Occupied/possessed

I have been occupied

Like the sign on a toilet cubicle

I have been subjected to your ridicule

Your voice comes and goes

like the wind that blows

Maybe my heart was hollow

and needed to be possessed

but now I cannot rest.

Knowledge is carnage

Knowledge is carnage it kills lies

Those pretty liars don’t like it!

Knowledge is power

it hurts you want it

more

it opens doors that you shouldn’t want to open

it plays on repeat in hidden escape rooms

with the truth

that pisses you off

it makes you want die

cry open up and ask why?

but it’s scientifically proven

so there’s no getting around it

confound it!

But knowledge is like a clever serial killer you have to look in the right places to find it

and most people unfortunately are blind to it.

Not my King!

Not my king

Not my government

not my establishment.

I resent you all

who can stand tall

and not be beaten

or arrested in protests

who can stand tall?

when people are so restless?

who can stress less

when all around suffer

where is the buffer

for the cost of living

where is freedom of speech

replaced by law and order unforgiving

us.

We may all curse and cuss under our breath

no freedom to protest cause we might cause a nuisance

law and order just an excuse

to beat down on us through and through

no freedom

when we just accept

that this law and order just crept into view

grew out of our fears through and through

they’ll come for us and they’ll come for you

they’ll lock up our children too in this state wide prison.

No money for services or the epidemics of mental illnesses

as they cause us will full distress

and keep the peace through an iron fist

like the fascists we were told to hate and malign

written underneath law and order wins

fists of the police hit our chins

meanwhile the prime minister grins

as his profits hit the roof

the truth is lost under parliaments roof.

The history of words

Words have a history

it’s not a mystery

If you do the research

from racist toys

for girls and boys

we have to respect

words have a history

and so do objects

so please have some respect

and acknowledge the implications

we all want to be loved above stereotypes

and life is cannot be lived in present only;

history matters

and leaves us sometimes in tatters

words will often leave us broken

hurting us more than sticks and stones

and broken bones.

Themes of life

From Cinematic skies

to the cemeteries where they lay us to rest.

From the hovels of the poor

to the grand entrances of lords.

From ladies who go out on ladies nights

to men beaten by many fights

the stories we tell ourselves

not sold on supermarket shelves.

From the desperate love in ashes

to tattoos of hearts set like gashes

from the schools classes

through to the waiting rooms of life

from the mother cradling her daughter

to the Dad fighting his way through wars and slaughter

to the conventions of gay and straight

the way we breathe in life and wait

or wipe the slate

and find foundations and roots in identity

and eventually bridge the gaps

born into this life our mothers and fathers telling us stories for maps.

Themes of life and love

the great adventures there of.

Under a sign of neon loneliness

Under a sign of neon loneliness

We are all drifting

shifting uncertainty.

If you don’t say what you mean clearly

it falls apart!

Like the shifting sands of a man’s heart.

I love yous repeated like rhetorical questions

a quest never to be won

a word we lean upon

but who really knows what it means

we can only dream

of being narcissistic kings or Queens

with enough love for ourselves

the magazines sit on the shop shelves

Do they dream of being read?

Loneliness the killer of lives

love the flip side of the coin

but they join…

They call me the bravest man in the world

but I just want to be held

and kept in her cage

admired at her whim.

I am the I am

Alienated alone

Friendless in the friendzone

No forks to give in a world of spoons

A real world character in a world of toons

a goon army

that want to harm me

I must be barmy

An only child to a wild man

a Stan to other people

imposter syndrome makes me feel unequal

the film I wrote won’t be a prequel

it’ll be where I stand

to where I finish as a man

This life is bitter

a litter of ironies

this life is a cycle

but the spokes won’t break on this bicycle

I am a nutter

with clutter in my head

I am smart but not book smart

I am art

but in chaos

I am the freedom you find in loss

I am joy but the heartache it cost

I am the I am and I am god

I am the I am but I am a little sod

I am the odd

one out

I am you and your every doubt

the beating second

the way it beckoned

I am reckoning

I reckon

When I reach the end

send

for help

I know I am freedom

this is where I gulp

for air…

In the cupboard of lost purposeful poetry

In the yellowed worn out dusty pages

the poetry that had a purpose is not lost

no matter how much the ideas cost

In this cupboard space

like the recesses of my minds eye

Ideas on the page never die

the reader if they thumbed through my poetry

would likely gain a paper cut or two

red ink another happening

mapping the page

the poetic wars we wage

on this desperate stage

between poet and reader

In this cupboard hidden away

will these poems ever see the light of day

like the dead poet lost in time

his reasons and rhymes

still unearth histories

and mysteries of life and of the earth

from birth to the finish

these ideas won’t diminish!

Maybe behind the library rooms and shelves

the poet unpublished poet finds themselves

and their voice

And these poems and half finished ideas

give a voice to voiceless after all these years

will be found and treasured and made into books

that people will treasure read and look

after finding this lost cupboard.

We are gathered here today

We are gathered here today

To bear witness

to pray for the best of ourselves

we buried

so we could fill our food shelves

and work jobs we hate

but not abbreviate

our own sadness

madness caves us in

we are lost

in depraved cravings

as another migrants ship sinks

where is our humanity

we are on the brink

of degrading and hating our own species

or has that ship sailed on its own sea of faeces

I don’t know so say a prayer

for the people we could have been

if life wasn’t so mean

and we hadn’t of adopted

and been co-opted

into ideologies of hate

as we masterbate

over our own tribal race

and forget that we supposed to love every face.