“Black Boys on Mopeds”

“Black Boys On Mopeds”

Margaret Thatcher on TV
Shocked by the deaths that took place in Beijing
It seems strange that she should be offended
The same orders are given by her
I’ve said this before now
You said I was childish and you’ll say it now
“Remember what I told you
If they hated me they will hate you”
England’s not the mythical land of Madame George and roses
It’s the home of police who kill black boys on mopeds
And I love my boy and that’s why I’m leaving
I don’t want him to be aware that there’s
Any such thing as grieving
Young mother down at Smithfield
5 am, looking for food for her kids
In her arms she holds three cold babies
And the first word that they learned was “please”
These are dangerous days
To say what you feel is to dig your own grave
“Remember what I told you
If you were of the world they would love you”
England’s not the mythical land of Madame George and roses
It’s the home of police who kill blacks boys on mopeds
And I love my boy and that’s why I’m leaving
I don’t want him to be aware that there’s
Any such thing as grieving.
Photo – Sinead O’Conner
-short, evocative poetry-
Published in: on May 23, 2017 at 12:48  Leave a Comment  
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Counting Lovers

Cheese occurs at night,
Counting lovers, Gerald

Jason,
Daniel,

Leonard,
Han,

Rolf,
Keshavjii,

Simon,
Like that, they
Say a healthy lifestyle has ten to twenty,

Lovers.

Photo – Self

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on May 21, 2017 at 18:15  Leave a Comment  
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Bound

And I’ll be dust to dust bound to,

Shifting black wicker furniture just so,
Patrons aren’t disturbed,

By the rain between,
The hair-do and the pedicure, separated

At least,

By three floors if the lifts are working, me I’m just
Splashing mops against mauve tile, they

Flashing manicured smiles, we 

Electing marvelous politicians in fashionable leather,

Leather of the season, bound

To let us down in Range-Rovers, bound
To coffee machines spitting frappuccinos, just

Hoping for a tip to pay my damn school fees.

Photo: ♦Psychology Today ♦

See also: Hector

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on May 6, 2017 at 13:17  Leave a Comment  
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I lost my shoes in India

Religion, reincarnation, representation

sweets on a plate
empty tuperware

lens cleaner is,
What we took to bed.

Red he says, but he’s deaf,
With earphones on,

Police frames and Louis Vuittion
Handbags and perfumed,

Cardboard handbags,
And plastic lips,

Peach by the way, like
I said, I

Lost my shoes in India.

♦photo♦Hyunception: Movie Reviews & Analysis

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on April 24, 2017 at 01:49  Leave a Comment  
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The ladder of life

I don’t have friends, I do not think.

Friends get married, and
Drive bigger cars and,

Have more intelligent things to talk about, better
Places to go, are

Becoming lawyers and doctors and ministers,
Big people, and

It sort of interrupts things.

♦photos♦ Jacob’s Ladder

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on April 21, 2017 at 10:19  Leave a Comment  
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Dicks in space-suits

UNEP, environment

Dead beetles die in their skins, and

Seychellois, Mauritanians, Maurtians, Martians,
Fighting with sun-tans all, and

Bad lip jobs,

In Nairobi,
Silent giraffes groping for love,

God,
Tending to antelopes,

And the world ending
In a traffic jam or with,

Dicks in space-suits building railways​ through the heart of a city.

♦Photo♦ Friends of Nairobi National Park

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on April 21, 2017 at 09:21  Leave a Comment  
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The Painting with the smudge

I remember her detail,

How she looked, how she talked to her husband,
I just stood on the pavement and cried, I’ll

Never see her again, not here,
That’s it.

Whatever came, came for a moment and then left, we were
Going to live forever.

I don’t get in touch with anyone anymore,
It scares me, the

Vast leap of events between the last meeting twenty years ago, and the ‘hello’ now,
Like a slug or snail whose antenne has grazed something unpalatable;

I’ve withdrawn.

I don’t mean to do it I don’t mean to have this strange mist shroud me, I
Feel tenuous –

Like a smudge in the corner of a pristine painting you could reach out to touch me and find,

Nothing there left at all.

Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep. Rom. 12:15

♦Photo – Personal♦

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on April 9, 2017 at 10:59  Leave a Comment  
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Editing the bible

poem, religion

We’ve all seen them,

Womens circle knitting on,
Saturday,

Mens having breakfast to learn,
How to lead,

Ever been inside a church,
I mean inside?

You know the ones;
Don’t

Talk on the phone when you’re,
Writing notes,

Don’t come in late when right
Next door,

Over the shoulder of
The fat woman in green,

They are editing the bible at the behest of the priest!

Yellow dragons,
Farmhouse animals –

Beware the document groaning,
With the evidence of having been read.

Photo – ♦Fruit Of Hands

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on March 30, 2017 at 23:42  Leave a Comment  
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On gender based toiletry

poem, gender, toilets

Attack your assailant with the baguette,
You are carrying in your hand.

Soft weapon.

Transgender toilet,
Beat the crap out of the hoodlum, male
Or female,

Black or white, think
Not you must explain,

Why, during the attack
Men should not wear,

Flaming pink knickers, demand
The sex of the person approaching,

On the dark night,
In the lovely cottage,

Be determined after you have finished
The mission.

The lady so obviously not,
In the red heels,

And the blue make-up

Knows how to use her baguette, just
Do not touch her strong leather hand-bag.

PictureViewpoint♦

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on March 30, 2017 at 22:07  Leave a Comment  
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Living on a prayer

You punish me for telling you my fantasy,
At night I lock the door so no one else can see,

Watch while the queen,
In one false move,

Turns herself into a pawn,

It’s like-
Drinking gasoline to quench your thirst until there’s nothing there left at all, I

Went to the doctor I,
Went to the mountains,

And then you happen to bring up reincarnation over,
A couple of beers the other night,

Spitting out all the bitterness along with half of my last drink,
This is no ordinary love,

Refrain!
Come Oberon!

Able only to gasp at the splendor of the sun,
Come satellite!

Saturns rings are lit by the Universe’s light!

For Simon

Photo – ♦Natsumi Hayashi

-evocative short poetry-

Published in: on March 21, 2017 at 13:03  Comments (1)  
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Cancer

 

decade_45pierreholtzreutersyeehee-com_2010_12_16_best-pictures-of-the-decade-the-noughties_.jpg

I’ve lost the use of my heart,
But I’m still alive.

I hear voices,

The hustler and the prostitute,
The gleaming car salesman,

Audible to me all,

The rat at the corner,
Selling drugs,
My husband in the study being busy.

I’m crying everyone’s tears.

 

Photo♦Pierre Holtz for ReutersBest Pictures of the Decade

 

 

 

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on February 15, 2017 at 09:41  Comments (4)  
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Dying is the first race

20170110_1541431

Never mind Lawyers,
Children with no mouths,

Never mind Inspiration,
Write Now.

 

 

Photo – ♦Personal♦

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on January 29, 2017 at 18:15  Leave a Comment  
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