Atlas

It tares apart like paper
born from a saviour’s verse
The devil doesn’t mind, she makes it worse
I collect the curses
I recycle them like newspaper
rhetorical rhymes
in my life of grime.

I shine like the steeple of church
but I’d rather be the birch the trunk of a tree
for this a goddess induced reality
Wisdom causing minds full of incoherent clarity
I lose my faith wandering in garden labyrinths
the chances are we won’t find the goddess or her nymphs
or there chalices in the angles or angel absinthe
that we drink or think outside our boxes
so neat we feel no feeling in our defeat
yet we drink it all down
like sad pathetic clowns
in the pubs wearing our overalls and scrubbing away.

Polishing our lamps just to find genies or djinn
in our lives that our extraordinary and full of sin
yet we all fall beneath the skin
the earth full of mud and shit
the page half written is full of it
yet it feeds us and bears fruit
forms the roots of all we cultivate
for man is no man unless he has a little hate
and enough love to permeate
his sad heart
beating in tune to the bleeding womb
he wants to enter
another grand venture
trying to give his child
the wisdom of being wild
and free while they try to chain his children
with the care they placed on his shoulders
I love you Atlas don’t get tired
Or older the love that beats in your soul
don’t let the fire get colder…

Mum

Your kind words guide me, your gentle hands wipe away my tears

you fight fiercely to protect me from all my fears

You are my mother the one who brought me into the world

No one can break the bond we have

Even through the bittersweet memories

and the many roles you fulfil

you looked after me through the many times I was ill

and I am a reflection of all the love you have shown

You were my only friend in times when I was alone

You encouraged me when I felt like breaking

you took me places to see the world and you made me awaken

You still tell stories and give me words to tell

Mum in my heart you will always have a space to dwell

You lighten the weight on my shoulders

You make me feel as if I can take on anything now I am older

Mum you are the one who has time for me even when life is cluttered full

you gave my life more joy than I can ever appreciate still.

The ghost child of the man in the asylum

In side the beaten white walls of an mental institution

where people go to be uprooted from their delusions

Sat a man his hand outstretched as if holding hands with the dark

No spark to light his way, only the tragic marks his way

he used to play childish games by himself

look they say where is his mental health?

has it left him altogether why does his play childish games

he would call a name on the wind

for the child he lost unbeknown to them

Tilly or Matilda the ghost of a child of six

who he held in his arms before he was sick

she swallowed her tongue in an epileptic fit

but before then were eye spy and guessing games

before then were pin the tale on the donkey and blind mans buff

I guess we are all in a way sheltering memories like ghosts

In the places in the heart we hide

which we can never move away from no matter how we stride

or how many steps we take

life is sometimes an evil fate.

Rudolph and the refugee child

A refugee child wondered weary and tired

looking for some food, shelter and warmth from a fire

but the snow fluttered from the sky

was Christmas a lie?

Rudolph flew down from on high

he would take the the child to the land of elves and presents

Father Christmas would feed the orphan child a roast pleasant

and show him the love the best present of all

in our hearts we must all break the wall.

Sandwich board lives

From skid row street
to death row and where they meet
you’ve exchanged your life
For a dollar sign and strife
crack alley coloured black
devil cries into your pipe
where shit travels
and you forget to wipe
where is the contrast?
Life for rent
Broken and bent
the colour, the shape of your heart
Before it was torn apart
Give me the child of hope
not the man who copes
with life emotions cut loose
the tyranny of time’s choice
you’ve lost your voice
chasing the dollar
forgetting to holler
about your dreams
while your desolation screams
sandwich board lives.

The title is “sandwich boards lives”because people in this sort of crisis have lost their voice and yet they wear despair and loneliness like a sandwich board you can see it in their face and how they present themselves.

A mother to her child

They took your innocence
and they left you with a hole
they made a pretence
and then took your soul
you were made to bear children
they made it your occupation
they made you want to be beautiful
attractive to the eye
they made you need a man who could protect you
but he controls you and makes you cry
this is not a verse which lies
make sure you keep your wisdom
make sure your beauty is kept in your souls secret garden
if there ever is frost in your heart make sure it doesn’t harden
make sure you pass on life’s truth to your children
it isn’t fair but your children control the future within their lives
A piece of you is in them woman don’t let it hide.