Love

Don’t Be A Plug Puller

Plug me in to you

I’m losing my inspiration

I need an energy transfusion

Yours flowing into me

All you need to do is smile

And say hello

And I’ll be flying again.

Office Tweeter Socially Benchmarking

Ah, the way the wind blows

Matters not to men in offices insulated

But ask the fisherman casting his net on the soul grating sea

Or the red cheeked child with ebullient eyes

To whom the parade of kites portrays a world of rainbow possibility.

–

Ah, the comma. Just a squidgy dot, waste of space

Matters not to the frenetic tweeter

But ask the teacher who commits her life

To a generation

Who’ll either plant trees or start fires,

Depending on whether they had enough time

To, for reflection, pause.

–

Ah, the pen marks on the wall

Scars on the beautiful flower pattern

To the Joneses.

For the mother, a reminder timeless of days innocent

Before Responsibility’s wings

Flew her young from the nest.

Justice In Progress

Shut down the markets, nationalise the banks

Light up the darkness, end capitalist pranks

Blindfold the bankers, make ‘em walk planks

For too long we’ve been dead fish in their tanks

Pig heads on monkey bodies, pissing blood on the poor

Build their castles in the sky and our graves in the sewer

March to the door of power, camp day and night

And with the ink of revolution a new constitution write:

No more bombs and no more wars to which to send ‘em

For every new law a digital referendum

Basic income for all guaranteed

All debt liquidated, all political prisoners freed

No more fossil fuel, renewables instead

No more corporations giving MPs financial head

No more five years terms, no more squeezes on salary

And the total abolition of the Royal Family

The Look of Change

Brandish a banner in the wide windows

of your seasoned soul

look into the enduring eyes

of all you meet.

Let that banner read:

L.O.V.E

Say No To Economically Modified Art

No artist bankers

No artist management consultants

no artist frackers

More Artist Taxi Drivers

More artist youth workers

More artist nurses

More artist cleaners

Row calm on the waves of your insomnia

and paint the picture the stars stay lit

for your inner eye to see

and each thunderous vibration of every gentle

brush stroke

we the masses will feel

guiding us

into each other’s embrace.

Between Our Hearts

On the tightrope

between our hearts

we have to let our trust walk.

We should keep still in each other’s admiration

so it can stroll without a tumble.

Should it ever fall, we must place

a trampoline of forgiveness underneath

so it can bounce back up.

Giving Up

I can’t cope with the fact I can’t cope

can’t feel the numbness I can’t feel

can’t hide the pain I can’ t hide

but

I hope one day I’ll have hope.

—

I’m holding on to barbed wire

to stop the razors of resentment

from cutting, bleeding me dry;

banging my head against a wall

to prevent my skull from fracturing,

jumping off a cliff to stop myself

taking my own life.

—

Sorrows never drown

because Memory is too fucking good at resuscitation.

—

I dig myself a hole

because I’m split in half

one way up, one way down

in-between a smile and frown

nothing to verb, just a hollow noun.

—

Burning my flesh to keep from feeling

that incinerating chill

crawling within my cells

sucking out my will.

—

Still I stand on a rotating circle,

always at square none,

giving up always,

always getting started never.

—

At the end of the old rope’s last thread

I’ve given up on everything,

even giving up itself.

—

There is, then, nothing left to do

but try one more time.

hamish kamoshi

Cross your T's, dot your I's, pay attention to the Y's