Each face will be known in time, relations and relationships formed
through viral videos, HD blossom punching through screens
to form a pink crust on smiling faces.
Steady lines etched on taut skin, (spiralling from 1999 to 2016
and onwards) until the inkings blur and stretch
foreshadowing wrinkles of youth.
Aristocratic histories, doling out death with a flick of the wrist
replaced with caustic app swiping and lifelong settlements.
Too busy being shadowed with electric lighting
to thumb laughter lines or pinch hair between teeth
and happy with flaccid VR, the modern person loses touch
with relations and relationships formed.
I offer my deposit with grievance,
flat palmed and open
I pay my mortgage with
tinned veg and harvest fruit.
My shoulder holds up twenty-seven
storeys, neediness an opiate
for penthouse no-faces.
Brothers and sisters clasp
digits onto children’s necks
Vaults, dusty and grey
offer tin and wicker.
Gold, silver and bronze
spent an eternity ago
on drinks with lunch
and white powder nasal spray
I spend my macaroni and cheese,
cylindrically sloshed on one
more days life. Eagerly anticipating
the dilution of the blue wave.
Posted in Uncategorized Tagged #poetry, austerity, foodbank, ge2015, generalelection, government, green, labour, libdem, poem, poverty, thoughts, tory, truth, ukip
We trade in handshakes
of ghostly currency.
Spectres melting into
leather office chairs,
£1000 shoes propped up,
hard-heel tapping mahogany.
99% scrabbling at chicken-feed
pinching news items between their fingers,
screens harbouring wipeable perspiration,
when long before it disappeared,
between pages of law and righteousness.
We’re told its empty:
The comfort of the Euro feels
nothing like the £’ing of heart
against heart with an embrace.
But clammy and desperate we
compete to live for techno-respite,
sharing our global position
through social media machines
and laughing at funny tidbits;
something to disengage the brain
when you start wondering why
your bank account haemorrhages,
and your neighbour has two new cars.
We trade in misinformation,
skulduggery to chug
the oil and gentle fucking
of the 1%.
£6 shoes propped up
against IKEA furniture
and the age old question
Posted in Uncategorized Tagged #poetry, america, austerity, blog, britain, control, culture, currency, dollar, euro, facebook, ghost, government, IKEA, illuminati, life, money, news, NWO, opinion, poem, poems, pound, privatisation, socialmedia, spectre, technology, truth, twitter, writing
For years they knelt
under arches, rainbow glass
and stone crosses.
For years they knelt,
hunched over the Good Book,
For years they knelt
under Golden Arches,
LCD screens and electronic
For years they knelt,
hunched over phones
Posted in Uncategorized Tagged #poetry, answers, church, future, god, jesus, life, love, past, poem, pray, questions
With every chafed step
a portfolio of struggle is formed,
salutes and whoops,
phone flashes and hand slapping.
Hyperbolic fissures of a gross
‘Well-done’ and the clamouring
to hook in new feeders.
‘You won’t believe what she did
with her tits’,
‘#6 is an absolute doozy, you have to see this’.
Well aware that I’m one in one-
thousand to pound through
to #6, it’s the sudden hankering
for online bingo
and the spiral through slideshows
that concerns me most.
Posted in Uncategorized Tagged #poetry, advertising, austerity, clickbait, comment, control, facebook, government, hyperlink, internet, life, modern, money, new poetry, poem, popular, twitter, UK, USA, wealth
I am afraid there’s a poultry quarantine.
Hen pecked and dragged by their necks
through disinfectant, feathers matted
into a blonde and gold hazmat suit
clucks suitably fowl,
(gargled) when up to their wattles
in bleach and corn bile.
Birds can be replaced, but I’m a unique
one of seven billion.
Just swill it and serve my fucking
coq au vin, no imports.
Posted in Uncategorized Tagged #poetry, america, avian, avianflu, chick, chicken, disease, flu, fowl, hazmat, hen, poem, poultry, USA, washington
As with any mugging
I feel floor against my back
whispers of the next move
and prodding against my face
and mouth. Tranquillised
by mercy, standard medicinal
and impatience. I lie for hour
long minutes until I’m pulled
to my feet and banished
until next time.
I show my teeth and further plastic
as I take the door.
Posted in Uncategorized Tagged #poetry, dentist, doctor, fear, money, mugging, pain, phobia, poem, smile, teeth, tooth