Poetry Blogs (exploitation)

For all the bell ends on building sites
and the charmers 
who freely shout abuse from their van
at women going about their day
I often wonder how you would feel 
if someone did that to your Mam.
How would you react if you witnessed 
your own flesh and blood being routinely exploited,
objectified or sexually assaulted?
Would you still cheer and egg the culprits on 
as they leered and jeer...

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We are the surrogates, when mother's milk ends

we take over, weaning on objects of desire

when liquid turns to gold.

Mummy and Daddy consume and so

it will be with the little ones

small models of a greater future

we'll start them with

soft toys then as their awareness grows

dress them up in more grown up clothes

show them heroes

the American Dream

sweet dreams...

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We are the surrogates, when mother's milk ends

we take over, weaning on objects of desire

when liquid turns to gold.

Mummy and Daddy consume and so

it will be with the little ones

small models of a greater future

we'll start them with

soft toys then as their awareness grows

dress them up in more grown up clothes

show them heroes

the American Dream

sweet dreams...

Read and leave comments (0)

We are the surrogates, when mother's milk ends

we take over, weaning on objects of desire

when liquid turns to gold.

Mummy and Daddy consume and so

it will be with the little ones

small models of a greater future

we'll start them with

soft toys then as their awareness grows

dress them up in more grown up clothes

show them heroes

the American Dream

sweet dreams...

Read and leave comments (0)

(Poem dedicated to the Liverpool Tate art gallery which has chosen to buy and display this piece of abusive exploitative art)

Sometimes I wonder if I'm wearing the right glasses

wrong glasses

wrong lens

or  wrong vision?

All around me

people see things

differently -

depersonalise

rationalise

intellectualise

forgive

the unfo...

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A silence fell upon the city,

contorted shadows twisting moonlight.

Stuttering in a speakeasy seemed so misplaced

bottles rattled flickering like Fedora feathers

in an unforgiving wind.

The wretched odour of deprivation

a stench that sticks and degrades ones existence.

Even by day this city remains a lifeless sap

and by night the vampires feast on thei...

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