I’m tired of all the tedium,
the mediocre unctuous glum
of images fed through word-machines
from the barely serviced slum.
19 YEARS Nineteen years, nineteen more nineteen times dragged to the floor Nineteen children dragged away by nineteen others, one fine day. Nineteen denials turn your head nineteen bodies on tracks found dead. Nineteen Police around the bend just in case you’re...
Word thoughts melt, fading, away in memory,
running like a sailor
late, after messing up on shore leave, left his uniform with the tailor
Hounds are at my door wanting to claw out my eyes
I say to myself “this must be it, this is how a poor man dies.”
The wind cuts like a stiletto, the flowers are starting to bloom
the soldiers lay down the dying, while daughters shoot up in their rooms
Nineteen years, nineteen lies
Nineteen lockups where justice dies
Nineteen children dragged away
by nineteen others, one fine day.
Who was it who killed poor George Floyd,
who made his life null and void?
“Not me” said the cop who stomped on his neck
“I was just tryin’ to keep the man in check.”
An’t no words, ain’t no actions,
ain’t no turgid explanations
Ain’t no thieves, ain’t no captains,
ain’t no dirty complications
In Autumn, Spring, or both, write the leaves
that fall, bud, blossom or bloom
and children summoned after breakfast,
clean plates, wash hands, to tidy up their room
If only I’d had one moment
if only I’d had some time
if only you’d let me make some still small sense
of this imaginary rhyme
If I go down to the water I can see it,
It reveals itself in the ripples, as if it’s winking,
slyly, at me
They gave him a medal for his ideology
for the bile that laced every word
They gave him a medal for his own theology
and the poison that his vitriol stirred.
Fires are burning, lines are bracing
Nights in silence, hearts are racing
Tongues are wagging, shelves are clearing
help arrives, for the hard of hearing
I’m no longer here –
I’ve been in the papers, they use the word “tragedy”, a tragedy of sorts –
no longer able to breathe, that crash, others thrown clear –
The mattress is comfortable, our neighbours are kind –
they gave us some spare clothes to wear –
our Father went over to the promised land –
he told us he’d wait for us there.
Why would you bother,
with any of it, with any of it at all,
with nowhere to lay your head,
it spinning like a ball.
The lifestyle you ordered is currently out of stock
our warehouse has been stripped of supplies
our people are working around the clock
to ensure you get your hands on the prize