news again.
I might call Steve and see if he can set me up
some CCTV.
Aug 7 · 72
Strata
Iron in the stone bleeds a colour
against grey enamel,
bone bedrock

See ticks and tocks writ on lined faces,
craning to read flickered futures
where rock-solid certainties
and metal connectivities clash
in janky dissonance

Grasping the surety of a copper coin
in a clenched fist,
the shape as sure as love and rage,
when opened, shows
the sleight of hand and thought
sold to us all
Aug 6 · 67
Seasides
Remember the sandwich of youth?

On a drizzly beach with actual sand,
the grit crunch making things somehow better
for the supermarket cheddar
and margarine on sliced white

Let the memories come

The loved ones flinging frisbees,
or playing impossible cricket matches,
grand unplanned architecture,
studded with dead shells,
monuments to a hopeful utopia,
collapsed by the heavy-heeled truths of vengeful siblings
or everyday tides

Sea air makes you hungry and tired,
content,
like life and years try
I get that beef fat and butter
in this day and age are a sin
and contribute to the decline
of myself and this earth

But, my lords and ladies,
I am weak
and beholden to the
grease shined smile
on stuffed chops
as my euphemistic dad ***
becomes ever more so,
ballooning to a middle age where
there be dragons

I plead mercy,
and perhaps some ice cream
Aug 2 · 202
For Seth
No anticipation is as great
as finishing seconds of a chicken pie
then looking forward
to what Paul will cook next year
Jul 31 · 53
The best at being...
We coulda been anything that we wanted to be
but our unshaped dreams
saw us in smokey cinemas
or waiting for VHS rewinds
to learn songs or follow twists
as humans wrestled with being flawed,
at the dark end of the street,
facing the devil
or dodging foam in a fake speakeasy

Feel the good cheer,
like they say in the poem
Jul 31 · 38
A tad on the warm side
Away, not home,
this continental heat.

The air pretends
this North Atlantic rock
is worldly

The smiles of the natives
lean manic
as we clutch at multipack lager
and disposable charcoal,
grasp at the living myth
of a cloudless sky
and give ourselves to these gods

Our worship sees us sacrifice
meat and skin,
both burnt to early hours regret
and delicate, bathroom sorrows

A sporadic bacchanal
whose scarcity ensures
that be it working week,
weekend or holiday,
feverish
we’ll pay the tithe

Sunstroke and/or hangover
prove penance for our lapse
from the frigid, three bar
Protestant norm,

but these exotic gods will beguile again
even as the blistered skin still peels
It got to 34C/93F here today. Not such a common thing, there will be casualties...
Jul 30 · 66
Heartsease
If I could save time in a bottle
my clumsiness would see me spill it

As memories soaked into the rug,
loves, losses, laughs and deaths
would mix as they spread,
to send remembering askew

Not so much a blank slate
as everything old and new blended,
same highs, lows, pains and leaps,
felt and forgot together,
so the never-neverland of you
is and never was
Jul 24 · 50
Coming up on the hour
Person Man Woman Camera TV

As much a testament
to current reality
as any babbled, 24 hour, rolling drivel
from partisan spokesfolk
who affix the yoke of profit
by making and driving the wedge

In the wide awake courtroom,
alone, maybe 3 A.M.
you can hear the truth,
have the human faculties,
can see the evidence,
even if the verdict hurts

It’s less painful than making eye contact
with a mirror image who allows
the lies
the loss
the inhumanity
just to heal a bruised ego
and still not sleep easy
Jul 23 · 62
Uh
Uh
Like, you float
and welcome the buoyancy
But
a mooring now and then
would be loved
Jul 21 · 172
Hidden loves
The smell of you,
an impossibly intense run of ones and zeroes
converted to map your DNA
G A T T A C G A...
like everyone and no one

Forbidden skin folds, slickly hidden,
I carried with me
with some half lies that helped
keep everything off radar
‘til ready

Cottoning on to the lost in me
with fingers and caresses,
blessing a gleeful wink of grins
to an adulthood
that refused to begin,
and refuses still
Jul 21 · 49
Long summers
Little feet buckled up
in scuffed Clarks,
we ambled down hill

Below, the valley
coloured toasted wheat
smelled of forever

The school hall,
everyday familiar
for singing hosannah
became exotic, foreign

Different games played
and illicit sherbet
in cardboard tubes
to be chewed to a pulp
in carefree mouths

All the term rules fell,
and stayed away
til the apple trees called time
Jul 19 · 449
Love’s labours
Wet grass caps toes,
a long missed inconvenience,
each pace lifting
weight long loved

The dappled, leaf stopped light
tries to placate,
but you won’t stay

Like time and tide
you wipe your face clean
and disappear through trees
with no trail
I shot the breeze today
with crickets, beetles,
spiders and caterpillars,
we held a moot.

Each representative, a voice:
words in the clamour
to be heard

In these lands of
many common grasses,
breeze told anecdotes,
arachnid needs
and insect calls for attention
often get ignored

Stopping to sit,
look through clutches of eyes,
sing with rattled wings
and chew cud,
can help retune the din
to be cleanly heard
Jul 17 · 88
Reel truths
Remind me again
of the where and when of it,
it’s slipping through my finger memories
and my heart slows

Tell me of the Technicolor past,
even with the scratched film stock
I need to see it again
to affirm the mummers truth
and rest easy

I know you tire of the words,
of me,
sorry, sorry me

But the third reel is fixed
and the epilogue’s flickered approach
rattles near

Before the credits roll
narrate me a last flashback
to suspend our disbelief in
Jul 17 · 198
Off we go
The bittersweet blast
of ending another
another one.

Weird, unnatural, irrational.

Mixing maudlin with
the electric buzz of new beginnings,
we will drink and sleep,
cheap grins on our faces
‘til we’re adrift in three week’s time.

These days and friends are mine.
Raising a glass to all the teachers who have reached the end of the Weirdest Year Ever (TM). We have lost our traditional chance to welcome the new and say farewell to friends.

Despite what some gutter press and bumbling government ministers say, we never stopped teaching or caring. Never will.
Jul 15 · 49
Leave Home
Bewildered by the difference,
the vast, unknown shape of it all

Not moments before,
ensconced in familiar tangles,
routinely fed and tended by parents
who flared and chattered
at the merest prospect of a threat,
met only by bolshy robins
who scoffed at fear
and tumbles of sparrows
who hid in each other

This necessary, Hail Mary leap
sees me petrified
grounded at the foot
of an adulthood full of flight,
song and the weight of freedom

if I can just get through
these cat clawed days and nights
Jul 12 · 43
New normal
A green myth
to explain away why things
just aren’t quite right
and the briar patch of ages
twists in verdant sinister ways

The familiar snag and scratch
bleeds differently
and won’t be soothed the same
so welts scar visible
and tell tales

New normals are bandied about
with as much thought
as the path that led here
and the beatification of old normal
is sealed
Jul 11 · 73
Walking after
A hand cast the jigsaw pieces
of my redemption wide
and I walk to find them

Gapped puzzle patches showing
a veneer beneath, of reasonable quality,
are nonetheless an irritant

The late game phase
I assumed would be easier
has not especially yielded fruit

Still reliant on chanced epiphanies
this approach lacks the efficiency
my bald head and white whiskers
belie
My absent minded eye,
turned inwards on issues
of land and place,
did not at first see your dilemma

As the bully bird towered over
you hopped in looping rolls to flee

My eye caught up
and my fat presence unnerved the bird
who flew
and though I presented a different challenge
you bounded hedgeway
pausing in front of me momentarily

Our eyes met,
your black polished buttons
spelled your youth
and redundantly I greeted you

I stepped aside
to better let you escape
to tangle green safety
and I was alone again,
grasping at thoughts

The rest of my walk was elevated:
a wind struck tree,
dry guts splintered,
said something

A lithe muntjac
rose panic in me as it sought to pass,
it’s leaping form unusual,
but there and gone
before I knew

Green woodpecker laughed
at an unknown gag
and my brow furrowed

Toward the end
the complicated wren song,
a grammar babble way beyond,
underscored my lack of comprehension
all the way home
Today’s walk was crazy. Nature bellowed at me and I still can’t get the message.
Jun 30 · 57
Eyes to the Bite
I got bitten by a spider,
but this is England.

A certain arachnid
politeness is expected,
holding back on venom,
for example,
or moving at a predictable, parochial pace
and arranging eyes, legs and hairs
to not offend.

Hanging out in bedside sleeves
so an early morning stumble
is accompanied by slow burning
pin ******
leaving mild swelling and discomfort
is just not cricket.

Don’t get me started on
those chirruping buffoons.
Jun 28 · 37
Bank and shoal
The loud yawn of time
when you are held tight
is petrifying

An indifference to your captivity
as nature sees to normalcy
reveals our fleshy entropy
as nothing more than energy
to wax and wane

Beached pebbles
on an infinite shore
to pretend more is orange ignorance

There is solace, I guess
in acceptance,
but our primal, primate arrogance
prevents much
Jun 27 · 32
Urban
A metal nosed thought
wished for bark dreams
and grass forgetfulness
Jun 27 · 54
News at when
Let me sell you a fraction of truth
slanted to fit the froth-rage box
you live in

I’ll dress it in grave tones,
even implicate a scapegoat
so your priapic blast
has a focus

I’ll use fonts from Comic Sans
to Times New Roman
to ensure you bite the hook

When you look in our mirror
the hate will be palatable,
tasty,
wholesome

and as we gorge we’ll starve
Jun 25 · 171
Caterpillar
Caterpillar
Windowsiller
Crawl across
Do what you willer
Caterpillar
Stomach filler
My dad calls you
Cabbage killer
One of my earliest poems, but not as early as you might think!
The rattle in your lung
says the choice is no longer yours

Pause

For thought or effect,
the end’s the same

Played your hands in the game like always

But

The rattle in your lung
says the choice is no longer yours

And where did the vitriol get you,
old man?

To a better place?
Where fat white women sing your praise?

While at home your carbon copies
bust their lips
when the home team loses?

The rattle in your lung
says the choice is no longer yours

You waiting for something?
Applause for working a nine to five
and allowing a fraction
of your take home to be spent on living,
raising?

The rattle in your lung
says the choice is no longer yours

I’ll stand over you now
As you stood over me
Instead of raining blows
I’ll let the misery of your truth
Catch in your chest
and fight for the cause

The rattle in your lung
says the choice is no longer yours
Caveat: my dad is a wonderful, gentle, clever gentleman. I deal with many who are not.
Jun 24 · 1.7k
Sunburn
To be ginger in a heatwave
is to know that a surfeit of energy
that enthrals the populace
has consequence

Like any addict with an allergy
landed on a thing they love
you learn to skirt and sample
knowing sickness follows

The uninitiated will gorge and fall
swearing off the juice for good
and withdrawing a raised voice
which is bad

Pace yourselves for the longness
of an unexpected summer
so that when winter hits
we continue to burn
Sometimes
Sundays suit fewer words
so thoughts can bed in

Even more so
with a gin and tonic
and a film
that plucks at memories
Jun 20 · 55
Statuesque
Take to the streets
and beat them with kindness,
club them with your decency,
ram home an ideology
to show that looking after our weakest
saves us all

hobble them with thumps
that scream
a little love goes a long way

that those that aren’t the same as you
in hue or shape or song,
if hearts are good,
belong in your world

cut them to the quick
with cameraderie
support and tolerance
destroy their unjust fears
and crush their tribalism

In cracking hard heads
the only death we’ll see
is a diseased past
which, unlike other countries
races or creeds,
needs to be lost and forgotten

Holding on to painful glories
costs more than the oxidised bronze
of an old man’s statue
Jun 19 · 120
Tall trees
Stand arboreally tall,
present a strength,
represent stability,
provide a safe place,
wide-branched sanctuary,
hold rooted principles,
speak truth to power,

til the hour you break and tumble,
your fingers thumbs
and your heart falling
numbed

senses bent, thoughts fraying,
tattered threads evasive,
the very idea of existence,
position,
self,
buckles

Far-sightedness retracts,
a fancy contra-zoom,
Hitchcockian,
eyes locked on your two feet,
tip-toes edged up
against your own precipice,
your own private void

We all feel this
sooner or later,
but its ridiculous melodrama
stills our tongues to tell,
til we’re left believing
we’re the only losers facing hell

To speak is strong,
to cry courageous,
to panic and dread next steps, next breaths,
is human

I pledge to listen, ask for the same
and beg that next time
we keep shooting the breeze
until the ledge fades
Jun 16 · 157
Red Kite and Rat
My free stumbling foot
disturbed your treetop dining
and you took flight,
vivid yellow talons
gripping a glut-plump
summer rat
in best of health if not for
inches of claw
****** through chest

I see that carrion
is not your only meal
as I’d believed,
discounting your size
as faux majesty
by a flamboyant opportunist

But now I see you better
and in proving to pick your battles,
know you more
Jun 16 · 141
Hunger pains
Emptinesses
framed by inequalities
that sew the disaffection,
throw the disenfranchised into
blues sharp relief,
stark contrasts of
black and white
rich and poor
needful and needless cries

There should be no politicking
or filibustered unkempt bluster
in the emptiness of children’s stomachs,
nor grave injury from
the ignorant knuckles of authority

Hunger of all kinds
in guts and minds
brings pain
and a shame to even voice,
for there shouldn’t be cause
to have to

Hunger has a way of spreading
to hearts and minds
and when hurting enough
will drive change

But not alone

The comfortable,
careful, silent,
the full,
must give time,
use voice,
use currency,
and fight
Jun 13 · 73
Tattooine eulogy
Glimmers in the hinterlands
as I begin to settle
into reaching my Old Ben days.

So rage reshapes, tempers
and can be passed
to the compassionate and energised youth

Torch will still be borne
and saber swung
but I’ll pay in aches and pains
in coming days
and likely collapse to
sage blue spirit status

My anger slowly feels
like an elegant weapon
for a more civilised age
while the streets call
for the bluntness of a blaster

I’ve mastered thinking round and round
and missed chances to parry,
but my force will be added
to the great wave of change

This empire is dead
Jun 12 · 69
Processing
Sometimes words fall out
vehement, blood high,
incendiary,
meat thought chained
like sausage link
or metal hard train cars
yanked by emphatic engines

Other times the pool swirls
and breezes blow
oppositional
and as lungs slow labour
thoughts drift and slip from place
languid fingers trace ripples
that may mean nothing

The mind needs time to breathe
and holler equally
so we can feed and be fed
Jun 7 · 1.2k
Tumour
Exhausted
kneeling so grit is driven deep
and the sneer and shove
of those robed in a fake love
harries

The smug, paid for fists
of sanctioned thuggery
inflict blows that go beyond
contusion and haematoma
deep into a world soul,
and scar

Solutions are there
if we bring a whetstone
to the keen edge of care
and weaponise kindness

Because something that has
been a mess for generation upon generation
can’t be ignored to fester more

It is time to exercise rights
and excise
Jun 4 · 197
On caring
If you did, then you would
but you don’t, so you won’t,

to pretend otherwise
makes an *** out of you
and a corpse out of me
Jun 2 · 1.3k
Sunken Worships
Let’s think
of the sunk cost fallacy
whereby
the sweat, tears and cash
you’ve ****** into your endeavours
means you never let go
of your burning ambition
so you beg borrow steal
to stave off the immutable truth
that you’re wrong

Then let’s think
that instead of a business
or crazy high jinks
you invested in the sense that
some humans outrank others
at birth
and hidden behind the privilege
of that thought you ignored
what was often in front of your face
or at your work place
or fatally jogging through your neighbourhood
til it shone straight in your eyes

and your beg steal borrowing
does nothing
because lies and filthy ideologies
can’t stand the light of day
so grasp as you will at
the pictures and voices of shills
who defend the grotesque
and try to mess up a people,
a nation,
with fat cat, fat handed,
fat tongued oppression
your fingers *****, but empty

The lesson:

it’s ok to be wrong

it’s ok to draw lines
under ugly pasts
so futures can be brighter,
you can apologise,
learn
and make right
Feels like the same fallacy affecting all our woes
Jun 1 · 57
A little luck
Millionaires down on our luck
that’s the story, isn’t it?

With one lucky chance or a gold watch
found in a yard sale
to propel us to the heights
of hob-nobbery,
this time next year, yeah?

Another item on the unwritten list
known by those that were born to know
is that luck is a commodity
like any other
bought and sold by ‘families’
who hoard it,
a surfeit
beyond any lifetime’s need,
releasing just enough
so we all see it
and believe it to be in reach

Unless the stars aligned
when you were born
chances are you won't be on
the List
and you can make a good fist of work
and burn your very soul
in an effort to reach that goal

yet when you burst your heart for the win
the posts have shifted
and you’ll lie spent
looking at expensive leather shoes
or highly polished boots
as they step over you

Work and noise are not enough
when the system itself serves
the few

work and noise are not enough
for things to get better
for all
and unshackle luck

no justice, no peace
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