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Monday, 5 November 2018

A Writer (poem)


A writer observes
she watches the world and writes every leaf
every sigh of a tree blowing in the wind
she listens.

Men tell her their woes
from tomcats to toads
they weave their weeps into her ears
she listens.

Fathers hang, mothers perish
partners cruelly plunge their seed
into bodies of unwilling lovers
while the child watches, unblinking
wondering why mummy and daddy aren't friends
meanwhile, the writer's globe spins dizzy
she listens.

Lovers fight and bite their claws
deep into hearts of fire
ladies scream, men storm out and slam
the doors by which they came through
taking half of what they had
hoping their kids will see them through the window
aches for justice to chime the bells
of law and order
meanwhile, the writer stops to stare
she listens.

Swing right, swing left
swing and shake it all about
Ring red or ring blue
tootle-oo, fuck you
cry the many
(or the few)
watch the world burn, it's my turn
the mob waves its burning torch
the other lashes out frozen ice
merging winter winds with spring dreams
is either wrong or right? Who knows
the writer simply sees both sides
she listens.

In the end, the world will burn
stake your claim and be crowned queen of the ashes
when the world has crumbled and charred to a crisp
underneath all that's come and dipped
the writer shall stand, pen in hand,
for two swords create death while two pens breathe life
into a land before time
remembering sons of yours and mine
and daughters that sat, with pens in hand
who listened.

5th November 2018

Check out my poetry collection available on Amazon for 99p: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Art-Waste-Time-Poetry-Collection-ebook/dp/B07GV22W1Y

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If you enjoy my posts check out my novel Every Last Psycho. Available to purchase on Amazon: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07F44CMNJ