My gran doesn’t ‘get’ this woke society
I told her that there’s a new sobriety
We went for a walk to see what we would see
And show her we all can be what we will be
Men can be women and girls can be boys
And most men in showbiz have that certain poise
I’ve seen a guy wearing a little black dress
And people whose gender is something to guess
But live and let live is the latest doctrine
Though sometimes I wouldn’t know where to begin
Someone approached us in pink dungarees
And Doc Marten boots and a beard to ‘their’ knees
With glitter mascara, diamanté tiara
A dog tag that said nothing more than ‘Tamara’
‘Their’ Mohican hair style was quite a strange sight
Twas dyed rainbow colours and went left to right
I tried not to notice ‘their’ tightly strapped breasts
But bits were protruding from her (their) string vest
In an unguarded moment I said, “Evening Miss.”
He/she/it/they gawped and said, “That’s remiss.”
I told he/she/it/they, “I’m not of this age
So don’t take offence, please don’t get in a rage.”
‘They’ strode off and snarled like a pantomime cat
And my little old gran said, “What The F*** Was That?”
Categories:
gawped, humorous,
Form: Rhyme
Reared in ruins,
& East London brick dust,
lard spread on bread.
My figure daubed
by days of oil and dirt,
a boy by railroad tracks -
wrong side.
Trains clattered past
pumping smutty fumes.
Once, a pretty girl
visited our tenement,
posh clothes,
(I mean, not rough flannel),
clean hands, neatly dressed.
We boys gawped, then
then derided.
we had no way to acknowledge
one so distant from our reality.
I told mother,
she just shrugged not understanding.
She was a lock-in woman
& expressed herself
as a long ignored dog would
when asked about
the meaning of life.
Categories:
gawped, poetry,
Form: Free verse
To me, you are purely ephemeral;
We are irrelevantly real.
And I am left with no one but myself,
With this hollowness I feel.
And still, I am hardly here,
Just a mass of scattered free radicals.
A steady-state cascade;
A time-killing fanatical.
I laugh because it is absurd,
And carry on without a word.
She was blanched,
Scuffed like an epiphyses.
Gritted between molars,
Eyed blind,
Her body curved in magnificent sacrilege;
Flagrant,
Inexplicitly mine.
My secondhand thing,
That some dub love.
I just gawped
Whenever she took it off;
And seeped
Into the ground at her feet.
I woke up and remembered that there was nothing else;
I woke up and wondered why I hadn't killed myself.
I was dead set
On something but nothing and everything yet;
All meaning unmet.
All the null that added up to self;
All the lives that lie to blindly dwell.
I laugh because it is absurd;
The others dare not speak the word.
--
"There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide."
-Albert Camus, absurdist
Categories:
gawped, allusion, introspection, life, muse,
Form: Rhyme