Surely
I am not
The only one
I remember
Thousands
I walked with
For a non nuclear stance
Now
Silence
Even before
Those brave humans
That took on apartheid
An battled
The Queensland government
Silence
And where's
The freedom voice bus?
Students r u
Drones
Or
Thinkers and tinkerer's
Slowly
By surely
Walling our self's in
To a fake
Normal
A false
Reality
For a few
Control nefariously
That new brick
Surveillance neo capital fascism
And the masses
Rejoice
Behold
Our new brick
And don't the people wonder
After the river floods
And Chunder's
Or
The fire
All scotched
All burnt
Their left
Standing alone
Pondering
What's a government for?
Cause
Harvey an Woodside
Ain't gonna come
An help me
But, no
They accept it
To not
Is not
To be normal
So
F@#k you all
I am
Not normal
And I don't accept it
If I write
Just one word
That provokes
An act of kindness
Or
Spark of curiosity
Just a small
Twinge of the lips
Heading for a smile
I will have succeeded
And I have
Just as others
Of my kind
Have
Categories:
woodside, art, cat, dog,
Form: Free verse
I see I am almost 60
The river of life has sped by
Sweet accounts are needed
Thank God I remember the 60s
sane relics of the past
Kaftans and roll-ups
strain to the sounds
blonde this and that
Mini skirts and wobbly legs
I hear the wind calling
It wants an account of where I've been
Schooled in Croydon by Woodside
Polytechnic in the East End
Never used my Degree for its full effect
Should have been a contender
in the National Audit Office
Life goes by quickly
its a black board of unreason
It demands an answer
Categories:
woodside, allegory, allusion,
Form: Free verse
We had a good time
Guys from Woodside, Sunnyside
Greenpoint and Astoria
Leaning on each other
Weaving through the crowds
Towards the exits
Leaving the club
Squeaking out just before closing time
Headed towards the corner joint
Open all night.
Waiting on line
Shuffling
Gotta go
So bad
But first
Stomach bursting for
Cheap burgers
Greasy and salty
Buy ‘em by the bag
Eat them on the way home.
Dark night of New York
All around us
Rich’s man town
Separated from
Working class
By rivers
Zip codes
And generations of mistakes
Nobody talks about it
Nothing to discuss
Just a fact of life
Work with your hands
That’s how things are
If you complain
Nobody listens.
The place is crowded
It’s a late night circus
Counter people rush
Orders fly
From a hundred directions
A razzle dazzle of
Loud voices
Earsplitting laughter
A fight starts
In a rear booth
Irish and Italian guys square off
Just like generations ago
A common refrain ushering
Saturday night to Sunday morning
With a little night music.
Categories:
woodside, lifenight, night,
Form: Narrative