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Daniel James Mar 2011
Shrouded in secrets
The men from F-Branch
Recite the techniques
Undiscussed in advance
Of Democracy's dance
Democracy's dance
Democracy's Dance with Terror.

Outside the port of Umm-Qasr
Hundreds of men
Hooded in the dark
Of the midday sun
Kneeling on the run
From Democracy's Dance with Terror.

Suspected by students
Back home and online
Theories get conspired
Petitions get signed
"Stop Democracy's Dance!
Stop Democracy's Dance!
Stop Democracy's Dance with Terror!"

The attorney general
Is called for advice.
A solemn exchange
Top down bottom line.
His argument is
"If it's nice it's all right."

Ministers from Ministries
Are detained and questioned
By the goggles of a press
Suffering sleep deprivation.
It's like a game of touch rugby
Outside downing street
With a twist on the rules of 'Just a minute'.

And outside the port of Umm-Qasr
Democracy doggedly dances her dance.

But the rhythms of the dance
The stress of white noise
Peaked
And escaped on the wind
Blowing through the forgotten kindness
Of confused hearts and minds
Escaping through the drafty guilt
Of hung up uniforms
Dancing on the mumbling lips
Of sleeping soldiers
With wives, partners, families, friends
Back home
Who don't know what it's like
They don't understand the drill
They can't do the moves
They don't know what it's like.

But the dance did not stop
It did what every bad vibration does
And moved elsewhere
And was henceforth known
By an unpronounceable acronym:
JFIT!

And now we join James
Young musclebound man
With a drink in hand
Back from tour of duty
It's a Saturday night
And the Weston women like a soldier,
A real man.
The fact that he
Has been doing his duty.
"Do you mind if I ask..." Asked Deborah
Showing more than necessary of her bra
"Where was you based, your base in Iraq-
Your third base, in particular?"
"I'll tell you," Said James
And the ladies came quick
Putty in his hands
Just like a joystick.
Said James, with the gravitas
Or some silverscreen star,
"While out in Iraq,
I was stationed
At a British logistics base in Shaiba.
It's outside Basra.
Basra in Iraq.
Iraq?
You have heard of Iraq?"
But by then,
Deborah and her bra and her friends
Were talking to another group of men
Who worked in property development
And apparently, Deborah, they're neighbours
Or something, because that one said
They've got seventeen houses between them.

But what James hadn't told them is this
The exact meaning of words in English
Like British Logistics camp is
Not always what you think that it is.

Oh did I say camp?
I meant base.
Please delete any mention of camp
From the record.

It was not long before
That James' routine
Had been... very different
To say the least.

Indeed soon after crossing the border
And re-invading his parents' home again
He'd been watching Jeremy Vine when
He spotted a pattern of systematic abuse
On the curtains
Whenever he muted the telly.

James decided to get out of the house
And to help him get a grip
He decided to go shopping
But when he looked down at his list
It said:

59 hoodies
11 Electric plugs
52 Alarm clocks
122 pairs of earmuffs
160 torches
117 blackened goggles
132 stress positions
39 enforced nakednesses

And by this stage he realised
That perhaps he ought to see someone.
But instead of seeing a journalist
Or the Swedish King of wikileaks
He went and saw a military psychiatrist
Who charged him a lot to let him speak
On a one-off profit plus! contract
James ended asking the same question
Week after week -
Do you think I'm crazy?
What does all this mean?
The doctor replied:
"Of course you're not crazy,
It's just your mind is very ill,
I'll tell one part of it to ignore another part -
Here - take one of these little pills
They're only one pound ten each
And if you take one
Every three hours
Every day
For the rest of your life
(Or until you die,
Whichever is longer)
You'll be fine.

Meanwhile,
The dance continued to be taught
Like capoeira on a foreign-office team-building course
On the art of interrogation
The alpha-tango
Aimed at prisoners of war.
But the footsteps of karma
Where circling once more
And the base back at Shaiba
(Near Basra. In Iraq?)
Was once more withdrawn
This time to the airport
Along with other UK forces.

Now relatives of the victims
Both at home and abroad
And those most susceptible
To empathy's ill-considered force
Were planning to divert the dance -
Divert the Dance!
Divert the Dance
with Demo Dances,
Demo Dances!
Demo Dances!

Then it was the turn of the politicians
To work their magic of popular logisticians
By answering the questions no one has asked
Like are we human or are we just dancers?
We are just humans
Doing democracy's dance
Democracy's Dance
Democracy's dance with
(cough, cough).

And the news reporters
With their sleep-deprived goggles
Reported in such detail
As to make one's mind boggle
Each step, each move and each deliberate error
Of democracy's dance
Democracy's dance
Democracy's dance
With Terror.

(To be Continued... on the BBC)
Elliott  Jun 2017
Silverscreen
Elliott Jun 2017
I camp out in my room
light switch feet away,
my feet,
shaking against my own will.

Your memory plays in black and white,
as if we made a perfect,
tragic film.

Was color ****** out after you left; or
was it never there?
Amanda  Oct 2018
Silverscreen
Amanda Oct 2018
Dimmed lights and soft leather sheen
As voices fade to a murmur
Music booms out from a panoramic screen
As we are pulled into an electric adventure
Popcorn spills onto worn out carpet ply
And ice creams licks fill the silent pauses
Then a mobile ring causes an angry outcry
And the guilty party leaves, to quiet applauses
Magically we are transported into imagined worlds
Where Aliens live and spaceships fly solo
We watch as the good and evil story unfolds
The twists and turns as our hero fights his foe
Then the end and our hero survives
And we cheer and whoop at the final battle
An evening of excitement in our everyday lives
And we leave counting days to the sequel
Mikaila  Aug 2013
Without You
Mikaila Aug 2013
Without you I often feel
Like a child who has lost her parents in a department store
And turns round and round
Waiting to be rediscovered and led back home.
It is a childlike feeling
In that it is so pure and intense
That it overwhelms everything else.
It's consuming,
This...lost, echoing sort of feeling,
This space inside me that calls
For you to be next to me and heal me.
It's the simple, gripping yearning
Of the child inside my heart
For connection
For tenderness
For contact-
To reach out and find purchase with my fingers
In the warmth of someone else's skin,
Someone I love,
Someone I trust.
Someone I miss,
Even when they are close.

Without you I often feel
Like a balloon that has been cut from its string
And left to wander through the stratosphere,
A lone black dot wavering above the treetops.
I have no control over where I am taken,
No way to reach out to where I've come from and say
"Wait, I want to go back."
I am adrift, in the most terrifying sense,
Emotionally floating through the emptiness of air,
Above all else but utterly alone.

I fear being away from you,
Is the truth,
Is the constant struggle.
I fear the mornings when your arms are not around my waist
And your breath isn't on my collarbone.
I fear the days when my hand isn't clasped in yours,
Tattooed in golden brown henna and entwined,
Fragile but steadying,
Like the rope that holds a ship fast and safe from the greedy fingers of the sea.
I fear the evenings when you aren't curled up beside me,
Your smooth voice telling me stories and ideas.
I fear the nights when I cannot look at your sleeping face
And feel the heartbreak cry out in my chest
Of loving every curve of it
In the halflight shadows
And seeing your skin glow gold
Against the velvet darkness.
I fear every second that you are not near me,
And that is why I feel so oddly lonely
In any tiny breath of a moment
That I am unoccupied.

Without you,
I'm not even entirely sure I exist.
Not properly,
Not like one should exist.
I think perhaps I pale a little,
Like a negative photograph,
Perhaps my edges become a little hazy
And the world bleeds into me and takes my light,
And my skin becomes a little transparent
So that if I stand before a streetlight in the rain
You can see the wet road through my back.
I think a little bit of my color drains,
And I become drab as a silverscreen movie,
Only projected upon the world and not
Really there.

No way of approaching how I feel without you
Can explain it fully,
And little flashes of what I mean dart across my vision like meteors.
I can try to equate it with something relatable,
Something tangible,
But the truth is that missing you transcends the words I've got to explain it.

I feel like a child, crying because she has realized what the word "alone" means.
I feel like a ship, cut adrift and floating through a mirror sky of sea
With no land in sight.
I feel like a worn out film reel
Ghost of an image hollographed against the world.
I feel like I've lost something
I couldn't live without.
My lungs, perhaps.
Maybe an artery,
Or the bones in my legs.
It feels wrong, to be without you.
And yet,
I am.
Without you,
I am...
Something.
But I'm not even sure I care to know
What.
Keith J Collard Jul 2015
A Dimension Of Suicide

I find it mysteriously sad,
watching my footprints in grass
Begin to fade,
With the upward bending of each returning blade.
My path is gone,
Aside from what I am standing on,
But what if.... where I see tufts in lawn,
My mirrored footprints pushing up and lasting long,
Into my world he pushes in,
A happy man with a stronger print.

As I wake  with a worldly dream still inside my head,
I try to store it in the window beside my bed.
Reaching to touch a star and feeling the cold of glass instead,
I realize so close a world
since waking--has long been dead.

A silverscreen of car headlight beams,
gliding my walls conveys a supernatural theme,
Faster and faster,
'till the motion stills a scene,
In another world,
A man it seems?
Or a silky spectral suit
of asphyxiating white--
back to the color
of skeletons from dirt exhumed.
With an unbecoming
oblivion colored tie,
So flawlessly destroying
Edges onto spectral light.
And this suit would animate,
Gasping, trying to adjust,
The imperceptable knot,
Destroying, his tailored cumulus.

This tie stung with such a prelude,
it would only be akin,
to only one other view.
the wasp coming down the spider's tunnel,
and knowing your home is now your tomb,
stung, helpless,
waiting for the eggs to hatch,
and then consumed.


Just looking into where I will be ending,
In destroying digestion,
I was already dissolving,
In darkness ensphered
looking out its lining
into a more abysmal atmosphere.

I woke,
And touched a star on a cold window drawn,
To quickly make this dream be gone,
I ran barefoot outside,
To stand till dawn--
Grateful,
For holding down blades of cold wet lawn.
Hey,
Mae,
why doncha
come up and be me
sometime.
vhcgjhf  Jul 2015
The Surface
vhcgjhf Jul 2015
It was a sigh like no other
a respiration of desperation
a thousand times over

It was as if I could exhale
to exhume my own corpse

I'm in love with this word
only aimless expression
with a senseless,
seamless repetition
for it never disapproves
never uses the writer
as it was itself, used

I'm in love with the world
but only as a whole mess
of uncanny absence

As a strangled moment, leapt away,
exposed by obscure limelight,
I shall expire

Magnifying the reflective scarlet ocean
a marred, oily silverscreen eclipse
a piebald, ****-mired unicorn
curled at the feet of a ******
in a subfusc-glo™ hometown
crushed by rusted machinery
amongst rudimentary scenery
in a homespun anathema gown
in the broken household, wound
up men's eyes, went grey and dying
past every thought, incendiary
words lambasting paper
mayhap, I'm through
trapped, trying to
explain other
wise, now
Jude kyrie Oct 2018
The old bijou cinema
has not changed.
Not for all the years
that I remember.

I sit here alone now
the old place almost empty.
Bogart and Bacall
are lighting up the silver screen.
I know this movie by heart
and find myself
whispering their lines.

I still  sit in our old seats ,my love.
The ones where you and I
fell in love
so very long ago.

We fell for each other here
alongside the golden
movie stars
of the old days.

I knew back even then
you were too beautiful for me
.beauty like yours is for the gods.
Not for such an ordinary man
as me,

I have never stopped
coming here my love.
Even though my heart
was broken into pieces
and still remains so.

You see,sometimes
when the stars kiss
and the romance
swirls in the air
like starlight
I can feel your hand

squeezing onto mine
just like it did
so long ago.

And for a moment,
just a tiny
brief moment,

it is as though
you are right here
with me once again.
And all in  the world
is right once more
Broken heartssometime
break into so many pieces
they can never
be repaired again.
Jude

— The End —