Blood Wishes

It's okay to hate.
They're making demands
beyond your ability to compensate.
Contravening the means
to stand and reject the legislate.
So clubs beat to dub step beats,
we're not defeated,
despite the fight for rights refuted.
Disputes and allegations,
scores in courts and race relations
Elated
belatedly,
pipes are gripped as gripes are pipped,
Editorials censored,
licentiousness incensed,
tipples of brandy when feeling randy
a pat on the arse when pissed?
the numbered days,
and full in- box trays,
of the modern misogynist

Requisite exquisite requiem

I may know part of the score
but certainly not the whole story,
I ask you to dictate the terms
and you give me Jackanory,
knees,
back,
bent,
beckoning,
has there ever been such a fine reckoning?
You sing a song of deceit
not of the sword,
you wear a look of defeat and discord
in accordance with the slack jawed
but would that I could tell you
of all that does transpire
of things held tight against the night
and things thrown on the fire.

Talking Trash

Contextualized and contemporised,
and quick as a flash
right before your very eyes,
proclaiming what was once desired
no cape or phone box required,
a rapid change
to be deranged,
no super hero uniform
agape! no shape describes this form
again the shame absorbs the scorn.
You break these components down,
I deduce,
we reduce,
the crap to scrap
and throw it underground,
born of blood and spectacle,
the skeptical receptacle.

Free/dumb

Act one,scene one
is the force of will
applied with a gun
Liberate us from liberators
Save us
from the labors of saviours that enslave us
Deliver us from deliverance
deferring towards the difference
diffident and indifferent
but still somewhat beligerent

Buddy

Paimon

Momentarily suspends incredulity,
exercising excessive frugality,
taken aback
by the lack of some slack
in my inflexible gullibility,
plausible and laudable
undeniably a bauble,
distorted curvature
distending normally benign features
leering at the fear of being wrecked.
The disconnect.

Potemkin

Chews on the news like a hard addiction
right on cue
Issues aschewed,
channels disputing fact or fiction
Figuratively but furtively inverted
solapsist,
redactively interpretive redactist,
extensions to the bucket list,
the short loved life of the realist

Phantom limb

I retire,
perspiring,
respiring,
after aspiring,
it transpires,
to obtaining,
sunlight waning,
no great or fated hearts desire
But moonlight
lights the rooms,
where curtains held tight
to hold back the night
also invite the gloom,
to partially illuminate,
a mind,
not unkind,
to consequences designate

Retro introspective

Oh Jenny Jenny of the Hart
Why is it you are so smart
Did the east end do it's part?
With a cockney accent
and an apple cart?

Hearts and hand carts

So what if we dreamt
and what we dreamt was real
Inscribed by lines
dictates and mind states
everything we touch
and taste and feel
But livid,right?
In vivid light
No sun sets on me tonight
I'm huddled befuddled
in pre dawn groups
I throng among the hooded troops
Thinking comes as no surprise
with tenderist memories
chocolate eyes

The ruse

There are so many people
that simply are not me,
who I was,
and who I am,
and who I wish to be.
So are you who you think you are?
Or the face reflected
in the mirror behind the bar?
Taken aback with face slack
caught by yourself in repose,
wearing,
paper bag tearing,
a look that no one knows.

Emphatically flaccid

I feel like a hobo
I feel like a hermit
I feel like professing
and confessing
to possessing no great wit,
but as cold hands relinquish
I retain,
distain,
and the ability to distinguish
A faculty,
a fallacy
mirror reflects a phallus drawn on my forehead
Don't you see?

Roboticide

Download the app!
Yeah,
I know it's crap
but hey,it's free
what more do you want from your technological liberty?
Feels like the Enlightnment
except in reverse,
feeling demeaned
and LCD screened
sticky and quite perverse
A tendency
and a dependency
for despondency don't you see?
But sorry for waffling John,
I'll wait til the adverts come on.

Jen You Win

Still,
but bouncing
from the trouncing of the rebound,
I'm seduced and reduced
waiting turns to make some sound.
Firmly grounded
with fears unfounded
I hypothesize,
but nothing hides the veils
that  are pulled tightly in your eyes.
some momentary tension
as I mention
a name that assigns blame,
an act,
that I know for a fact
bears some relation to your cause for elation,
a place where I once stood
and surveyed a landscape
I came to adore.

Trump Card

Impatience paints us pure white
while indentured dentures talk shite
Promises lent us
from distraught agendas
strings are pulled to open
the stage that lights the show
but backstage
hides a rage
collating things we don't need to know
It's in our best interest they say
that facts stay hidden
until a better day
when recompense
makes better sense
and those that we may blame
have long retired
a song expired
from any modicum of shame

A pox on the apex(approx)

Immune to loss and cost
good grief
so begins the ballad of the urban tea leaf
It's a very brief guide
to a form of social suicide
Pick your poisons
addictions and cravings
praxis and logos
volition enslaving
Pressures felt
by poor cards dealt
The whip and crack
of the smack
that leaves a welt
Scars detailing lines
refined by JCP defined fines
the elation born of starvation
not for spiritual recompense
but for lack of want
for common sense
clucking
and responsibility ducking
when free time
is I can no longer be me time
you'll feel the need to puke
eh?
Yeah
Welcome to the U.K.

Ablutions and Absolutions

I ask
is this the face I favor?
and frown
Time to shave the fucking clown
Soaping and lathering
the slavering fool,
tearing free the masking tape
to scrape the face with sharpened tool
A likeness achieved
and people deceived
a new face applied
and a new place to hide
the mirror steams,steaped in dreams
I draw cartoon eyes
wide in surprise
big bared teeth that smile
while
the won't and the will
the can't
and the shan't
the mustn't and shouldn't
wouldn't and couldn't
shout louder and bolder
than the face that grows older

Which is...

There's no rush
but grab a brush
some canvas and some paint
to help me paint a picture
entirely based on scripture
of the perfect saint
Burned at the stake
dunked on stools into rivers
thrown bound into lakes,
grave mistakes.
Witches,
which ease,
a pain that no god can appease,
medicine is not magic to be feared
far more tragic to be adhered
to bile and spite
spittle and drivel
heaped in piles
with spade and shovel
tempo struck by wigs n gavel
Britain's history buried deep
by a price once paid
seems far too steep

By Rote

Stoking cold coals
that fire beneath
a furnace that burns
with righteous self belief,
Removing the dead ash
of cures
traded for cash
Kindling chopped
and blood mopped from floors,
as we kneel to conceal
crimes behind holy doors
Newspaper tapers are lit
to ignite the fight
of might against wit
but we feel
tight leashes and leads
are pulled as we're brought to heel
A match flares
to illuminate the cares
and stares of hard won faces,
so condemn the gays
the lesbians and he-she's
whilst standing in a box
regurgitating faeces

Search Term Undefined

Shall I review the stats and likes
for cats in hats
and dogs riding bikes?
Folk punching lags
and chimps smoking fags
Fails and fatal trips
summarised with witty quips
Spending lost hours
searching through YouTube
desperately hoping
for a glimpse of celeb boob,
nipple shots of newspaper hotties
crashes and bashes
of incompetent yachties,
failed boat launches
staunching the will
fed like swill to pigs for ratings
waiting for fame
with only ourselves
and a poor sense of self
to blame

The Fear

Resist if you will
the insistence,
due to glares
of subway stares
into middle distance,
I know there's risk involved
and it may cause harm
but stay calm
we've evolved
hands held just so
just so you know,
posture and poise
no unwarranted noise,
no thought
or errant hair
for wars bought
and a vacant stare

Isms

Allow me to cheat
if I may
Avow me the feat
of abysmal dismay
Locked in a box
for the rest of my days
Idiot window flashing
and blinking
I'm thinking the days away
Can you see the traces
of monochrome painted faces?
Portraits portraying betrayal
portents failing me
as I'm falling
stalling for time
counting clocks
apoplexic and deflated
I wait
for the expiry
of my best before date

Paper Plates

Divided,
like slices of cake,
for fucks sake,
patiently waiting,
not minding but teeth grinding,
at the back of the queue,
in the hope I'll get a small taste of you.
Am I too needy?
wanton and greedy?
Arriving too late to a bare empty plate,
fingers and thumbs I'm picking up crumbs
to compress sponge and smears of cream
into dreams,
a pressing resemblance
of something I once consumed

Would Work

With blunt tools
are fashioned stumped fools.
Chipped and worn chisels
form whipped from birth wastrels.
Grinding fresh edges
to cut
with blinding rash pledges
Wedges and grudges driven deep
to split grain
for planes to follow
Bit and drill to bore
deep holes
where none existed before
Tight gripped vice like hold
the unrelenting measure
of a pressure
applied to describe
a much better mold