Wondering in 2018

Events have occurred , political intrusion by government Trump or May that have dissolved our lives into a caricature farce that is dark and sadistic so I wrote this…

curious

in a time I never realised before

those blindly blinking

people

heads down

could be swallowed up

by forces unseen

and never know

monuments fall

governments tirade

without distraction

I was a beggar in life

seizing the moments

that never seemed to come often

thoughts and a voice

but nobody would listen

media’s bluster

without so much as

whisper

of human account

cut me into wounds

moral abstract slices

of nevermore and decay

will we be saved

on this exhausted hulk

called earth

or will I shrivel

into that carbonised carapace

and tomb

that is called death

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22

they told me about the garden of love

which I knew never existed

just like the dew settles

a feeling came over me

reaching touching feathery leaves

someone lurked in the darkness

a glimpse a furtive shadow

i needed to draw out of the gloom

no fee to be paid

as wallet forgotten

my fingers picked a rose

holding it aloft to the sun

shadow emerged reaching also

for the rose

sunlit face exquisite beauty

naked radiance for me to see

entranced entwined enthralled

in a boiling swell of passion

i was consumed

infused with the flowers and trees

the garden in this garden

i would remain

many stories can be untold

but this one cannot

i belong to that once furtive figure

no more in the density of foliage

but with me

together as one

Together always

22 years of marriage to be celebrated

Nola and the Clones

An Irish film that looks to be very good and one to watch

Hollie McNish -Embarrased

Hard Sugar Stars

sweet seminole land
lost to those who came
a fallen Orlando Reeves
left only his given name
to what becomes
a city of attractions
and life
pulse pulse pulse
history now bound and woven
to pages of dusty books
to a place where love can shine
or so we thought
that lone gunman
with whatever hatred came
pulse pulse pulse
a beat a rhythm
where lovers dance and kiss
hatred spread its dense fog
leaving many fallen
ones we will not forget
and share our hearts throuhgout
pulse pulse pulse
hard sugar stars
affixed in the firmament
lighting with their pride
our every day

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

 

 

Michael Spiccia – Yardbird

gradual decline

defined and documented
blue binding no longer black
posey vest and wrist restraints,
in this bed unable to move
she was selfless in her care
and he so sure of fear,
shifting his backside slightly
legs splinted with sticks,
they had not spoken since
was it love
his mind versed it against
that boiling sensation in his gut
acidic rot sure it would calm,
she believed in the
discernment of spirits
and that sweet ignatian way,
will , desire whatever,
time had no identity any more,
clocks calendar all abandoned burned
ashes to choke his chest
and close his eyes,
she would face the flames one day
of his wrath or something more,
for now his lot
was on this mattress ,
wounded with pride and body
he could not polarize his thoughts
to agree with hers,
all joy had left him
swept away in blood pain and tears,
waiting for the next moment of torture

 

 

Oscar Ricardo Encinas – New Order

Charles Bukowski – First Faxed Poem (and Last)

In February 1994 Charles Bukowski sent his first and sadly last faxed poem , that illustrates the excitement of when he had it installed