Hey you, how are you feeling today?
Better than yesterday, or just the same way?
Did you eat, or maybe you didn’t
Went to bed hungry, but still you’re here, resilient.
Was it cold where you slept, or far too hot?
Did you find warmth in a blanket or warmth you forgot?
A hot shower, a cold bath
Life finds its way along the narrowest path.
Bills unpaid, the knock at the door,
Bailiffs calling, but you’ve been here before.
A job promotion, or another rejection
Life marches on in every direction.
A country at peace, or a country at war,
Family divided, or love restored.
Marriages crumble, couples engage
Life pens its story on every page.
And still, we rise, come what may,
One more step, into another day
You spoke a new language
of rarefied air
guided nonchalantly
through curving channels of brass
Conduits of cool
juries of jazz
floating past soulful valves
harbingers of what will come
Slender fingers
improvising storylines
magistrates of melancholy
bailiffs of bop
Miles from the mainstream
a milestone of
modern modalities
kind of blue
In his mid-30s but still a boy
Given $14.50 an hour and 12 hour shifts
Six days a week
His driver’s license confiscated
For five slung beers over a night long ago
Cost him $10,000
Contributed to the system
Of judges bailiffs lawyers and Presidents
All residents
Of the lakes and new mansions up north on weekends
Five years it will take him
To pay them for his sin.
Out here on the way to work
There are no buses
So the boy joins a line of third world refugees
Walking an hour and a half a day
Each way
Through the sweat of summer
And the snow of winter
From Greatdale Apartments
To the soda pop company’s bottling plant
He limps down the shoulder of King’s Road
Texting a screen scream to his desperate dad
“I can’t do this anymore!”
This
The only demand the son can manage
While Escalades
Roar by him
Side mirrors whisking within inches of his elbows
The thought of the American Dream
Or even the idea of a violent union revolution
Pouring out of him
Like his 10 cent returns
After work at the Party Store.
Knock, knock who is it,
The bill collector is at the door
He keeps on coming back for more
Knock, knock I can't open the door
He keeps on threatening me even more
Knock, knock I can't take this anymore
The bill collector keeps knocking at the door
Knock, knock go away
Why do you choose to stay
It's not like I don't want to pay
I just haven't much to give a way
I don't wish to delay, I want to repay
Why can't you wait till payday
Knock, knock the Bailiffs at the door
He keeps on banging down the door
I can't take this harassment anymore
It's like he provoking war
Knock,knock I need to escape through the back door
Before we get into an argumentative war
Whereby I am on the floor
Asking him not to harass me anymore
Knock, Knock who is it ,the Bailiffs at the door
I wont knock you to the floor
But I will be back for more.
Just a cross in a box that's all that it took.
A vote for the Tories and they took everything i've got.
My healthcare ,My doctors,My rosy outlook.
The school that my kids went to and their free lunch.
I'm left on the roadside,no roof over my head.
The stars are my spotlights, no leccy to pay.
As my rent and my rates they just kept going up.
Until one day the bailiffs came and took the lot out
The bankers and rich don't seem to mind.
That 33% of the nations on the bread line.
The point of this poem is easy to see.
Don't put your x in a box when the candidates a Tory.
And now I've lost my papers,
My passport and my wife,
The very essence of
My identity and life.
My bank account is empty,
My cloths and garments sold,
My skin and bones are ashes,
Spread thin on the open road.
My old car's broken down,
No wheels to touch the floor,
The motor been dismantled,
Stripped clean down to the core.
The bailiffs and the policemen,
Have emptied my abode,
The promises I made you,
Have been auctioned out and sold.
The love I hold within me,
Is all that I now have left,
The rest is bleak illusion,
The bind man and the deaf.
The imaginary people ,
I thought were my friends,
Have left the scene forever,
As the road of life does bend.
And now I stand alone,
Upon this lonely hill,
I gaze upon the meanings,
The years have silently killed.
In the roaring storms of thunder,
In the lightning in the night,
In the whispering of the children,
In the white doves lonely flight.
In the dust of many ages,
That has settled on my soul,
In the ashes of my humanity,
That has filled my begging bowl.
The ancient breeze is blowing,
Calling me to my knees,
To behold the light within me,
In the prison of the keys.
more at http://labyrinthoflies.com
Me pay cheque is wounded, they gave it the axe
And these vampire politicians have drained 20% tax
Credit cards are all crunched to the max
Bailiffs keep knocking, won’t cut me some slack
Dam credit crunch has hit me hard
We scraping dad’s toes to use as lard
Granddad’s pluckin and a pickin’ the banjo with his teeth
Humming “I’m sure there’s some chicken in between these strings or underneath
To travel the bus is £1.20; it used to be a pound
There no such thing as free sex around
I ask the misses give me some; even she bleeds me pocket like a bloodhound
What’s wrong with the world it’s turning into a credit crunch breeding ground?
I whispering don’t make waves and they water skiing trying to make me drown
Can’t smoke
Can’t poke
This is a joke
I’m sure all of this of just a hoax
Well I have to go it time to munch
We having mama’s toe nails for lunch
I wrote about love, sadness and the funnies
I even thought my lyrics would get me the honeys
All I got is bank letters addressed to me
The bailiffs round for tea
Please tell me, can my poetry earn me monies?
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