Words

Words tell a million stories, some believable and some absurd, scaring you to the core with just one well-placed word. Words can define you or undermine you, be true or false. Words can kill you and hurt you inside as they punish you and deride, kicking you in the side, beating over you like a tide giving you nowhere to hide.

Words can sooth and bath you in glory, make you lose yourself in a good story. Words can tell you, you are loved, fitting like your favorite glove, keeping you warm and happy, only nice things do you see. Words cause wars, ripping apart worlds by scores, words that are full of hate, designed to berate. Words of religion tell of what went before but lay others of god raw, say no more.

Words are funny making you laugh, like a hyena or even a giraffe, they make you laugh out loud, or chuckle back in side, where your happiness and humour safely reside. Words can rhyme although if they don’t it’s not a crime, words can make something chime. Words can give introductions but can also cause destruction and abduction. Words can describe pungent scents and flowers, words can make you hungry and your mouth savor.

Use words wisely and for good as you know you really should. Don’t be miserly, write plenty, let your pen work until your mind is empty.

The Fair

Flashing lights and music pumping in the night, it’s an unmistakable sight, the fun fair at night. Candy floss and toffee apples, sweets and treats of all kinds sit on the carts waiting to warm fair dwellers hearts. Helter-skelter, rubber slide, climb up the side then glide down with good grace, picking up a respectable pace.

 Bumper cars flash around the track, young man jumping on the back, from car to car he goes, spinning the wheels to young girls’ squeals. Waltzers spinning around and around up on a wave and straight back down, G force pulling your face out of place as the car picks up a pace, fairground staff spinning you all over the place. The rifle range with tin cans stacked, after your turn they are still intact, hook a duck so easy to do, guaranteed a prize no matter how you do.

 Burgers and chips, savory dips and cans of pop to wash on top, children’s eyes light up at the sight, day or night any time is right for the fair.

 

Communication Breakdown

I try to communicate with you but you just get in a rage, doesn’t matter if I try to speak or put it on a page. I talk a lot but no one ever hears, my voice only echoes back through my ears. I could shout from a mountain top, it would not leave a blot, would it really bother you? cos you don’t give a jot.

My voice echoes inside this empty vessel trying to make you hear but you may as well not be here, my voice travels nowhere near. All I want is for you to hear, to speak without fear, without ridicule and for you not to sneer. So, when the words come out all the same it’s because I’ve said them over again.

Your attention I must gain this saga is becoming in vain, to say what I want to say, nothing inside my soul but anger and dismay. My thoughts are only decay, communication is such a tough game to play, its driving me insane again and again, overloading my brain.

 

Tight Space

Tied and bound in a small room tall enough to stand but not enough to turn, escape I yearn, ropes start to burn as I wriggle and twist and turn, in discern. Dark place, no space, just me and the fear of closed in space, darkness in front of my face sets my brain running a pace.  Panic sets in as I wriggle and squirm to try to get free from this room so wee. Exhaustion follows as super human effort does not succeed and my wrists start to bleed, my mind starts to plead. 

Then there is a bang a chink of light cutting the dark of night. In through the top comes a piece of meat, raw and not fit to eat. I scream, the lid slams shut, trapped in a box like a mutt. I smell the meat it’s raw, gathering dust on the floor, I start to heave with every breath I draw, desperately wanting to find a door. 

I decide not to eat, my body starts to ask for a treat, water needed but none about, I dream of a beer if I get out. My body is weak my thirst is bleak, I may not even last a week. I may be caged in body but am free in mind able to think and go into my mind. I think of nice things of better days, reciting lines from films and plays. I loose track of all the days, just sitting there staring a gaze. Flies start to swarm like gnats before the storm. Putrid food rotting on the floor, smell a fowl stench of rotting flesh and decay. I lean on the wall waiting for what’s at the end of it all, given up hope of getting away, in this box I must spend my last days. Hallucinations come and go in the dark, madness tearing me apart. My body week and breaking down thirst and dehydration come around. I close my eyes and wait for coma to descend and my body to meet this tragic end. 

The River

Rushing, charging, bumbling liquid, cutting through mountain rock, stealing the natural minerals. Rolling down the valley leaves it’s source to wind it’s course like a knight on a horse. Wet, white water sandwiched in banks of lush green, picture post card scene. Cutting the valley rock by rock thousands of years through the valley it hops.

Then slowly, the might of the water diminishes as the river is calmed by the rocks, running clear across its bed. See the fish and insects swim as people paddle and soak their limbs. Children with bandy nets play on the rocks , in shorts and swim suits no shoes and socks. Pushing and splashing feet thrashing. Cold water refreshing the skin in this paradise we are in.  Sheep creeping to the waters edge, eating grass and veg. 

Woollen coats hang from their back legs to their throats ready for shearing, drinking in the clearing. Couples sit on deckchairs and blankets picnic baskets, sandwiches hand picked. Lunch by the river tranquil space. Beautiful river paradise place. Feel the cold of the water on my hands and face where the rivers slows to a gentle pace. 

Bomber

Why do you kill hurt and maim, it’s not done in my name, making children die and families cry, so you can be a martyr up in the sky? Yet you are fake, you need a shake, there is no excuse to cause a wake. No motive, no greed, just false belief that makes lives so brief, you can’t justify and live a lie, why should innocents die?

Children sing and dance and have a good time, but you sir are no martyr, you just commit crime, you murder young people then kill yourself, a coward, a cheat a killer by stealth. It’s all about your beliefs and yourself, you are not worthy of death, you are like bad breath, floating away after the main play, not stopping to see the pain.

You are not insane, they have washed your brain to make you think its ok to cause death and pain, for the many people you have slain. So many times, we see this act and here the excuses how lame. But on your family, on your country and on you, you have brought only shame.

Teenage Gangsters

Hanging around on street corners with you fighting hound. Looking for an incentive to maim and pound as your mates all gather round. Bandana over your face, hood up to hide as you know you are a disgrace. You want to rule your turf think you are in charge on this earth.

You are no Gangster or a prankster you are just a thug, being a mug. Uncover your face and show us your case and get your life up to pace. If you were a real Gangster you would be dead a bullet through your head.

You pick on the vulnerable, to make you look big, hoping people will fear you in the black gear. Distribute drugs for dealer thugs and skinning up to keep up. Off your face with drugs and drink you start trouble before you blink. Cannabis makes you stink, you’re not the hard Gangster that you think.

Teenage wannabee, laughing at authority, hanging with your mates seeking your own fates. Knives in pockets, killing is a badge of honour, then pop another pill you can’t cope with the thrill. Up in court tell them you snort and that’s why you don’t behave as you ought. Sent to prison your esteem has risen. Now you think you are a proper Gangster but soon find in prison you are a little boy, just their toy. Don’t cry for your mum cos she can’t come to your defence, you won’t repent until a real Gangster makes you heaven-sent.

My Fat Boy

fat boyTurning the grip thumbs clad in leather to give them grip. Roar of the hog as the valves open, my Fat Boy heading for the open road. Sleek and black with gleaming chrome, seat laid back engine throbbing and starting to groan. Iron horse, my trusted steed leaves the smog of the town at good speed

Out on the vast open road, this iconic hog hauling its load, pounding the highway on empty roads. Rider clad leather and jeans the mirrored sunglasses look so mean. Cut off waist coat and tea shirt give way to heavy tattoos to suit. Bandana covers half my face, people are scared when we roll up to their place.

Wind and rain in my face, pick up the pace, the hog glides along with beauty and grace. With gleaming chrome and engine drone the Fat Boy takes me a long way from home. Wheels turning exhaust burning, see the yearning on the faces we meet.

Rider and steed, cow boys in need, on the open road the feeling that can’t be beat. me and my Fat Boy look so neat, my iron horse with its leather seat.

Election

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No MPs just candidates peddling their lies and messages of hate, now the election has a date when we all go to rate. Will they buy bombs, or give money to moms? Will they look after the old or just leave them out in the cold.

They all say their words but some are absurd, when they win they pretend we never heard. Promises made and then reneged, social class becomes a farce, when politicians get paid so vast. The gap is massive but we stay passive and let them rule the roost.

War on the world and war on the poor while they keep money sitting off shore. Money is their driving force not people of course, they would sooner you walk than have a car of course.

Low tax and no tax hacks, yet they charge us more to fund their wars. who is paying for this pain? the usual people they are all the same, they want to make you feel ashamed. what about people who moved to Spain, what have they got to gain? will they move home again as their money takes a drain.