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J J Sep 24
Council house dilapidated and brittle as the bones
     That inhabited it, invalid mother bedridden,drugdazed
With a prescription-based carnival skull and sore lungs
   sustained from years of cigarettes and TB.

In the night there was machine gun coughter, foxes
        howling frost -if you looked outside you could see them
stringing silver from their fangs on the street below-
   And I went downstairs to fix her some tea
          because for the first time in years she asked me

And the storm outside lifted the window to the edges
     of it's brims

And I felt a stinging ping as an ache
    Spread the crevice of my spine

And I thought 'is this it? is this the life I've instore?'
        and as it turns out,it was it.

                                        It is it.

I remember once lying on that cold kitchen floor
     after getting home from school
worried about something or another,
   biting my nails and dreaming a hundred million
Futures on the ceiling and wondering how they could ever

           Come true.
Not as polished as I'd like but oh well
M C Jul 28
A body is sovereignty.
Everybody is their own king.
Every good king has a council.
I am king and my friends are sagacious.
As proud as I am to be
king
I am much more honored to receive guidance of grand magnitude.
As for the council I give, I say unto my friends:
If you find any essence of good in me squeeze out every last drop.

Use is ecstasy.
Stephen Moore Jul 27
Council coin counter padlocks the  door,
**** here no more they pronounce.

The lady Mayoress of 1952’s dreams are dead,
How she simpered,
Cutting the municipal ribbon,
Beckoning flys to open for her creation.

Now,
Coffeers in the red,
Fred from the chrome door plated department of the WC’s, bolts the whole fancy and flys zip back up.

Brexit ******* means no exit from our miserly mendacity in the face of civic decline.

“You can **** in your own home”, the local Wig proclaims,
Fiscal pressure means a motion that stops your motions mate.

The council bids your poohs adieu and asks you to refrain from complaint.
Stop when I have to
Give me a time to breathe
Notice time in and out the door
Stop at the line my heritage
Had drawn on the floor before
Open my eyes to see
Who enters and who exits

Red is the color to alert
That stationary worlds  exist

Caution when I consider
A peeling away of the discarded
Notice this breathing time
A stirring of movement
Hidden below my dwelling floor
An energy, slow and beginning to vibrate
A humming sound building to negotiate.

Amber is the color to wait
serenely before the door opens

Go when you show me the way
Then my soul no longer argues
The right and the wrong
This I have noticed no to prolong
The Wind-Soul opens my eyes
Shows me how long is too long

Green is the color to go
Move in the constant glory of flow

Take heart to these teachings
And all that is needed, is supplied.
Circa Holy Roman Empire
between ninth
and thirteenth century
after common era

(approximately 800 AD and 1200 AD)
benchmark year 780 bracketed
Benedictine monks
of Corbie Abbey
devised cheeky guttural lingual rapartee

vis a vis European
calligraphic standard script inked lined
writ via extant Irish and English monastic
members nsync
strong influence of Irish literati

eased communication
popular Latin cognoscenti
common lingua franca
spawned  Carolingian Renaissance

Codices, pagan and Christian text
plus educational material
written viz Carolingian minuscule  
Emperor Charlemagne issued prescription

(hence named Carolingian)
boosted unified modus operandi
he advocated learning,
though somewhat illiterate

recognized value of education
predicated on singular
codified regional alphabet,
the then webbed wide world

linkedin, sans uniform symbolic shapes
uncontested salient advantage
offered up ease to master
clear distinct explicit letter formation

simple logic boosted
rapidly transmitted standardization,
especially with exceptional legible
readable characteristic

adequate spaces between words
Merovingian "chancery hand"
still reserved to draft traditional charters
Gothic and Anglo Saxon

favored traditional local script
as opposed to Latin
learning latter involved less tricked out
embellished flourishes

or interconnected strokes
drawn by a scribe
allowing, enabling, and providing
greater popularity to teach masses,

latent etymological nuances apparent
centuries following implementation  
quasi initial Carolingian letters
steadfast, where Carolingian

influence moats strong
adopted local stylistic signature flavor
divergence woke since proliferation
stoking diffuse prospects

decreeing entrenched footing,
where auspices boded prescient
until groundswell didst surcease
sub limb mated into modern patois.
blame can be apportioned
on the landlord's back
a cladding of inferior quality
wrapped his building's stack

flames quickly engulfed
all the floor levels
tenants were trapped on
such unsafe bevels

what chance did they stand
in getting out of the tower
a cheap Chinese covering  
encasing their bower

deaths were assured
by faulty material
much loved ones lives
seemingly immaterial

construction standards
perished with the smoke
slack council regulations
a legislative choke
R Dickson Mar 2015
Hey ****** ******,
The cars do a twiddle,
They twist and turn on the road,
Dodging the *** holes,
Some with broken controls,
I've even seen some being towed,

Hey ****** ******,
The road in the middle,
Needs a little repair,
If you can swing by,
And give it a try,
And pretend you're a council that care,

Hey ****** ******,
Thanks for the repair in the middle,
But the road needs a whole new coat,
Take care when crossing,
Cause the road's all rutting,
You'll need to be a mountain goat.

Hey ****** ******,
Is the council on the fiddle,
Just like Nero did in Rome,
Please come and fix it,
You'll need to bring a tar pit,
Cause it's shaking the walls in my home.
A poem to the council about road repair that doesn't go right.
R Dickson Jan 2015
Remember I told you about the puddle,
That forms outside my door,
See when it rains hard,
It's just grown more and more,

The only way to sort it,
Is to lift the grating free,
And clear the mud out,
It's easy you'll see,

The council were here this morning,
Complete wi' brush and *****,
Lifting out the grating,
That was blocking the puddle it made,

Water all brushed away,
Thinking it was fine,
Men fixed on the grating
Back on the van they climb,

Unknown to the council,
The water's not drained free,
They hadn't looked down the road,
All blocked up at twenty three,

I hope they come back,
And sort the mess they made,
The gutter needs sorted,
They need a draining *****,

The draining ***** is a thin one,
To get into tight spots,
The way that it should be used,
Is not by council clots,

The council are sure to ****** up,
Any job they undertake,
The way that they were clearing it,
Was one hell of a mistake,

I could do the job,
I could do it for free,
I'm not like the council,
It's just the job for me,

So if you've got a job,
For the council or maybe me,
Send me an email,
A stamped letter is 50p

— The End —