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
a
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