Saturday, June 19, 2010

Anarchy

To be a beautiful liar
You need to have a ‘lived-in’ face
That rumples, plasticine-like,
Into all men’s motives, any place.

To build a beautiful brick wall
Of skin cells over your warped mind
You plaster pink, day come, day go,
On wear-worn grin and lips like rind.

To be a leader, learn the lines
Lean words against your lazy lips
And spit them out in rhythmic sings
Of hatred, sweet like nettle-tips.

To hurt yourself, play-act your smile.
Create, berate, and wait a while.
Curate your prestige, run the trial,
Live life in power, and self-denial.

Dumbstruck witnesses


For the children who the press reported could not speak in shock after witnessing recent murders in Wales.


Dead leaves line the floor of twilight,
shredded leaves that flew half-mast.
They were a premature parade,
a fete of innocence. That’s past –
forgot, outlived, undone,
dumb, frozen. They’ve been
violated at the scene. We wonder now
what
have they seen?

You saw the flashlights at the scene:
“Traumatised”
He said.
Obscene unseen things wander through the veins
behind their eyes –
they still watch, stand still there.

Remembered guns, resounding din.

They turn from shadows to face lights
whose cameras feed on pain for fame.
But they –
they are soaked, smothered by
blood spattered bold across the sun.
Unspeakable
patterns and treads they are,
of what
went on. What
has he done.¬¬¬