Sunday, 8 August 2010


Vile she wrote
Lazy and Vile
Using Nice
Using Fun
Must try harder to find that adjective
That stops the downward digging or at the very least
Moves the epicentre of activity
Beneath this woman’s Feet
To destabilise that vigour and bring both to the same level
Full of glints and exploration
Hints not explanations
Right now
I’m not sure of aspirations
But she’s got me thinking of adjectives
I could stop right now
Could go back to work
But I can’t accept defective
There must be a single, descriptive,
To capture the moment
And make another

Later words fail and contradictory emotions dominate
This friend of a friend
This boy
This proud young man
Who won’t say where he’s been
Is he a Tool, a Weapon, a walking trigger
A victim of determined fate?
Or a killer, cold, callous, in control
I wonder if he’s ever looked a Palestinian in the eyes and pulled it
Or if he ever will have to
Whilst his country pays for it
And mine too
And this friend, of ethics and high mind
Shows him so much love
It’s hard to compute
Now I’m comparing
In the contrast of this solitude
The hypocrisy of that anger
Placed against this individual
The places I’ve been
The things I’ve benefitted from
And I would judge a soldier on his incoming
Because of where he’s from?
Because he didn’t object
What does his conscience say at night
When drink and meetings don’t overpower it.
And there’s no audience to play too, no strong pose to strike?

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