PR
Relay
Who brings the flame to signify
That peace now lights this land
On whose sure grip may we rely
Which body lends this hand
Upon whose face the gentle glow
To light the way for all
A worthy grasp of all that comes
With populace in thrall
The backers, hip to all things good
Whose strength may awe the meek
Are striding through our neighbourhood
The streets we knew, now chic
With none to cross the undrawn line
All smiles upon each mug
And those with work they must resign
At home beneath the rug
So spread glad tidings, far and wide
The days are passing fast
We’re queueing up to catch this ride
To gawk as it goes past
High Levels of Invisibility
Another day, another merry rejection email winging it’s way across the wires to my inbox. Never mind. See if you can spot the theme for these poems…
Visible
Bruises are open to interpretation
Marks of a life lived
Without the inconvenience
Of diversion
No avoiding sharp corners
And as we bump along
Grinding truth into one another
All efforts to avoid
Lasting damage
Remain futile
Invisible
I grew up under a piano
Looking at grown-up shoes
Out of the way of the weary
A quiet child, too shy
For the floating world
Of theatrical parents
I only became visible
At three years of age
When my sister appeared
Her adventurous spirit
Blonde hair, blue eyes
Loud voice
Dragged me into the chaos
Of a downstage spot
Where everything was my fault
Visibility
Swirling fog furls
Around my headlights
Their beams soft and unfocused
In the quiet of a country lane
So deserted a setting
Bunnies bedded down
Snug in their burrows
Birds silent on slippery branches
Anything might happen
Out here where you can’t see
Where you might be driving
Through clouds
Your wheels barely meeting
The frozen ground
Off cliffs and onto
Sleepy railway lines
Unseasonal weather
In the chilly calm
Before the dawn chorus
Takes their cue
Invisibility
An arm buried
In a grimy sleeve
Stretches out
Lost in a crowd
Seeking the solace
Of friendly faces
Finding nothing
But coins
Being seen
Red circled defects
Are a validation
As glossy headlines
Tell terrible tales
Of celebrity cellulite
Beautifully bad behaviour
And once again
The publicist knows
Someone noticed them
In the spotlight
Dust motes dance a Mazurka
To an empty room
The Powers That Weren’t
It’s that time of year again when I trudge through my various bits and pieces and root out those submissions that were rejected outright or (worse) that never received a reply. Those that were written to a set theme or spec, I usually post here, as they are rarely suitable for resubmission elsewhere.
As you may be able to guess, these were written to a set theme – Power. I generally try not to over-explain my scribbles as I often feel if they require an explanation, then they aren’t finished yet, however this particular publication requested a brief introduction to each poem, so I have included these in my post.
This poem was written from the perspective of a Liberal politician nominally ‘In Power’ within the current coalition government, musing on the present state of the UK.
In Power
Feel my rhythm, see my vision
Fear the schism of this prism
All must work in culmination
Bettering the nation’s station
Tweaking noses, stomping toeses
Pack a pocketful of posies
Quick to hide the stench of rows
All long-since passed their sell-by codes
Darker glasses for middle classes
Out on arses for making passes
No more handouts for noisy standouts
Put up, shut up, we’re boss and bandits
Tailored speeches to tired teachers
Bitter leeches and lay-down preachers
Sieve for truth from the lie-buffet
Here’s a vibrant youth, let him have his say
Disenchanting, we see them panting
For what they’re wanting, and now recanting
Scrambled egg stains the ties of old
And the very dregs of the yellow fold
This poem was written about a turbulent relationship with an imbalance of power as one person chooses what is best for both of them on a whim, without reference to the other person’s thoughts or feelings.
Power
We’re together
Off and on
Depending how light
You are feeling
That switch in your brain
Flicks from one
To the other
And once again
Here I stand
In the dark
This poem was written on a miserably cold morning, sitting at a desk in a room with no heating, trying to summon up enough energy to face the day and gazing out of the window at one kind driver helping a total stranger get a battered old banger going again.
Jump Leads
Give us a bump start
A quick start, a jump start
To be smart and hearty
A powerful party
Yeah, kick off the traces
Of car-to-car chases
I want to feel spaces
See people, go places
Half-Pint’s Positive Thinking
The best thing about a committee
Is there’s always somebody to blame
A convenient scapegoat to pity
While feeding the papers a name
And as all the ballots are secret
There is no-one to call out the lie
As you smile at the cameraman’s edit
One more face in a coat and a tie
Oh, we cannot condemn the committee
Just a small offering will suffice
Thus with humblest expressions of duty
We prepare for the next sacrifice