Short Plebeian Poems

Tried and tested by a virus, novel
I sit by the hearth of my lowly hovel
Taxed some more, without relief
Our kings, of their infallibility, grow in belief

Stimulus packages to the Lords
Home based care for the lowly sods
Dynastic games they play
The masses can only moan and pray...

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There is a serious conspiracy
They want me out of the aristocracy
Born a plebeian, I aspire to be a ruler
They cannot stand seeing my cup, any fuller

They come for my henchmen first 
Then whet, for my blood, their thirst
I am going down, think they, without a fight 
Remember my day will come, keep me in sight...

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An empty studio:
the man of the passionate handwriting
belts his dog

come my glory, my plebeian bride
hamster bagels

glitter indeed:
meticulously chosen bbq charcoals
as whimsical jewellery

“I’m so on fire and hear the wind”

Your grabbers, call them back 
let me   su.su

“No, don’t touch me now,
let me talk”...

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(I) 
Inflict upon 
these gaping wounds 
the searing sting of salt 
to expel 
heresy's feral odor 

(II)
Let the salt's scalding kiss 
be laid upon me 
to sever the 
contagion of atheism
from the sanctum of 
my temple 

(III)
Drink my suffering like 
honeyed libation, 
Rejoice in the 
choral lamentation 
that exalts my 
splintered frame 
from the 
Colosseum's womb 
and casts loose 
every shackle that encircles 
this Iberian plebeian...

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abstract endings pacified 

  pedestrian beginnings, 

save yourself before

             you're slap-happy,

 choking on interloping bourgeois 

       mind-control subterfuge

   under a darkly cast spell of

plebeian sugarcoated reality,

  waxing tween whitewashed rainbow

        hues and unicorn attitudes,

  beyond uncompromising comeuppances

     from behind unglued glossed over walls'

                congealed mid exoneration's excuses...

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