Clockwork Inequality

Follow society’s lines they say
Step in time to step their way
Keeping your social stratum at bay
Behind the line is where you’ll stay

It’s all about the status quo
Always this and always so
Eons come and eons go
And still society’s shadows grow

This life is your bag right here
A little, little-man career
Living life in a lower gear
Shackled to your fags and beer

The race is a fait-accompli son
The prizes are already won
No need to fire a starting gun
The equality race has already run

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Soldier Boy

Beautiful baby boy, borne of love aside their tree
Dreamed of, now beheld, now as loved as loved can be
Primitive the bond upon the fresh made family formed
To each the other affirm the life new baby has adorned.

Then baby becomes soon the boy just about to stride
First to fall, caught by mother, with father by her side.
Soon to walk, soon to talk, soon to run and play
Soon to sit by parents side, hours to while away.

Dreams begin upon the boy’s adventurous designs
He marches to imagined tunes towards imagined lines
Mummy calls her little soldier to table filled with fare
He tells his tales of heroic deeds played out upon the air

Daddy fills the son with pride in days of play together
In many ways, in games, in fun, in every kind of weather
His father’s son, he grows upon every wise and loving word
So, nurtured to his confidence, made proud by what he heard

Now grown and strong all too soon the boy becomes the man
Yet mother sees her little soldier as the baby that began,
And breaks her heart to see him take a uniform and gun.
Brave and bold, the soldier man, still his parent’s son.

To distant war he sojourns for a life the boy did yearn
Despite her prayers, the mother’s son never will return.
Mummy’s little soldier lies, on foreign fields with pain and fear,
Dreaming of the home he left, a million miles from here.

To bury the child the father steels himself against his sorrow
Lest his loss and painful ire defeats him in the morrow
While mother sits in silence, her little soldier boy to mourn
Still she sees in her mind’s eye, the boy, as he was born.

Generation Lost

My greatest despairs,
in a time of who-cares,
are for the anguished cries of the young.
Their futures dismantled,
displaced and mishandled,
unwanted, unwelcome and unsung.
The cold generation
of an uncaring nation,
left to waste at the feet of the beast.
Austerity’s excretion.
The futures we shun.
A famine at the foot of our feast.
Who cares really
for generation-nearly,
as long as we’re all growing our own?
Usher them away
to basement-UK,
then forget them: generation-millstone.

Cancer

please don’t ask me
to be the strong one
I can’t fight the falling rain
I’ll stay the storm
‘till the day is done
or the sunshine rises again
strength may come
or strength may go
maybe my day will never rise
I’ll wait and hope
and salve my sorrow
as we say our long goodbyes

Beauty

Beauty seems to sit precariously
Between hard and narrow lines,
The person we were destined to be
Sat outside their flawless designs.

Who sets these arbitrary partitions
Between the comely and the shunned?
What sets us in our given positions
Unbidden and yet unquestioned?

We straddle the spheres of perfection
Constructed upon impossible dreams,
Consigned by our societal perception
To live within the lines society deems.

Is beauty truly defined by subjective skin?
Is that where beauty does truly reside?
Or is our beauty really radiant within?
Ask yourself, only you can decide.

Coming of Age

He was just a boy, growing young,
He was just a mother’s son
Wanting too soon to be a man
Where the end began
When they gave a boy a gun.

A child who plays games no more
He’s looking for different fun
Like tossing shoes
And paying dues
Because they gave the boy a gun.

Some days a child becomes a killer
Today is his day to become
His mother’s pleas
Are love’s debris
From the day they gave the boy a gun.

Some days the killer becomes the victim
When all the killing is done
Shoes are thrown
Someone unknown
Please, don’t give that boy a gun.

B to D

we start Here
to go therE
fated,
punctuated,
climbing along the way
striving in the day,
lost in dreams,
hidden by despair,
raised in moments,
like the light of home
there
at journey’s end,
the rising sun
on the darkest morn,
a baby’s smile
when
you needed one,
moments born
upon the breast of gloom,
and more,
a spark of doom
played out upon
the joyful smile,
darkness of loss
in the light of love,
these
moments,
as we walk the line
drawn through time,
punctuation
in the story of life.