Social commentary

Preacher man (we take no more)

Push aside your point of view
talk in confusion
hear him laugh at you

war,crime and radiation
let it crawl while the city sleeps
let them creep
and now he searches for his prey
now you're melting on your burning feet
but still people choose their way
and do nothing

...stop!

he talks- connected scars reopen
a thousand fingers reach out to you
we don't feel no contamination

keep talking- you're the hunter , im the prey
keep talking- im the preacher, you're the fool

we rebel but no words are spoken
we won't be broken , Mr.preacher man
we need no teacher
kill the preacher
death to the preacher man!

Anthem for Doomed Youth
(a collaboration between Jack Heslop and I)

Open her up like an iron maiden,  
the hinges down one arm squealing.  
There aren't even nails inside.  
Close her front half behind you.  
You now know everything she knows,  
the cold walls and the viewing slot.  

Walk a mile in her shoes?  
The maiden goes nowhere, life as static  
as a beige wallpaper stripe  
or a dusty painting in the attic.  
Faded and forgotten, viewing the world,  
a rusting statue in her own home.

Dust particles fall like feathers from
a pigeon shot out of the sky.
There was no message in its talons.
Soup cans, lipstick, wayward eyes.
She's as garish as Pop Art,
and just as meaningless.

Overlooked by the schoolkids - nothing to ridicule.
Unnoticed by the media - no uplifting story.
Her life a neglected page fallen from history,
her heartbeat but a lost footnote.
Untouched as an eighteenth-century compendium
left to dry-rot on an invalid’s cobwebbed shelf.

This is the secret of the youth
and the light, poured through the prism
of our modern age. Cold as stone,
empty as a wine bottle once the revellers
have left, there is music, there are words,
but only to prove how trendy we are.

No rainbows refract from a cast-iron cage.
Just dead white, illuminating the visage
of the youth, pale, suffocated in her own body.
Rock is dead, chivalry is dead,
marriage and morals lie maggoty together...
The youth is dead. All hail the youth. The youth is dead.

God's gift

The man's a fool
 
bleeding tears upon rosary beads  
in a blacked out room  
frightened to death of life  
and all its living  
   
   
"There's never a plague when you need one"  
he mumbled while eyeing a young girl  
through a hole in his curtain    
"the whore" he spat

Deviant Love (Part 2)

And it continues still, touching soft virgin
skin, to the heart of the bones marrow,
searching for the pulse, for the drum roll
sounds of dark-red-blood-pumping through
veins of inexperienced vaults of being,
just human, yet immature and oh so young.
And we cry, cry for your recovery, cry for your
valediction and promotion to adult life.
 
And we try to protect you, yes we do,
attempting to provide as is our duty –
duty to god, duty to you. Yet still you defy us.
What are we to do?
In late night meetings we question the merits,
of belts-of-chastity and restraints-of-movement.
our parental instinct sets the tone, and we realise
perhaps we should – Leash-our-spawn.
 
Save you from over rated opinion and an
inflated self worth at the tender-nineteenth.
Save you from your lost virginity at the
ripe thirteen. Save you from the self inflicted
melancholy and financial stupidity of
the dealer at your fifteenth. Save you from
the criminal plans, hours past your sweet
sixteen.
 
And we pledge to attempt-to-save-you, even
if it means you are bound & restrained.
 
And you know...it will continue.

"The Architect"


Watch the architect as he builds these walls.
Keeping out everything that has a possible chance to hurt him.
Building this fortress he shields himself from all.
All because of a shattered heart, his only reason.
Brick by brick, memory by memory he isolates himself.
He doesn’t want any connection or relation.
He’s been hurt before but with his kingdom of stone, never again.
Seclusion is the only way he knows.
As he sits in the world he created, the tears start to fall.
Recollections of the friends he had and the ones he loved fill his thoughts.
He waited to long, the mortar has set.
He is accompanied by memories and his shadow.
Only through cracks does he see the life he could have.
The life he is never to live again.
Watch the architect as he builds these walls.
Watch as he tries to tear them down.

This competition ended on the 11th of November
and still does not have a winner?

Another one?

This is why as you probably know that I started that other competition as this is commonplace it seems  

so is the competition still on?

s i g h.