The padlocked portion of a public park
English social metaphor stark
governed by greed for the corporate heart dark,
profit-powered piston pummeling people with poverty’s mark.

Hailing from watered noble line
often come the few, who shine
with other’s light, drained from their hearts
power glutton policy pillaging Britain’s parts.

from the people, from the public press.
now, seething, slaving in hateful distress,
at¬†notions gallivanting gent’s club goons in grey and white
champion to drain good men for their delight.

toiling for soul soiling bigot bosses
struggling and suffering, enduring fool losses
thrust upon them by their slaver’s fool stories
good men, the rest, the slavers, Tories.

British Social Metaphor

You mentally suppressed, regress, revert
refine the mind reactive, not social mask inert
convert
cold fear, to inspiring fire
invert the dullness, wake fully alert,

for certain there’s flaws in the master plan
dark struggles raw, believe me, they can
leave you
in re-view
of life’s little stumbles
the man who stares backward his own future fumbles.

nurture thyself, for you, make time
practice your arts sweetly sublime
be it craft,
be it study
or it work down a shaft.

Follow the way,
from it do not stray
follow the way
of the heart,
come what may.

The Way

My Happiness Key

I cannot afford pride,
I’ve no time for pretence
such things I deride,
they’ve no rhyme, little rhythm and seldom make sense,
dense
is my rage
turned on paper at this stage
against the poor actors on life’s grand stage
goes my fury at life’s flaw-formed cages.
I wail,
I rant,
railing, thinking in blanks
save for the words pouring forth in ranks,
upon this page, for such release I offer thanks
to my talent, for fear & anger it outflanks.

Among wily words I play
for none but myself, such works seldom pay
yet now, and then
they set me right again
my happiness key be a ballpoint pen.

The Abyss

ever journeyed the abyss?
the one behind all fragile bliss
for some it’s a straight road, others cross-criss
suffering, for no place to linger is this.

Ever stared at darkness’s brink
started to ponder, chosen not to think
for with evil external we find internal link
into abyssal horror all minds can sink.

enter now my private abyss, confined
place of all pain, failure, foolish fits, defined
by the cyclically shifting borders of mind
my nether of thought where dark concepts grind

Turning burning, scratching and churning
polluting pure thought into greed and yearning
the depths of my own abyss I’m discerning
what of your dark, what of it are you learning?