Insider

Behind every democracy,
one that’s dodgy or great
there lies an evil dictator,
zipping his fly and
kissing your vote away
with soft salty lips.
As she adjusts his tie,
she whispers your fate
to the smiling front man.

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Glad-Handing Death

You are a useless pointy headed tool
discharging a piecing barbed trident.
Your wishful lies whip though my eyes.
One blade scoring my mind, left to right,
triggering distant memories of actions.
The second tyne unhooking safety catches
so that the cog clicks another notch tighter.
The final point, roasted in repression,
blackened, scrawling, marks you card.

My arm pistons out, punching hand flat,
fingers form my trident crushing your larynx,
You and the lie take a few moments to die.
This image, flashing ever deeper on my lobes,
fades as you finish up your weasel words.
Inside, deep in my mind, energy pulses
are channelled away, lightened into a smile.
We shake hands firmly before you move on.
My hand and soul left empty like your promises.

Maybe next time I’ll give you my vote.

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Ruling Classes

This is a humorous piece looking at those who hold power and how they see the lucky folks they rule. It’s written to place it in the distant past, but the message has remained as topical today as it was then. Only the titles have changed.

Ah it’s Percy’s yeoman of the guard.
First we’ll sit, take wine and cake
then lets hear his latest jape.

Now, speak up man what’s amiss?
Well my Lord, the prince is very troubled
He went to town and found it far from pleasant.

The people have not what they need
serving only three courses and cold mead.
so grim in fact, that he says they are revolting.

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