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  1. 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
  2. Another victim

    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.

  3. Closed minds

    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.”
  4. Shine on

    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.

    Po 30/10/19
  5. 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
  6. 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.


  7. 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.

  8. 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!

    Singalong now!

  9. 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


  10. 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

  11. 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

  12. 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."

  13. 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

  14. COME ON!

    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

  15. HYPO

    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.

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