unpublishable

FOUR POEMS by Kevin Bonfield

Advertisements

WEAR RED AND RISE AGAIN

drop that now

who is really our friend?

why not cheer? 

and chant? and thump our chests?

to the rhythm of

the change that never happened?



and if change is 

going to happen

let’s grab our comfort

jackets and head for 

the door, out into something

better than this



gather pencils and 

ring topped notelets

drink. If you must.

but mean every word

just as it is written

it could be the time



the spirit of nineteen ninety

seven but without

turning. without that tearful

hangover. with truth.

and take down the

tricksters of this cult



thump our chests once

more and sit or stand

but be you for you, for them 

for us. we’ll pull off

the veil. who is right?

who is wrong? tell them.

tell them that this is wrong.

wear red and rise again.


FUEL FOR HIS FURY

it goes like this

you peddle the fuel 

for his fury, his two faced liquid line

the courage that

now is his time

to question his reasons

for staying the distance

he earns in the dirt and 

you take his dirty money

to keep yourself from hunger

and nurse him through 

the warning bell

you’ve stoked and 

created these spats and accusations

hoping the target doesn’t bite



it goes like this 

you take both sides

or Three or more

as his wife begs you

to save their youngest

pair from the circling

vultures who see the

broken doors, the black

eyes and swollen knees

the shoes too tight and

lunches missing

holes where there

used to be elbows

all because he 

was lured in by the

seduction of distraction

and the distraction 

of seduction



and you



yes you 

  peddled the fuel for his fury


10

update

like a life unbound to time

climbing

numbers don’t mean a thing

wrongs made wrong by price



liars

and quiet. yet loud believers

daily

numbers and divisive crying

black words inside the machine



if your loved 

one becomes one of the 10

it’s not alright

they’ll tell you

it was pre existing 


A THOUSAND TACKS

red like Liverpool 

not red top like (the) sun

not read – like not

enough of my words

are



strong like fingers

slowly dragged through

hair too short to notice

strong like the laces

of my boots



alive like tiny green

shoots, delaying their

assault on timber.

baby snakes plotting

their escape



grains and knots

of logs in season

soft baskets keep 

them snug and pretty

as a winter like

no other taps the window



pain. Not like nails in 

timber, but constant

like 

thousand 

tacks


Kevin is a rather private writer. Inspired by a rather disjointed past, a beautiful present and a hopeful future. His writing has appeared in Neuro Logical as well as his own occasional blog kevinrunsblog.com

Tweets https://twitter.com/bonfield_kevin

Advertisements

Advertisements