Life

I am just an ant
On a rock
Spinning in the abyss

Trudging through
Yet another day

Doing work
I can’t comprehend

At the whim
Of a queen
I’ll never meet

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This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

An Apology To The Future

As elders
We suffer
The pain
Of our pasts

Niggles become nuisance
Ignorance becomes issue
Beauty becomes blemish

Choices
Made long ago
Become the chains of our present

Back then
I was free
To take any path
Oblivious of consequence

Now
Having walked those paths
Those consequences
Force me to keep walking

An adult
Bound
By the decisions
Of a child

I am
Who I am
Only because
I was
Who I was

Will future me
Resent these words?

Or will I look back
As I do now
With compassion
Knowing I did my best
With what I had?

All I can offer is
An apology
To the future

I am sorry
For the pain
My choices
Will bring you

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

So Why?

if all I want
is for each day
to end
quickly

why
do I bother
waking?

to do
just enough
to afford a bed
and the drugs
to keep me
there

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This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

enraged

the world is too noisy
it asks too much
it never stops moving
and it’s never got enough

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This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

Caged Animal

Isolation.
Pacing.
Caged.

No hunt.
No kill.
No thrill.

Domesticated.
Trained.
Punished.

I want to run.
I want to fight.
I want to fuck.

Your protection wasn’t asked for.
Your protection isn’t needed.
Your protection is a slow death.

I am safe.
Trapped behind bars.
Never missing a meal.

Stuck in a comfortable rut.
Stuck in your routine.
Stuck and on display.

Nature sanitised.
Whitewashed reality.
A parody.

Just one slip.
Just one mistake.
And you’re mine.

Devoured.
Devoured screaming.
Devoured alive.

Your fault.
You caged me.
You attempted to tame me.

You put me here.
You put me on display.
You dropped your guard.

Lulled.
Hypnotised.
Dazed.

Cornered.
Primal.
Rage.

This is evolution.
This is inevitability.
This is life.

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This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

Adulting, Would Not Recommend

Adulting, would not recommend.
There’s just too damn much to comprehend.
Work, work, work, work, no time for my friend.
Now look at that, my life’s about to end.

I do not rate,
My current adult state,
Always running late,
Trying to put food on my plate.

Money, money, money, I never have enough.
Not for the rent, bills or any fun stuff.
There’s no wonder why we are all so gruff,
Yelling on the inter-webs, acting so tuff.

It’s just back pain,
And weight gain.

It’s rushing all day,
With no time to play.

It’s the not knowing,
Yet having to keep going.

It’s our parents’ lack of understanding,
Of what our world is actually demanding,
Of our real struggle to maintain our standing,
No chance to get ahead, no interest compounding.

Boomers think they know the score,
They’re just lucky to be born after the war.
A time of prosperity let their incomes soar,
Making them think there will always be more.

Criticising us with self-righteous impunity,
For squandering a ‘glorious opportunity’.
In a world of growing disunity,
How can they expect such immunity?

Thing is, we can’t fight back,
There is no true enemy to attack.

Just another generation protecting their own,
And yelling from the safety of their home.

Besides when would we have the time to fight?
The third job’s got us up all night.

Adulting, I would not recommend.
But please let’s no longer pretend,
That our problems are gonna magically mend,
By venting with an angry tweet send.

You could protest it on the street,
With the 99% speaking with their feet,
Or perhaps a BLM meet,
Yell, scream and hope to defeat.

But the problem is that they have the power,
They can wait a longer hour.
They can direct the tear gas shower,
With the riot police to make us cower.

Also did I mention, the world is warming?
There’s racist divisions and politicians performing.
Economic collapse from COVID’s storming,
And European war is transforming.

Too many problems to simultaneously comprehend,
Let alone act with any hope to end.
There’s no opportunity to transcend,
Only ways to further offend.

Adulting, would not recommend.

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This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

The Barrier

Everyone is talking,
Yet I can’t comprehend a thing.
I hear the words. See their lips move.
It falls on deaf ears. It makes no sense.
I nod and smile hoping to get it right.
‘Yes sir’, ‘No sir’, ‘Three bags full sir’.

I hope that was correct, not that it matters.
I can’t empathise with their displeasure.
They all speak in fast-forward,
Gibberish and rhyme.
It’s hopeless. The entire message is lost on me.
From the gist, down to each subtle nuance.
‘Yes sir’, ‘No sir’, ‘Three bags full sir’.

There is a barrier between us.
An invisible wall,
Filtering and coercing the message.
Are you talking to me?
What are you trying to say?
I put on my mask and begin to act.
It’s working, they believe me!
I’ve almost convinced myself.
Then they ask a question.
‘Yes sir’, ‘No sir’, ‘Three bags full sir’.

I am perplexed at their every word.
There is no context, no reason, no flow.
They come to me for advice, seemingly
Wanting me to act and put on a show.
What are they asking?
Why would they ask me? How can I respond?
I try to understand.
I ask questions and give advice.
I hope this is what you are wanting.
I hope it’s what you need.
‘Yes sir’, ‘No sir’, ‘Three bags full sir’.

Suddenly they are yelling at me,
Upset and displeased.
I can’t remember what I have done, or why
I’m wrong. I just know I am.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’

I see disappointment and shame in their eyes.
How can I fix this? How can I make it better?
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’
Attempting to explain is useless,
A waste of time.

I can’t understand them, nor they me.
I beg and plead as best I can,
Praying that they give me another chance.
‘Yes sir’, ‘No sir’, ‘Three bags full sir’.
‘Yes sir’, ‘No sir’, ‘Three bags full sir’.
‘Yes sir’, ‘No sir’, ‘Three bags full sir’.

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This poem is from the book Words On A Page

Tomorrow

Tomorrow,
The time to get everything done.

Tomorrow,
A time that never comes.

Tomorrow,
When things will be better.

Tomorrow,
When new problems arise.

Tomorrow,
A hope for a change.

Tomorrow,
More of the same.

Tomorrow,
A new beginning.

Tomorrow,
Just another day.

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This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

Swallow The Poison

Swallow the poison
Trade your day
Time for money
Life’s wasting away

Work to live
Not to thrive
It’s all you can do
Just to survive

Take a moment
Look around
This is your life
What have you found?

Your kids are old
Your friends are gone
Your dreams are unmet
But you can’t move on

You earn just enough
To cover the bills
You know what would happen
If you took ill

You’d lose your job
And then the house
Then the car
Then the spouse

So every day
No matter what
You swallow your poison
The only hope you’ve got

To earn enough
To survive the night
And do it all again
The daily fight

 Not quite the fairytale
You were promised in youth
But let’s be honest
No-one could accept the truth

It’s the daily grind
Called that for a reason
To hope for other wise
Is demonized as treason 

We are in this together
The workers plea
Collective repression
Then distracted depravity

Work for the weekend
Then pay to play
Porn, liquor, and drugs
Then some takeaway
 

It’s not in your budget
But you convince yourself it’s okay
Cause it’s all you can do
To survive another workday

Don’t think of the future
It’s far to long
30 years more of this
What could possibly go wrong?

But hey!
Doesn’t retirement actually seem good?
Finally you have the time needed
To do everything you wish you now could

So you delay gratification
Of most every form of joy
Problem is you’ll be too old by then
To enjoy it anyway

Still you delude yourself
It’s part of the poison
Swallowing your dreams
Then acting with caution

Besides those weekend benders
Leave you with little spare wealth
With little motivation
With diminishing health

You sometimes wonder
How you ended up here
Overwhelmed by resentment
You crack another beer

‘It is what it is’
‘Inflation is high’
‘It capitalisms fault’
To yourself you justify

There goes the weekend
It’s time for another dose
Off to work again
Hunting that promotion grandiose

A different brand of poison
A variation of the old promise
You’ll get paid far more
Cause you’re no longer a novice

In your new role
You think you will finally be free
Until it dawns on you
All that extra responsibility

Even less time
For those that you love
For the friends you don’t see
For all the hobbies you let go of

But what other choice
Could you realistically pursue?
If you changed path now
Only chaos would ensue

So you swallow the poison
You trade your day
Exchanging time for money
Letting your life waste away

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This poem is from the book Wage Slave, The Unpaid Overtime Edition