Martyrs (could be anywhere) Mid morning Good Friday and heartbreak. Child in tears their chocolate egg treat, bought with the last of their pocket money, in a flash lost its form and reduced to a sticky mess spread over trembling hands to drip on shoes, make dark our footsteps. Events, incredibly surreal, unfold in our mind set. The woman we passed in the supermarket aisle had smiled so sweetly in those casual seconds ahead of the eruption which blazed her violent and fiery temper so indiscriminately upon us. |
Community Caretaker The Council operates a no smoking policy. Applicants must be physically fit, all offers of employment subject to medical clearance. Toxic substancies must be monitored strictly and, at all times, kept locked away from unauthorised personnel. Neighbourhood nuisance incidents should be reported immediately. Echoes of tanks and street "aktions" against the "untermenschen" eminate from the job spec. In the grain of the paper, outlined like a watermark, the faintest image. The scowl of an angry old face with a little lip mustache radiates hositlity. |
Aftershock Who am I and come to think of it where am I and how did I get here? The label on my wrist says I'm John Doe. Infact, all the bodies around me are labelled John Doe? The name means nothing to me am unfamiliar And the more I think of it the more my head's in bits. Perchance I could be you? |
money washes up where dead mass with sunken steel justice seems hopeless |
Testosterone Too hot to work spent up to noon watching tarmac melt. Reminisced of the day class embarrassed Mrs Rose stripping off to skinny dip when she took them out on nature ramble by the local river Sunshine and naked flesh sex and schoolgirls soft and ripe The sweat drips from his brow as he cruises the quiet country in search of a cool conquest. |
Take That Poetry horrors on the shelf ignored the thirty page paperback remains unopenned undisturbed gold under dust dwarfed by the novel shaded beneath the space trillogy the tasty dish cook book some bored anthology buried treasure untoutched unwanted by the browser pleads for the comfort of a more studious hand sketches brief lines words that ignite the imagination let readers create their own adventure rough and tumble from the page like all impatient poets I want that first edition to be picked up openned so I can strike out from the page and send a reader whirling on to purchase heaven |
Later Little choice, the nature of the beast. Succombe to our darkest fear. Security first people demand. Chance nothing to the terrorist. Pull the trigger. Ask why we still sell imitation firearms to children later. |
The Fifteen Minute Poem I watch it appear like a bus from the mist headlights first |
Dad's Reaction To My First Publication poetry bloody hell does this mean you'll have ear rings grow long hair and one of those goatie beards and wear shirts with frilly cuffs |
© 2001 Philip Johnson. All rights reserved S i t e U p d a t e d 17 / 08 / 2007 |
this is a poem of place indeed once the shops have closed this is no place where the hoodies hang out until late no place with nothing to do where without interest we elect our dead to endless council slowly to weave us bones and all into a cobweb quilt work of sub committee anti chambers come take up a place here and quietly crumble to dust |
hey, my doodah just blew up! shreds torn apart like a banana burst fragments of it splayed out from my hand and my ears have swollen with the laughter of the magic mega cock monkey crow as I scan again their wonder pill pact |
my thanks to the spammers for inspiration to do this |