In The Scheme Of Things

gutless form of

grey flannel

and bowler hat

tapping briefcase

with finger

pencil callused

autocratic directions

of how the

shapeless should fit

tailors chalk on cloth

decisive lines

to trim or sew

mouths stitched so

neatly shut

limbs severed so that

the fall of material

should be so suitable

old money new money

contra entries

that become the washerwomans

laundry

in colonial towns

with brighter sun

and sweated brows

grey flannel choke

and soft eton tones

cruciform stretched

with benefits denied

g&t cold pink lemonade

taking canapes on landscaped lawn

take a bow doff your cap

grateful for what you

don’t receive

inbred subservience

of the golden age

long shadows

keeping us in the dark

mouth torn open

begins to shout

blood on lips

blood on tongue

strike a match

to cauterize

and light the beacon torch

flannel shadows

cannot keep us hidden

or denied

we have voices

as we are many

and you are few

 

copyyright Chris Lawrence

 

 

What began in 79

when your home is not
a protective shelter to dignity and heart,
where government scythes away
public voices in favour of a few,
nervous rattle of doors
closing on opportunities
for those we should cherish,
disabled now disenfranchised
workless sanctioned and berated
for just existing,
statistics and targets
media fodder,
minimum wage hunter gatherers
chasing food bank trails
as rent arrears accumulate,
things are getting brighter
economy booming,
so some say
a cautious tale of cynicism
is needed to chew on this pill
of crushed realisations,
we have awoken
but not awake

written in response to the Conservatives taking victory in the elections and Cameron claiming power again

erection day

pricks modelled in clay
stout phalluses
to be glazed and painted
with words of policy,
many tongues will lick
thinking of some turbulent heart
that some powers will be given
in a seminal dream
like acid secreted
it burns,
those who believe
and have believed,
that we all can’t thrive
on stolen sleep
it is someone elses
pillow where early a.m
through a struggle of dream
we drool and wait expectantly,
overbaked clay shatters
prick pieces fall
wild men
brought to the fold
herded in clusters
by the rich vanity of the absolute,
it is an end
those birthed in soil
not in the womb of privilege
will take up the hope
and unfurl a phallus of flesh

natural ass bird

accelerate harder
trees tremor passed,
what is against the heart
and rain streaked glass,
prophecy and a government system
insulted by the freaks of lottery
money was not to be
the blanket of insidious content,
radio breaks it down
speed accompanies the heart,
the bitch most malicious
than spilled gasoline
with a well lie lubricated tongue
speaks of equality
pace of society,
why feel betrayed
as if she where sat alongside you
taunting as if fertile
yet as barren as a thousand year
old desert,
tires bite into blacktop
staining and smearing
with billows of smoke,
there can be only one ultimatum,
terror inflates the throat
choking on that swelling promise
of nothing,
beyond sharp curve of road
open air
and sweet mist valley
and the feeling of
wanting to fly

http://dversepoets.com/

open link night #145

when foxes come

swallowing moonlight
with half naked humility,
aftertaste of unpleasant cloud
the day would sacrifice me,
me a host to the yellow sun
wrapped in a fleece
of further understanding,
a measure to the international indifference
patron to the act of ignorance,
this is a race, our race
spend life in an aggrieved chokehold
as time seeps the stupid sore
picked at by eager interference,
of state
in desperate need of rescue

ticking

ticking

only asses and chickens
claw at the dirt
spreading a mess
soiled by their own entrapment
it would be unforgiving
when the foxes come

sucking in breath

sunburnt man

wretched and weary

beneath light and rain,

thunder smelled of goatskin

and musky aftershave,

steps taken like a drunk

falling on his own

sky crossed with jets

over the park

those travelling to another

countries sun to relax,

as slowly it ceased

shimmering haze

brought glare to eyes

worn with failing status

once he was among the rest

spewing from subway to curb

urgent and despairing

eager to get home,

that place with a yard

spill of ivy

trimmed lawn,

but that page had turned

fortune walked away like

everyone else,

yet his eyes sparkled

renewed vigor in his step,

he saw the torture he once

experienced,

now he belonged to no one

bank, employer, wife

even country,

he was an independent state

 

defects of the elephant crush many

shadows standing empty

as we moved from the tree,

he worked with sweat for bread,

she wore only handmade dresses

fabric accumulated from a saving mother,

he had written to her heart

as it understood the depth

that his motive went to,

every day in lengthy plan

hours conceived into moments

stolen away from the factory

to the hill,

sanctuary of silence from the state

propaganda and revolution,

fresh baked filled the air with a resonance,

they as patriots fervent as they are lovers,

planned wedding and battle

as an intertwined plan,

analogy of expectation

that had no sourness,

ignore siting safe indoors

sound the bells of union,

warm tingle of happiness

before the steely clamor

of guns

 

Margaret Thatcher

In death she divides us again , but more importantly the fissures that have chronically remained since have reopened her policies under scrutiny, i saw the fall of Unions the propelling into a war that was only for populism, industry sold and collapsed Mines, Docks every sector experienced the force of her nature unbending unwilling , destroying the mines destroyed community and society fragmented drifters pushed into other towns having to learn new skills to survive for less pay while on the other hand the rich never had it so good bonuses and million pound paychecks, business leaders enjoying the might of unions collapse so they could apply work conditions without challenge, i would not celebrate anyone’s death but her legacy is a poor one that shows so truly now, foreign policy Pinochet and Khmer Rouge she made allies and friends of leaders would not tolerate today but unopposed or weakly so she ploughed on.

That is all i am going to say as i needed to say it i saw poverty the collapse of a lot of industry at her hands but what is done should not be perpetuated the Government today should listen us the 99% we work and toil to earn minimum wage so that million £ bonuses can be paid, time to change think hard about the countries future and make a wise choice your life depends on it

Turn The Soil

freedom is a ferment

of rhetoric rooted in

clotted earth,

turned by hand

and senate approval,

words grow

linguistic tangles of

law and statement,

a nation addressed,

trembling shoots

recover nutrition lost

leaves can only mottle

stagnant moments

of federal reserve

cacophony of calls

for it to be poured

to moisten

soak the soil

many hands upon the

handle,

few have strength,

resonant hearts

beat out

like drums across the

states,

voters in a patient wanting

after TV debate,

they had knowledge

a profound affect

on the effect of the nation,

red earth

blue sky

white stars,

imagine what you see

virtuous cloth

cannot hide

hunger and strife,

passed boarded fronts

and foreclosure sign,

to take a line

and show with mark

how life should be,

then wait

pollsters want your souls

but the nation needs your

heart,

give it life and think,

do not leave it to the

history of memory,

from fertile earth

comes life.

Fecal River

there has been a

spill and overflow

river once clear now

mucous thick,

abstract articles

floating past,

as i wonder where

it flows,

a meander

with tissue caught

on twigs,

testaments and 

statements

such utterances of

truth,

drying out gnawed

by feral rats,

how much further 

does it go,

the stench becomes

a taste infecting

each mouthful,

we used to believe

now unsure,

as a child a silver

mouthful could

be scooped as now

with pallid cheeks

look at the boiling 

mass beneath my

gaze