Poo Corner – Issue 11

If murder’s no crime
And death no punishment
How would we know
That a tennis ball
Disrupts badminton
Avidly devouring the only
Rules of the game


Many tears are rent
And old hands crack
Feeling around the card you sent
Speaking, unwittingly of joys I lack
Eye-frames multifold, building up  lines
In chuckling acknowledgement of happier times



Glorious early winter light
Licks clean the school walls
Of futile gesture politics
Its friendly shoulder nudges
In all innocence
Encouraging joy awake
No pin-headed pricks can hurt today
Those dark designs cannot sow
Discontent with the sun-blessed light
Like when you kiss someone
Without doubt
The one that is
And you both dispel any
Cynic with lip-sealed possibility.
If heaven is a belief system
Then this spontaneous and wise
Mouthed Oh feels
Its presence flesh-to-flesh
Not flesh-in-the-pan warmth


Trying to graffiti my wall of ignorance
The can of spray paint is grey
The wall is a solid gray
Is this the colour of freedom?


The birds won’t come
They won’t land and
Arrange themselves in
Order to excite through
Consequent flight
I’ve no seed of thought
With which to feed them
I’d bite my tongue though
I’m sated eating my words
Such dull fayre
I used to have amuse
But I made it unhappy
Through clumsy misrepresentation
It picked out a child
Striving for expression
Of its wildest imagination.
Food of thought is no
Good for growing
Joy is ring-fenced
When all it wants is to
Sing senses still vital
Arteries a referring, hardening
Hope is transplanted
Merely in a show of
Clinical dexterity
While the soul is transported
To another place
Another time
An alien landscape.

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