Poetry Blogs (tory)

The Devil Don’t Own Me

He may have saluted the corrupted cross

In Hitler’s Germany,

or whispered to Judas Iscariot,

hanging from a tree,

he could have pulled the trigger finger

back in nineteen sixty three,

he may own the soul of rock and roll

but the Devil don’t own me.

He may pollute the air we breath

or the raging, deep blue, sea.

He may breath on pola...

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Warfare rages, blood pressure races, worry lines etch into our faces

Predictability always soothes

So we turn our glaikit eyes to you

A saviour decked in red, white and blue

Be our hero, Mr Twee.

Crashing chords in minor keys

Experimental creativity

Please god - spare us all of these!

For our stilted minds cannot compute

Unfamiliar jarring tunes

Blandness is the ...

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all selling, or telling

forgot about the gelling together

of aught that matters

till we tipped past the point

of diminished returns to ruminate

instead on what a rich man earns

and caponised the germ

of all that once promised

in a swinish lust to fill our own pockets

gave a child faced strangler

the keys to the bank

to share the gold...

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