(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, exhaustion
witnessed forces of distortion,
the politics of empty gestures
shaped by the hands of jesters,
I hurry on, follow tides of innocence
try to swim beyond rivers of ambivalence,
these words are my swords & ploughshares
clouds of abstraction, in intervals of time,
whilst breathless, I try to run free
empty pockets of contemplation,
share my conscience into night sky
with each season's passing cry.
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