Set One a range of poems from a one day workshop

Quiet chattering working women clocked off
Headed towards Fridays oblivion.

That smell heady aroma, nicotine, ale and disinfectant
The pub locked as they waited.

One grew weary leant against the door shouted through the letterbox
Impatient words heavier than paper dripped from parched mouth.

Sought oasis of gin and tonic
Perhaps later bingo and Sundays best.

Response to madness curtained streets
Individuals trapped within their own prisons
A woman locked behind closed doors
Escapes reality through pills and potions.

Salvador mass prisons locked in tiny boxes
Caged like animals they crafted tools from scraps,
Arms and legs withered forgotten by society.

Animals own the street consumed in their own madness
Art house studio heated kiln formed function
From the function-less.

The fish eyed view distorts our thoughts
Two men pulled up one helmeted, suspicions raised
The other enters shopping, robbing or
Something else our minds wander to distrust
Our immediacy to judge, condemn
The fish eyed lens distorts or
Is it us who distort the truth.

Yellow mellow wheels gave
Illusion of forwrd momentum
Gravity a harsh master lurks a
Lesson planned as expectant
Triumphant parents observe
Encourages freedom of movement.
The ground is a harsh reminder
Of mortality, grazed knees
Bruised egos, tumbled hopes
Pick yourself up and start again
Always again patent leather shoes

They poisoned the wells, destroyed homes
Communities watched as their town

Students and anarchists made makeshift camp
Besieged the courthouse small in number
Like Gideon’s own.

Authorities arrived to disband the camp
As anarchists counted coupe
Tented warriors drifted across the plain.

The unshaven against midnight black authoritarian
Father against son opposing sides of the same coin.

He is the oppressor empty rooms the officer cried
As he sat in his sons bedroom.

Soft snow away from the set path
Here is the real thrill temptation,
Virginal an offering he couldn’t refuse.

Cast off thrill-seeker snow on snow
Triggers avalanche powdered
Death towards the unwary.



I watch safe a desktop observer
As chaos ensues I defrag my hardrive
Will the image fragments.

My flesh is a tapestry of past deeds
Each scar a mark of memory.

Here a recollect the weight of responsibility
A beetle crushed my hand.

I grasp the pen awkwardly
Its comfort jarring with scar tissue
A heroic foolish childhood deed.

I see the burn on my fore arm
And remember at seven waking
To find the flames.

Wastrel child I hollered for help
Fought the flames my tears
Of anger, confusion and fear.

The pain lingers the family
Saved one little boy defiant
Parents hugged the fire brigade
Two hours too late the flames

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