Thursday, 3 October 2013
(some words for National Poetry Day)
I make spontaneous verse,
I am not very good at rhyme,
I am often non-conformist,
my visions speak against injustice,
words released like a slow burning fuse,
to fill the air with crackling alarm.
I have felt emptiness,
witnessed forces of distortion & distraction,
the politics of empty gesture,
I hurry on, follow tides of innocence,
try to swim high above, rivers of exploitation,
these words are my swords & ploughshares,
clouds of abstraction, in intervals of time.
Away from these pages,
I try to run free,
empty pockets of contemplation,
into the night sky,
share my conscience,
with each season's passing cry.