Separate names with a comma.
It is a sin to mock the dead.
As we now stand beside deathbeds
Mourning they have popped their clogs
We morn their death in synagogues
and churches up and down this land...
Because going out was not banned
Tearing though the sinues in my skull
sucking all the air from my lungs
Gasping for breath.
I could feel my very soul departing with each exhalation
Drowning in a vacuum of hopeless turbulence and despair.
As I stepped out upon heavens stair.
Nothing... Nothing now of me remained
Except, engraved upon felsic intrusive igneous granet
‘Claimed by Covid’ my name is etched.
My hands reach out to touch you
To break a binding spell
That grips you oh! So tightly
How far my friend you've fell
So insidious and commanding, compelling you to obey
Implanting words inside your mind, the things you're meant to say.
Thinking these thoughts are yours… because this is how you think
Your eyes opened wide., and yet so easily hoodwinked.
Catch a glimmer of a chink, of light so bright it blinds
The darkness of the shadows now illumined within your mind
What you once perceived as real, now Governments lies exposed
Unfettered, unencumbered... Your liberty now imposed.
Note to Bo-Jo:
When COBRA constricts the Capital and the civil unrest begins
You will wish you kept those ‘water-cannons’. What a different song we’ll sing
If you think that that's not happening, you had better think again
Because I share with you my vision... Anarchy will reign!
© Po. 22/03/2020
... “Equality and freedom are not luxuries to lightly cast aside. Without them, order cannot long endure before approaching depths beyond imagining.”
Oh! Light of Silence
How You resonate deeply within my soul
my very being
Lost in an eternity of incessant noise.
I sense freedom at last
Now like a crescendo from the Gods
it bursts my limitations
Shattering them into an infinitesimal
smattering of smithereens
far beyond my finite comprehension
I watch myself soar through the cosmos
to meld and blend so softly
with the great artistes of inception.
Don’t Cross The Line
There is something wrong here, there is no denying
So many of our youth, daily are dying
Stabbed with a blade, with malicious intent
Blead out on the ground, lay under our tent
A blue and white tape, flaps in the breeze
That cordons off a crime scene. There on their knees
The forensic officer has seen it countless times before
Another family destroyed, by a knock on their door
“The country lines” uttered, like staccato percussion
This then for certain, is the sad repercussion
Another ‘case’ of déjà vu, unfolds within the cordon
Of the taped off white and blue.
Inspired by recent events. October 2019
Another day on the job
At the end of the path, a broken door
smashed shards of glass lay on the floor
Cross the threshold, enter in
another crime scene, let’s begin
Walk the hall, climb the stairs
the crime unfolds, hold back the tears
‘Must’ needs dispassion to fully comprehend
precisely what transpired, at last days end?
For at the setting of the sun
what exactly here was done?
Thrown discarded on the floor by the bed
a blood-stained nightdress torn and red
What the eiderdown shrouded, beggers belief.
The depths evil can sink when it is unleashed.
Parts of me
A tiny tear forms in my eye
As you laugh, it makes me cry
What’s in the tears that now you see?
Broken fragment’s, parts of me.
The candle too sheds a waxy tear
As you turn and leave me standing here.
Ahead of the game
Determined to stay ahead of the game
One has to remember, there is no one to blame
When things begin, to go horribly wrong
Instilled in my head is that repetitive song
“Always look on the bright side of life…
de dum - de dum - de dum - de dum - de - dum”
Then the next line encroaches…
Life’s a bit of $h1t when you look at it Doh!
Life could be likened to wandering a maze
With each twist and turn there are new things to gaze
Some are quite wonderful and fill you with awe
Others you may wish, that you’d never saw
Like the feeling we’ve come to another dead end
But then when we look it’s simply a bend
It may be, we have to retrace our last steps
How many times must we do all these reps?
Although moving backwards in retrograde style
Staying where you are even for a while
Is just not an option if you want to move on
A conclusion soon reached, you could say it’s forgone
As actually your progression continues each step
You might not have realised its happening yet
Maybe you missed the turning you need
Or that feeling in your gut you just did not heed
What ever the reason continue to roam
Wherever you are, your not far from home
As round the next corner a familiar sight
Will end all your doubt and fill with delight
High readings will lower
As your blood glucose decreases
And your life expectancy
Most certainly increases
Little lost ant can’t find his way home
As over the carpet and floor tiles he roams
Amnesia overcomes him from a bump on the head
As a crumb falls from the table from a giant loaf of bread
A lonesome tear
Many a candle has shed a lonesome tear
At the sound of a quill, on the parchment of despair
Only being witnessed by introspective surmise
Sealed within his cranium, the poets reprise
The music box
As I am reading I am watching this old music box, I have just gently lifted the lid
The ballerina is turning, the music is playing, however the clockwork mechanism is loudly clanking and the ballerina is crying tears of blood.
On the inside of the lid is a mirror that shows an entirely different image from the one you would expect. The ballerina steps off her pedestal and passes though the mirror into the unforgiving landscape of…. ‘The Bog’
Could this be real? This alternative reality… This nightmare of such epic proportions
Such as the like of which no human has ever seen before.
Slamming the lid shut the ballerina bursts though the dark polished wood as the music builds to a crescendo she sings out of tune words from her desecrated tomb.
The mechanism sounding now like an insidious drumming, as the drummer boy enters though my ear
Three soldiers standing to attention, two flanking the ‘nut cracker’ wise
Bayonets fixed at the ready, sharp and shiny so pointy the ballerina her body to precisely incise.
Now the drumming is growing louder and louder cannon balls starting to fall. Craters appearing on the ground all around me, as the mists of time turn to smoke, slowly rising casting visions in my mind so repugnant, water seeping upwards, startling, gurgling, mixing with the blood and the mud and the flesh and the bones.
Bodies strew, like five sticks engender a memory of childhood so dejectedly broken. Horses smashed to smatterings and smidgens, headless and legless empty saddles there lay, with paint slowly peeling like bark from a dead tree.
My mind can’t stop reeling, regaling, in a cruel form of insidious joy.
A church bell starts clanging, the echo resounding, bouncing back from the depths of Hades.
A bowel so impacted, stomach so extended, distension and an insidious smell. Sulphur, fire and brimstone and other concoctions, stories only the bible can tell.
The pits of hell surly opened with the lifting so gently of that lid of the box on my mums dressing table top... scREAMing loudly. Sounds once drowned out by the sounds of a battle, beginning to swell, bursting the drums inside my ears .
Then as silence tumbles, descending I awake, pretending, "ReALLY I’VE got nothing to fear."
It’s a numbers game
Got out of bed jabbed my finger,
no time lost, best not to linger
Up flashed the number 5.4
I’m glad it is not any more
I’m happy with that It must be said.
Jumping in the shower then making the bed
Making my brekkie ‘Weatabix’ and butter
I hate um soggy. Now to clear up the clutter
Coffees made with oodles of cream
Half a spoonful of Xylitol… It tastes a dream
Computer on, post my morning BG levels
Some are not happy, keeping it low is a devil
Next thing I know, I’ve missed my lunch
With my levels at 3.5 I must have a munch
Where has the time gone? The forum is calling
I’m feeling Ok, but my BG is falling
I have had my lunch, A nice tuna bap
Now I think I will have myself a nice little nap
Two hours have passed, what’s my BG now?
Did I have enough to eat, have I have enough chow?
My levels up now 7.1 and I’m doing fine
Now where is my mug? Its coffee time
Next do the hovering, then dust the hall
It’s time to think about dinner, before my levels fall
Up and down constantly they change
Sometimes there up then they crash down again
What we all eat determines our goal
Eating the wrong stuff makes us all look a fool
The chameleon ran vertically, straight up the wall
and disappeared though a crack infinitesimally small
“Did you just see that”! The post man exclaimed
“Their the masters of disguise”, I quickly explained
Running across, peering through the small crack
The post man kept looking dropping his sack
“Stand back and wait quietly, he’ll soon reappear”
And then… as if by magic, the chameleon was there.
I turned to the post man and to my great surprise
Morphing, a giant chameleon looked me straight in the eyes
“That is my boy” he proudly said,
Placing him in his post bag, that turned in to a bed
And with that I left, driving off in my van
Waving good- bye, to what was the post man.
Who then quickly changed to a red traffic light
Which I screeched to halt at… try as I might
I could not escape from his tight griped clutches
My ‘Misses’ deathly quiet, that’s unlike the Duchess
Then the traffic light changed, red amber,, green
When a ‘HONK’ from behind, shattered my dream
In that hypo’s long, sharp, silver, needle
The fentanyl curse left me feeble
With dragons coursing through my veins
Oxygen depleted starving brain
Just an empty husk, and to my shame
Nought of me... Just death remains.