PVC’d

Take one piece of plastic, just one fragment,

Stretch it so it’s longer, wider, thin,

Saran-wrap the life that you are leading,

Protected from invaders, nought let in.

Cling it onto self and tightly bind you,

Around, around, around, with overlaps,

Nothing from the outside will now taint you,

Filmed against all troubles and mishaps.

No seepage, spillage, no contamination,

Insulated from all life, preserved so much,

Now ask yourself if breathing is an option,

Covered head to toe, devoid of touch.

Feel it where it films in all its winding,

Around, around, around, to laminate,

Unhearing ears, unseeing eyes, unbreathing,

Distorting face and features, plastic fate.

Gasps ungasped, inhale, inhale, it’s useless,

Pants unpanted, panic rising fast,

Underwater world of drowning mastic,

Soldered, sealed by self, in moulded cast.

Uncommon bonds, hermetic, manufactured,

Around, around, around, to isolate,

Boxed up when all breathing has abated,

Bubble-wrapped in melted pellets, lie and wait.

Pallets ready, stacked outside the warehouse,

Conveyor-belted parcels, undiseased,

Thrown aboard for final distribution,

PVC’d, protected, but deceased.

The Dragon-Keeper

Dragon_Knight

(source)

Protect him, please, he keeps a dragon,

A fire-breathing beast that sears his soul,

A scaly scavenger that wears his flesh down,

Haunts and follows everywhere he goes,


Ruptures like a lava-filled volcano,

Scorching every inch of him exposed,

Erupts whenever he is least expecting,

He hides it well, but everybody knows.


They fear him like they fear the freak inside him,

Misunderstand the monster, miscreant,

Flee whenever breath is scented sulphur,

Offer tokens, castigate, repent.


They run away and seek a place of shelter,

Peeping from their hideouts till he’s passed,

No one questions, no one knows his ego, altered,

The depths of his deluded torment, no one asks.


Protect him, please, he needs a mission,

Something to slay the dragon that he keeps,

A maiden, manifest as self-perception,

Upon a white horse, so the dragon sleeps.

Lay Love

Lay love, if honestly, for who needs petals,

petals wilt and die,

as so they must,

lay love upon the earth, where life is buried,

love returns to source,

as all, to dust.

Lay love where’er we visit, who needs roses,

flowers fade away

like coloured time,

lay love upon each head, before the tombstones,

‘ere the death, lay love,

most potent sign.

The legacy was love, who mentioned flowers,

flowers are forgotten,

turn to seed,

lay love, upon each passing, before passing,

love’s wreath is all t’was asked for,

all we need.

Err, Ere, Er

Err in life to consummate its knowing,

Hello to all mistakes that guide the way,

Adieu to all perfection, we’re still growing,

I know, I’ve made and learned a few today.

To criticism, ere your learning’s over,

Debunk the myth that says that we should know,

Er, I think not, else I’d be a corpse here,

I’ll f*** up everyday so I can grow.

On it as we speak.  😉

The Right To Weep

willow-tree

(source)

I have no right to wonder or to wait here,

That was another life and this is now,

To warrior, I was your woman,

Our weaponry the words we did avow.

I have no right to question or to grieve still,

Through ages past and all the years to come,

By river over yonder in the valley,

I, willow, weep for days we were undone.

I had no right to put down roots, hang on to

Promises we made so long ago,

Time rushes past and it has all but stolen 

The gift of you, the man I used to know.

I have no right to make this dedication,

You’re gone and I should make my peace with grief,

But here I stand as shelter for all others,

For lovers who all weep yet still believe.

Little Pods Of Lots

so you gave a little

took a little

little was enough

magnified

it maximised

love and all that stuff

little was the knowing

little were the ways

little chance to see much through

in all those little days

seedlings planted

little pods

of lots – capacity –

loving growth

from little words

from me

to you

to me

 

 

 

Thoughts on ‘The Book Thief’

He came and stole the words she loved and hated,

In his pocket, while he gathered up the souls,

Confounded, over- under- estimation,

Humans with their fatal faulted goals.


Concentrating Nazis, all those people,

Compliant, in vicissitudes, they blamed,

As Death patrolled a world of colour flaming,

Where only very few were ever named.


The nameless marched and shuffled, sockets sunken,

Scarce of bread, more scarce of liberty,

Scapegoats for moustached aspirations,

Pillar-scourged by Christ’s humanity.


Muslims now, where Jews, or maybe black folk,

Gays perhaps or aborigines,

Red-skinned, each condemned in one stroke,

Pointed fingers back at you and me.


Death patrolled and wondered while he captured

Souls before they fell, he held them tight,

Whatever had they done and why the rapture

Of others he would meet one day or night.


Munchen times, the Dachaus and the ghettoes,

Golan Heights, Great Plains, upon our streets,

Look no further for the scythe or saviour,

Everyone we meet and how we greet.


Sickle thoughts while reading and to living,

One rush of air we’re gone, he passes on,

Steals our words, our actions, as deposits

Comes and goes, collects and moves along.


Banked eternally, all of our choices,

No choice for death, he does as he is told,

A Book Thief gifts her love, compassion,

Death carries secrets all should be foretold.

The Book Thief

 

 

Workers For The Kingdom

a-spider-web

(source)

How she danced upon resistance across the silken threads,
Lighter than a touch of air on downy feathered heads,
Gliding as a skater while ravelling her tales,
Doomed by pride, but reconciled, to weaving as she sails.

Circumnavigation from the centre to a ledge,
Round again, rotating, with a pivot, to the edge,
Godliness decreed it so, to scuttle, words her theft,
Alas, Arachne’s fall from grace continues until death.

Delicately balanced as she looms and pirouettes,
Vestigial veracity in the web she weaves, and yet,
Fine interlace, in gaps of truth, reveals her potency,
In need, she purloins captives, with her poison sets them free.

Spinneret fandangoes, unknotted in prowess,
Gossamer to gild the lines, the fabric of her dress,
Fascination’s failte, with her welcome, bids you come,
Fealty to the widow, to her mourning, now succumb.

Denigrated damsel by belittled deity,
Resuscitated for her skill, the likes of you and me,
Workers for the kingdom, in the balance as we step,
Tailors to the weavers to repay a single debt.