In the hours – dVerse Open Link

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Those nights when I can’t sleep

and curse – in my belief – that I

am the only one staring into the abyss

at 3am.

Those days when I can’t stop

the thoughts in my head from eating me alive

and casting a shadow over

a glorious sunshine day

at 2pm.

Those mornings when I can’t bear

to drag myself out of bed

and drag my carcass through

one more day

at 6am.

Those days

I have to stop myself

from giving up

from giving in

from turning in

from tuning out.

 

I have so much.

Food on the table.

Money in the bank.

A heart that beats

so strong, so long, so fiercely.

 

I have so much

at 3am

at 2pm

at 6am.

I have so much.


 

Tonight is Open Link Night here on dVerse, hosted by our stalwart Swedish host, Bjorn. He has shared the story of Sean Michael with us today, who only gets to post on OLN as he is currently in prison, has no access to the internet and can only connect with us through the wonderful assistance of his grandmother, who posts on his behalf, is his lifeline to the outside world. Here is his blog Mad Poet Enchanted – so very, very worth a look. Sean has somehow managed to fund the publishing of a book of his poetry, despite all the obstacle sin his way – he is such an inspiration.

So… my poem is somewhat of a response to his story. We’re having a bit of a heatwave here in the UK and it’s making commuting somewhat uncomfortable – it’s nothing really, and reading Sean’s story has reminded me of all that I have to be grateful for. I truly am, but sometimes, I forget…

Please do head on over to dVerse and dive in – and please do read about Sean.

By the way, I am so behind in reading others’ work – I will catch up over the weekend, that’s a promise!

 

Anonymous – dVerse Meeting the Bar

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Count

the coins

exactly for what

you need to purchase,

don’t look the shopkeeper in

the eye, don’t attract attention, be

polite, hide your cracked and dirty nails,

give your meek thanks and leave as quietly

as you entered. Poverty-stricken you don’t have the

option to demand any more than that. Money talks loudest.

You

learned the

rules the hard

way. You want to

pass them on, ease the

path for those that follow in

your shoes but the arrogance of youth

is bravery that you have long forgotten, it

was a lifetime ago. You watch their smiles fade.

They too will learn the hard way. Money talks loudest.


This week on dVerse Meeting the Bar, the lovely Victoria has introduced the poetry form, the Etheree. This is another form new to me, dating from the late 20th century and introduced by Etheree Taylor Armstrong, a poet from Arkansas. Simple enough (perhaps!), the form is one word (or syllable) for the first line, two words (or syllables) for the second and so on, up to the tenth line. Rinse and repeat, reverse, or stop right there, however the mood takes you. It was so much fun to try and no, I have no idea why I wanted to write on the subject matter I chose.

If you love poetry, whether reading or writing it, do visit dVerse. Put your feet up, sup on a gin and tonic, swig a bottle of beer, chat a while with the barkeep, enjoy yourself…

Friendly Fire

Don’t come cap in hand with your right-wing agenda,

your mouth is an organ, a vile pretender

to intelligent, thoughtful, democratic ways,

you spew forth your sound-bites, earn thoughtless praise

from a populous dulled by consumption and greed,

mesmerised by the box in the corner that feeds

them with ‘news’ that is passing for real information –

celebrity gossip, face transformation,

lose weight in days from your vast corner couch,

buy clothes, shoes and skincare, perfect your pout,

get two point four children and a four by four car,

ferry them everywhere, see the world from afar

through the screen of an iPad (other brands will suffice),

you can’t let them outside, but will never think twice

about letting them surf the wide world late at night

just as long as your kitchen and garden are right,

because the neighbours are watching, your community cares

if your house lets the side down, and you’re caught unawares

by a marginal rise in the next lending rate –

you must make those payments, you cannot be late,

there’s the store cards, the credit cards, your salary’s too low,

there’s no extra income, watch your hard-earned all go

on taxes as immigrants flood across all our borders,

they sit with their hands out, it’s so out of order –

or they work for nothing, or much less than you’re worth,

but –

is that the true picture, are you blaming them first

before looking in the mirror, and believing the lies –

it’s easier to lash out, to turn a blind eye

to a broken down system that allows hate to be dressed

in a suit and a tie and a smile that at best

is trapped on the lips, gets no further beyond,

who’s to blame if, not thinking, you vote for them wrongly

believing that everything will be better, ever after –

nothing sounds quite so hollow as victorious laughter.

 

Friendly Fire

——

OK. We’re on the other side of the European elections and I feel like we’re going to hell in a political hand-basket. Turn out at voting is so damned low it makes me feel ill. I don’t think I’m an alarmist, but I do worry that we’re sleepwalking into something very, very dark. Voting turn out is low, low, low and it allows political extremists to rise to the top like the scum that they are. A disproportionately low turn out allows for a disproportionately high representation of the so-called marginal parties in the European Parliament. It’s downright dangerous. Get your behinds off the sofa next time, please?