Thursday 30 November 2023
Wednesday 29 November 2023
Happiness in a shopping bag
In this age of consumption,
a time of
consumer objectification.
Dehumanised
by shopfront prostitution,
making you want
want they are offering.
Advertising signs tell us lies.
Pay for it.
Papering over the cracks.
Paying for happiness in shopping bags
when sadness is king,
and human contact
is what we are ewally lacking.
Decadent sighs,
for a few fake smiles.
Despondent nights,
in debt up to your eyes.
Slimeball conmen
see you coming
and offer it all, the world and more.
Just pay us your soul,
leave it behind at the door.
Disposable incomes,
victims of the fashion system.
Victims of advertising mysticism.
Blink and you'd miss them,
the subliminal messages.
Buy. Buy. Buy.
Don't you want to be popular?
Fit in with the crowd, feel the high
as the dopamine clouds your wisdom.
Indulge in the overflowing slops.
Fill your bellies
the luxuries never stop.
Cash strapped? Get it on credit
where the interest is sky-high.
Still paying for last year?
Don't cry.
Sell your liver,
we will make the best
christmas dinners.
Pate? Let's party.
Get your wallet out, untie the purse strings
and buy all the lies we are selling.
Thanks for reading
Tuesday 28 November 2023
That worm of self-doubt
That worm of self-doubt
digs itself right through my brain,
Chewing up my thoughts
and spitting out
negatives again.
The shopping bag I carry,
declaring that every little helps,
is overflowing with questions
and unanswered yelps.
My anxiety holds on tightly to me.
Talks to me nightly.
I am in fright you see,
not of flighty fiends
but of my own torn dreams,
the ones that only
make sense at the seams.
Am I doing this right?
Is this train of thought
the right one to alight?
The flittering doubt now flies
around my chest.
Tickling my heart,
making it skip beats in protest.
Though the heart beats harder
to keep itself alive,
it shares its love far and wide.
My doubt climbs up my spine,
now with jittery insect feet.
It changes all of the time.
It makes my limbs
feel shivery and weak.
It reaches my vocal cords,
makes it harder to speak
but I force the air through.
It’s all I can do.
Make my words sing
to all of you.
Thanks for reading
Eight fifteen on a monday
Eight fifteen, sunbeams.
Hiroshima on a monday.
Foreplay for the warmonger,
a quick fumble, then it was over.
Mushrooms grow in nuclear glow.
Vaporised bodies. Man's first taste
of demons breathe, floating on the dust blown.
Little boy in fiery demise.
The sky blooms and angels’ cry
in a blink of a sunburnt eye.
The buzz of plane engines
overhead. One look,
then their world ended.
A blaze of anger and flame.
Warlike orgasm, mankind's shame.
A moment of pleasure
for those who adore pain
then leave never to be seen again.
Manhattan project. Desert madness
Just because we can
doesn't mean we should.
Mushroom heads,
death bringers fingering the trigger.
An involuntary jerk. An evolutionary quirk.
Ringing storm surging through
It feels so good.
Mankind loves to make people hurt.
The gasps of pleasure as he applies the pressure.
Then release.
Fat man penetrates the clouds.
Eleven on that Thursday Nagasaki morning.
Howls of delight
as the instant of madness draws closer.
Not a care for people's plight
Nor their mourning.
Blind to the threat they swept
Along on the waves of the day.
A blinding light climax under peaceful skies.
So many lost lives.
The screams of pleasure
in the desert many miles away
could be felt reverberating around the world
and can still be felt today.
Playing God for a day,
humanities demon for eternity.
Thanks for reading