7

We witness the collision of human injustice
stand at the gates of pain and misery
watch the world bare its guts to the sky
and throw up our hands
as we see no evil, hear no evil
and speak only of the mundane speculative anecdotes
that fill our own personal limited scope

Are you blind? I cry.
Do you hear the fighting all around you?
the loneliness of this overpopulated planet is pulsing through me
and all that we admit that we see
is what they flicker on advertisements
as the world describes it as something to be cured
by money and charity
when will we see that we really aren't free
in a world so blind
that when our children and our brothers children
are crying, its ignored and pushed to the floor

Who wants to dwell on an issue we can't sell
because all that we are
is the sign on our door
the shadow we show
to the rest of the globe

and hope that they don't poke a finger at the foundation
case it crumbles under the speculation
of all that we hide
like the pain of these times
women in suffering
children going hungry
men drinking through the anger they eshew

There's these magnetic forces holding us down
their called materialism, commerce
and the post-modernist ideal
that babe it ain't real, or me
who needs to deal with this issue
that's for politicians my darling

And they keep such straight faces
as they smack their hands down
to keep their heads in the ground
so far neath the skin
of all this violent din

to ignore as those in suffering
implore for the world to start listening
to their cries for some justice
for all mankind

just human dignity please
for everyone, not just a few ones
and their bubbled up hue of comrades
and you stand there screaming
but they won't hear your cries

because you're talking to dead wood
with its roots too tied down in a system
which really probably won;t turn around

6

See my friends are all telling me
you know you can definitely change the world
just believe in it and see what you can do
the revolution comes from within
inner workings like clockwork set in motion
just decide to wind it up and you'll go soon
But wait.
I'm here standing at a cross roads with convoluted ideals
mixed up catch phrases that pop out their eyes
and words that mean nothing
because they follow inaction
disinterested parlance of wrinkled devotion
who are the warriors who stand at the gates of integrity
and shout 'see here son'
to the men in black suits who look down at cv's
and judge the merit of a person
by what they have done that can be certified, verified, cross checked and referenced
put into a heading with a title causing no offence
Where are the people who stand and say
'wait, this means nothing to the walking mans gait'
its just fictional words we create
to equate the achievements of a persons least recognisable shape

5

With the cadence of immateriality
I don't know what it was her reality
but I claimed it back
by the stack of children books she kept in the back
and as her voice echoed through the room
drawled with oppression and gloom
I felt the pain behind her eyes
as she took pains to hide the nicotine stains on her fingers and nails,
the cut glass gloss to her eyes that shined like no light was behind
and the gaunt pull of her cracked skin on her cheekbones
The sight of her dulled expression,
suppressed aggression, diluted unfulfilled passion
filled me with anger and hate for a state
so oppressive and inherently misused by the class structure
to keep the ladder in place.
Only the ladder is made of matchsticks
 if you put any weight there it breaks
like the broken dreams of those at the bottom grasping for freedom
I knew at once that this girl grew up without love but with deep loss
she marked out the book that I brought to her counter
and stamped in a deadline for our next encounter
I walked away ashamed because I felt like I left her

4

The pain of these times,
sharpens my senses
empowers my thoughts
like muscles in tension
my heart beats the pulse of the lump in my throat
created by all this emotion
running through me
crying to be freed
expressed in the undying want to be free
free from constraint of the world and all its restrictions
I was lost to this fight, blinded by sight, restricted by hope
it cut off my ties to the world
I created illusion of a life outside of this one
I was blinded by sight, fore sight, more sight , your sight
it is not free to restrict to your belief
the world is a fucked up place
its a truth, an idea, its a reality
but the world is worth more than a tutting by yours truly
there is so much to see, so much to hear, to believe in, to feel free in, to love
that I have to admit that the world might need changing
but who are we to say how, or why or when?
because alongside the pain and frustration
is beauty and truth and undying hope
a young man holds the hand of an old man
he can't walk but he lopes
a woman leans in to kiss her neighbours cheek
children playing in the street
a painting, a song, a five minute poem
fuck all this pain and just live in the moment.

3

Am I good enough? Am I strong enough? Do I carry the people I care about?

These questions linger in the blunt back spaces of my mind where all fears and worries reside.

Will I succeed? Will the world see me as I want to be perceived?

Will my hopes and my dreams coincide? Will I be the best person that I can be before I die?

There seems to be a plateau above my head, I reach and grab and touch at the edges of my perception and I falter. 

There is a worry hanging over me. It covers my heart like a blanket; it is the fear of reprisal, the fear of failure the idea that I will not live up to who they want me to be.

 It is my father’s face, my mother’s voice, my brother’s laughter and my lovers embrace.

 It is the responsibility of them that holds me in place.

Their hands that make up the foundation of all my space.

I am myself through them but I am held back by them.

I am held back by my fears and my troubles, worries and questions. 

The tension between the two is the happy place that I rest in.

It is the contention, the banality, the reality to which I subscribe or rather to which I have been subjected to.

It is the peace and the strength of their love.

 It is love.

It is not a fairytale or a lost far off place, I may with patience find.

It is the here and now, the coming and going, to and fro.

The equilibrium that keeps your mind and heart and health together, that is love; their love.

When I ask myself that all too easy question, why?

Why give in to the responsibility and diminished creativity of life in these terms.

I immediately hear the answer deep in the pit of my soul.

Because of them.

Because of my father’s face smiling, my mother’s voice singing, my brother’s laughter pealing and my lover’s tight embrace. 

2

This living painting that we create

A palette of conversation we shape

The outline of our misery or faith

Blues shades mixed through red sky thinking

Patterned light that fades to grey

We erase forgotten moments

And fill in the ones which light our day

Nurture the colours that fill our hearts with beauty and truth

There is life here in this painting which we create

The ink of our hearts entwines together

To create a panoramic image in a disconnected world

Pebble dashed imaginings scattered, ragged edges smoothed by many hands

Joined hands as the colours of our hearts mingle through the dark

Soft lines touched with jaded paint, ideas lost in empty wakes

Filled in portraits of old mistakes

Here is a painting that we create

 Pencil sharpened words of youth lost in battered years of truth

Yearning hunger darkened edges drawn through shadow

It all is surface tension across the lines that fill our imaginings and our minds

Edged over anchors weighted through the paintings long forgotten hue

Life in a painting, blushed with truth