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Black Space
(eyes without a face)
Poverty lingers
like an ill gotten taste
giving up her secrets to no man;
teaching lessons in life
at every turn.

Poverty taught me to be frugal
how to beg, borrow or steal
live on £1 a day to eat once a day
the truthful instinctual perusal
the unreal zeal
blocking the thoughts of hunger
the puerile senses;
the basics on how to feel.

In the near dark I found you
sheltering from the storm
under the bridge just like I was
wrapped in mottled harsh cloth
sitting on cardboard for warmth.

You spoke many languages
had a degree in anthropology
and a penchant for gambling
and alcohol;
we shared a bowl
of disregarded noodles
in the rain.
I woke up to the pious sunlight of broken dreams
drenched in the faded tear drops of yesterday
arcing like a broken rainbow down empty streets
leading to the septic tank of tomorrow.

Resplendently dressed in rhetoric
silk woven by congenial weevils
frantically fed on gypsum and diesel
weaving verbosity with loquacity
table a motion to make independence illegal;
keep the status quo unequal between certain people.

There once was a dream called change
proclaimed to be the prize of revolution by some
restrained and contained as hyperbole by others
the disenfranchised left muddled in facts unexplained
the vocal ambivalence of political unrest is to blame
as Union Jacks march on Glasgow with steel toe-capped boots
and in the George Square riots the Saltire burns in flames
as history repeats itself
and the thistle of Scotland is ripped by her roots
the first act as a welcome back
into the fold of the commonwealth .
A sad day in the history of Glasgow...
 May 2013 Lettie Hammond
st64
redeem
 May 2013 Lettie Hammond
st64
1.
white chapel on a hill

sheep dot rugged, earthy slopes

ruminate on warm, sun-kissed dale

endless lines and lines of verdant tones

late afternoon sun slanting

behold, jaune compassion

alfalfa ocherous leans willowy in wind

distance of silence yearns on

afternoon shadows lie within majestic vales

powder-blue ranges in 3D tiers

shadowy rifts, like a painting out of heaven

lone tree not alone, reaches up

blinding turns and rust-coloured bends, twisty trails

two on horseback, apples for sale

reservoir as a hold all for all

brown mud is where redemption lies.


2.
sun dips away, out of reach

beyond the eye's catch

step out car

feel the ping of silence, deeply-alive zing

crowd in and then,

into the slot of torched horizon

the orange world slips . . .




S T, 19 May 2013
feel that deep humming of the car, as we finally decide to roll along that country ride.....yesterday saturn-day :)

redemption humbly sought in the passing of hills and vales

lovely...all along the eastern escarpment of the beautiful Mercy-Valley...not far from Lake Great Bear on southern Jupiter :)

yet evening cold can sink so hard and fast in the countryside (best be prepared :)

away from all the noise and bustle - rolling, green dales and oh blue, blue, blue....






sub-entry:

'sudden cold'


1.
how dreaded that sudden coldness
press downward
crouch tight upon shoulder
drape your chilly cape over me
clench your claws into soft flesh
hover abrupt around nostrils
whisper icy whittler-words
sinking into pores, settle on
pinched nose-end, fingertips and toes
from across the chasm, silent eyes admonish
burning freeze stick so hard
hug disfavoured hart

oh cold silence, how you **** me!



2.
envelops round me
try in vain to wrap my head around this

warm heart
take this thing and throw it in the dump

(can't
just can't)



3.
blanket of love
whopping oblivion away

seek still
to redeem.
Mile after mile
the endless motorway
spews out its metal contortions

hum your V6 engine
rock with impatience
under branded lime-green
sun strip protectors
brimming with breeders
of brooding black BMWs
7-seater convertible prowess
gleaming off-roaders
go faster striped boy-racers
silver slick steamroller Range Rovers
revving executive supremacy
nestled annoyingly
behind a Grand Jeep Cherokee

all stop in motion
by a pedestrian button
for a little old lady
with shopping,
And me.

So many people
in so many cars
gas guzzling
un-muzzled bulldogs
drooling to be first
the excesses of acceleration
the freedom to roam
to gloat or to garner

well you can all stay in line
with the press of a button
and a finger like mine
Moses in green spandex
parts the Metal Sea
for a little old lady
with shopping,
And me.
In the muddle and the mess that is my mind
I could do with some perspective
Someone else's perception
of this one-sided, two way conversation
that's been going on for hours
days
years
I can not be objective
about the very personal subject of
Me.

My life is clearly complicated
I am my self and all the rest of me
and we are a confused and cross-wired bunch

The answers lie inside
I try to dig them out
but when it comes right down to it
I lose the nerve
the will
the reason and I retreat
run back
to on-the-surface sanity
so as far as you can see, I'm happy
look at me!
I smile in all your snaps and photographs
and sometimes the twinkle is sincere
but what we have here
is a well-practised masking of emotion
Make me look more like the me I
imagine myself to be
so that, by the time I get there,
I can provide the fools with proof
that I was never afraid
never ashamed
never appalled or unsure or unsettled
never shattered
or shocked
never wrong, all right;
every night was my party -
and every place was my home.
We can stand below and
watch the sun cast shadows
of the birds against the wall;
see their reflections,
dashed in angled glass,
so far from ours.
We can watch them group and part
and swoop the building tops,
or stand within the walls
and feel them fly at us,
our faces to their bellies,
noses pressed to high up windows,
thinking thoughts of high up futures.
We can be starstruck spectators,
catching sight of possibility,
or we can be the birds and fly
and take the risks that look like life
and feel like freedom.

— The End —