"plasterers" poems
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.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC
Inside of your head
Every little detailed memory and picture
Float about the wandering waters of you personality
I see flashes of you spray across the waves
What used to be you
You've changed now
The happiness that used to be so vibrant is now as dull as the blade you've used one too many times
It's quite when I see it
your happiness
It's naked and sniffling in the corner
As soon as your happiness sees me it widens it's cloudy eyes.
"Do you need help?" I say with a small step forward
Surprise flashed on its face
Before draining away
I see it happening agin
Your pride is stepping up
It begins to pick at it's already chewed nails-just like you do when your lying
It looks up at me and plasterers on a faux smile and says with a trembling confidence
"I'm fine"
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 12:16 AM UTC
You used to sit
on the cross beams
drilling holes through
for the wiring
circa 1965
on some building site
where Clifton
had left you
with the tools
for the jobs
he wanted done
hand drill
screwdrivers
hammer
chisel
and enough electric cable
to reach
the North pole
in the background
transistor radios
were blasting out
pop music
Bob Dylan
the Beatles
The Rolling Stones
and here and there
other guys
plasterers and painters
and bricklayers
all doing their job
when and where
they could
and you wondered if Clifton
would remember
to pick you up
after work or if
you'd have to get
the bus home spending
your own money
which he seldom repaid
(the tight ***
but sometimes
you thought of Judith
and what
she was doing
and whom
she was seeing now
thinking back
to the days
when she was yours
the bright days
the days you spent
by the pond
(which she
called the lake)
the kissing
the loving
the sun over
the pond
making shadows
and bright places
or the days at school
on the sports field
after recess
her words
her wisdom
her bright eyes
and smile lingering
as you bored the hole
in another cross beam
yours hands aching
from the constant turning
and Dylan singing
Blowing in the Wind
from some transistor
across the way
another hole to bore
another boring day.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 3:09 AM UTC