Your Sun

Standing at the door
to your room, you
are oblivious, her gaze.

Standing, looking at you,
thinking of your hair,
feet, the way you love.

Standing still hoping you
won’t notice the way
she lingers, doubts much.

Standing by the door,
you feel the presence
of your beautiful star.

Standing behind you,
you know she looks at
you with so much love.

Standing there, you pretend
not to notice, to feel
the warmth from your sun.

My Flower

Where pinks and blues once
painted the scene, now
a set of greys have moved
in to silence the mood.

The evidence no longer exists,
unless science and meticulous
scrutiny set to work in this place.

When the flowers bloomed,
the life came back to this place
and the bloom in her cheeks was
the shade of soft sunflowers.

The evidence of her existence
lives in my mind alone;
her beauty will forever remain unchanged by time,
for I killed her in this place, and I buried
her many pieces in amongst the different flowers;

she will forever be my
many-flowered girl,
and I will cherish the love
we will always share.

Entitled

Saturday morning blues.
‘Let me sleep for one more hour!’
you yell yet whisper.

Dreaming of something
to do with Russians, mowers,
and manicured moustaches.

You’ve got a thing for the
Way moustaches grow, move,
and fly about demurely.

The Russians excite you,
as you think about bedding
another Oligarch or two.

Today will be a random kind
of day where you become
a semi-exciting philosopher.

The cat looks at you with
her resting bitch face;
she’s plotting your demise.

You knew when the two of
you met that the cat was a
capitalist, yet you melted.

She reminds you of your
tricky dilemma: Justifying
21st-century slavery.

You move from your Egyptian
Cotton sheets to your lush carpet,
then to your opulent shower.

‘It’s a hard life being so philosophical’,
you say quietly, yet you’re a CEO of a
company and you just fired 40 people.

Looking in the mirror, you can’t see it;
there’s an entitled air about you and
it moves with you through your life.

You play the down and our philosopher,
yet you don’t care about people;
just the clinic of gold bars in your safe.

The cat looks at you with disdain;
She swipes your leg with a paw, then
runs away to her food bowl.

You know she is just like you,
yet you better go and appear as though
you care for all those slaves.

Eat your fruit and vegetables

Taking the piss,
hating the morning.

They made a tape;
called it, “Eat Your Veggies”.

When dawn arrived,
they turned up the sound.

It was the sound of a fierce
wind against their windows.

Underneath,
a subliminal message repeated
the words,
“Eat your fruit and vegetables”.

After a couple of mornings,
gardening utensils, trucks,
and gloved hands appeared.

The street is known as,
“The Fruit Bowl Street
of the South-East”.

Now for another experiment.