poetry – Page 129 – poems 2 die for

COLUMBINE

we came across
a fallen city

at its heart
there was
a labyrinth

and at
the heart of this
labyrinth
there was a demon

very little of
this culture,
this society remains
not enough to
give a reasonable
picture of
what they were like
the people
who lived here

except we are
pretty sure
we can infer
they were
extremely militaristic

and, perhaps
in the fear that
the shadow of
their conquests
engendered

conducted
savage sacrifices
of the youth
who perhaps tried
in vain to suggest
more peaceful ways

AWAY

TAKE

take the money
take our words

push us into
madness we
have no say it
want no
part of

still have no
coherent argument

how and why
we are here at all

CHILI FRIES

went to the drive
through at
the fast food
outlet

came away
with a couple of
presidential candidates
and a load
of chili fries

the candidates
were not
up to much
looked nothing
like as advertised

but the fries were
piquant

and were not
crawling
with grotesque lies

THE MUSIC

the music is dangerous
the artwork
is dangerous

the dancing is dangerous

the slogans are dangerous

if
they carry on

they carry on

they will destroy
this Empire

go for it
my sweets

you are
my only solution

THE MUSIC

LAWN

weed out
the troublemakers.

now
the lawn

do mot let
them infiltrate
the body politic
infest our dead reality.with their
thriving little
protest village

a place that we must
segregate, isolate,
wire off, set apart

place that needs to
be an unadulterated patch
of lawn, piece of
Golf course green

cannot be that which
quietly and noisly
speaks to a new humanity
all kinds of new dispensations

set
to bring new life to
resurrect all forgotten
notions
jettisoned thoughts
twice dead big dreams

FOOTPRINT

BLOTTED

the lie spreads
seeps into, flows
across the page

as soon
as pen hits the page
commiting such
magnificent untruth
to screen
and paper

you need
air-tight law
to protect the lie
from truth’s
unholy power

make sure it
feels safe

has the space
required
to enact its alchemy

turning blotted
copybook

ink spilled across
so many fronts
to rivers
oceans

of blood
(enough
to paint the world
twice over)

EARLY

going to bed early
want to, and so let me,
sleep through thr most
gorgeous
and most
harrowing dreams

and those dreams
that provide a mixture,
a melange
of the gorgeous
and what is harrowing

a new, alien world,
full of new vistas, images,
stories, beauties,
fears and horrors

where the monstrous
otherness we fear
is what
we brought ourselves

so leave me in this ghost
world of such promise and
achievement
and, yes, abject failure

wake me
if ever
it should set itself
the task of a journey
of transformation

both outside and
in, searching in the hope
that it did
not die

can still
be found
lomg thought lost,
murdered, imprisoned,
coopted

its
true, better self

going to bed early
so
much to sleep through