Hot Air – a poem

It is all just so much noise,

Those constant calls for peace,

For niceness amongst ourselves,

Excluding everyone else at expense

Of their happiness, set up to fail,

That noise is starchy dank hot air.


Within that air so clingingly horrid

Lie fangs of perjury, waiting amidst

The calls of godly good names to override

Our paths in progress of being taken,

To pour disdain and dire prejudice

On all possibilities of future happiness.


Dutiful Interpretation – a poem

Duties fulfilled are not necessarily

What should be, actions taken for

No more than the edict that we must

Do as we are told, because many

Others have done the same, before us.


Say we on that the chains may be

Broken by our conscious choice,

The ties that bind already frayed

So badly, dangling on frail strings

Soon to snap, if only we can hold.


That stranglehold of culture and what

It forbids us to engage in lies like

A snake waiting to strike, catch

Us unawares as we strive to live, to be

Happy, ourselves, without constraint.

Squawking Cries – a poem

For the hypocrisy that has been

Ever a constant background series

Of noises loud and squalling, horror

As doors ever open as we walk

Past, questions asked without waiting

For the answers dying to be spoken.


Those calls of religion are harsh

To hear so often, strict regimes

With stricter rituals that are

Apparently the true vehicle which

Leads us to heaven, just *because*

Of what we are told, what they were too.


Of Many Worlds – a poem

Change from one world to another

Makes changes unplanned for, nor

Thought of so long ago when they

Left those lands where the sun

Made us as dark as we are now.


Assimilation, cultural integration

With new places and faces met

In strangerous days, is now familiar,

No more foreign as twas to those

Older generations who here came.


If they did not want better for us

Then why should they go anywhere

Like this?; We wonder at their choice

Of place, cultural space hardly able to

Contain the new lives we lead.

Enfold & Forget – a poem

To enfold and forget, worries of old days

Left behind to rot, winsome future pasts

From secret sconces come round, at last

The truth in reality supercedes memory

And all that comes with unwarranted



In the bright days it breathes easier,

Near lost in those days of foreign

Feeling ice lands, where sparkles all

The world in dangerous trepidation,

Irradiated wonder surrounding a lure

Of self-assurance.



What is learned now shall not

Be forgot for the crowding dry

Old recollections of days past,

Left by the wayside, dryside,

Now a blazing fireside, dry kindling