we touched the sky

with suffered silos:

feigned gates on which my love might hang 

scabbed wreaths creaking in idle winds

peppered, long-feln

to keep the flies off 

to keep some facsimile of youth intact

another field-dressed carcass

only good for sausage

by the watershed.

ground is a funny word, isn't it? 

rough-hewn earths and

torn up turfs and

a finer...

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Donald Trump Jr. resorts to grotesque manipulation in his latest PR stunt in Greenland, exploiting the homeless and downtrodden to create an illusion of support for his father. This cold-hearted scheme reveals a family willing to go to any lengths for a false image—no matter how embarrassing or degrading. The staged scenes in Nuuk, with homeless people wearing MAGA hats for a free meal, expose a d...

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This poem is supposed to be a fierce indictment of unchecked wealth and power, calling for justice against those who exploit their riches to dominate and oppress. It warns of the consequences of greed and challenges readers to act decisively, through solidarity and systemic change, to dismantle the influence of the ultra-rich and restore equity.
 

The richest rise, their coffers swell,
While ...

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We are the surrogates, when mother's milk ends

we take over, weaning on objects of desire

when liquid turns to gold.

Mummy and Daddy consume and so

it will be with the little ones

small models of a greater future

we'll start them with

soft toys then as their awareness grows

dress them up in more grown up clothes

show them heroes

the American Dream

sweet dreams...

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We are the surrogates, when mother's milk ends

we take over, weaning on objects of desire

when liquid turns to gold.

Mummy and Daddy consume and so

it will be with the little ones

small models of a greater future

we'll start them with

soft toys then as their awareness grows

dress them up in more grown up clothes

show them heroes

the American Dream

sweet dreams...

Read and leave comments (0)

We are the surrogates, when mother's milk ends

we take over, weaning on objects of desire

when liquid turns to gold.

Mummy and Daddy consume and so

it will be with the little ones

small models of a greater future

we'll start them with

soft toys then as their awareness grows

dress them up in more grown up clothes

show them heroes

the American Dream

sweet dreams...

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(Poem dedicated to the Liverpool Tate art gallery which has chosen to buy and display this piece of abusive exploitative art)

Sometimes I wonder if I'm wearing the right glasses

wrong glasses

wrong lens

or  wrong vision?

All around me

people see things

differently -

depersonalise

rationalise

intellectualise

forgive

the unfo...

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A silence fell upon the city,

contorted shadows twisting moonlight.

Stuttering in a speakeasy seemed so misplaced

bottles rattled flickering like Fedora feathers

in an unforgiving wind.

The wretched odour of deprivation

a stench that sticks and degrades ones existence.

Even by day this city remains a lifeless sap

and by night the vampires feast on th...

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