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