Channelled
i
Freedom is a White Dot.
In a state where even thought is vicarious, broadcast
wholesale, there is no struggle. No freedom fighters.
The free are seen every day, hidden only by last years drab.
Backgrounders; talking, playing, sitting almost off camera.
An underground of conscientious objectors; questioning.
Evolution: Birth of Medusa
From a worm, wiggling in the bed of the Med,
to a sperm, banging my head on an egg.
Behold the evolved: a sperm with a perm.
Angry at life, what a fight for my right yet
not lying dead with the rest but the next.
Long curls at my birth, a mop on my top,
there’s some debate: It just isn’t straight.
A cheer, and some tears, and then sneers.
Their fear is clear, two sticks quickly click.
It is licked. A woollen bonnet lies upon it.
With a flick and a nip the curls are on it,
sentient dreads shred the pestilent threads.
Their hand-made fleece is in pieces
but there are no moans; they are stone.
All dead, standing at the bed of their Med.
Filed under Poetry | Comment (0)Where’s the Beef?
Town living is a blessing.
I can walk almost everywhere;
the shops, chemist and to bingo.
But a house right on the
High Street is not without issues.
It’s dark, it’s after ten PM
and my door bell rings.
Local kids are bored again.
Playing “knock and run”.
But without any actual running.
Feek Stink
Mostly a sock is much the same as the next.
Designers agonise over shades and logos
for a tube to keep stench off your boots.
Posh shops know this and wrap them well.
Each sock cosseted in tissue and branded silk,
inside a solid shiny box tied with a bright ribbon.
The quality of these socks is only perceived.
They won’t last as long or stop your new shoes
blistering your ankle; you’ve paid for packaging.
A person is a bag of bodily functions, attitudes
and ape imprinting with feet that stink up shoes.
A pretty ribbon is rarely worth the higher price.
Skyward Paws
Filed under Haiku, Poetry | Comments (2)tired dogs rest belly up –
paws cast smouldering shade after
walking on the sun
Passing of a Nut
I am a nut upon the ground
where broken husks lie all around.
Squirrel teeth have cracked the shells
and chewed the life from all my pals.
My crisp and shiny skin stands proud,
I will not hide within this crowd.
Soon my rodent chum will eat his fill,
but greed will make him take me still.
I’ll ride away stuffed in his cheek,
he’ll jump here and there just like a freak.
Spit out into a hole and stamped right in,
I hope to lie here deep, and totally forgotten.
Chirstmas Gift
Filed under Poetry, Senryu | Comment (0)Christian ethic –
will you let me burn in hell
by taking your place?
Multiverse
From the bottom of the garden
with my head tipped right over,
it seems like the yard is vertical.
There’s this theory that for every
choice in life you didn’t take there
is another universe where you did.
Real Life
Off-line is so empty.
The sound of bills
slapping on broken tile
echo emptiness over
the perpetual motion of
a single low decibel fan.
As if worried into movement
the fridge clicks,
shuddering with the.
unaccustomed effort
of cooling a slice of
yesterdays pizza.
Its unhappy motor
ejects a din that
smoothers all but
the most insane thoughts.
Outside a gunshot rings out,
its sound-wave cracks,
forcing a moment of
un-requested reality
into the room.
Unrestrained it also
wakes a tiresome dog
that exists only
physically chained
down in the street.
Early Shift
Filed under Haiku, Poetry | Comment (0)cyan cold dawn spreads –
cows swap visible bellows
after early shifts