Donations are essential to keep Write Out Loud going    

The Dance and Trickery of Evil

The Dance and Trickery of Evil


     There are concepts beyond the illusory,

Subtlety’s  you are invited to but never quite snatch,

They never enlighten presence upon you

And request only, you sit, sit loathingly in doubt -

    As all question who came first,

The bird we salivate and eat -

Or egg – yet,

     ‘they,’ are already picking argument and killing any,

Any of their-selves who have one feather out of place!


     Our contractual state of play with unreason

Seasons only credible excuses,

     Credible dramatics that all are skilled -

Before the stepping of stage, of theatre, of fake.




     There was a man I caught sight of,

Who told me of a family lost in car crash,

In ignorance, in fatigue and overwork, in sadness,

     I saw he there, walking a lonesome sorrow

Of unexplainable loss – and then I thought

To join his trek,

     And then again I talked the brain of all,

All those who hasten speed to be by loved ones -

     Only to die the life never savoured

For the speed ‘we all,’

      Make convenient those judgements and then,

My car is wrangled and mangled in flesh and

Metal where pain has never registered

For Sleepy Hollow is at the wheel.




     There you are,

One hundred metres away walking

Your grief, and here I am in the window

Of a moving vehicle shouting,




Wake me Sergeant Major before your children are claimed,

     Wake me Sergeant Major before your children sleep,

           Wake before the life that’s never lived – cries.


     ‘But only a manic screwed up face is

seen behind the screen where

The silent volume conceals the eyes and ears that bleed,

     Just like, a child of Kurdistan.’


     Your loss, be mine and never knowing,

For we walk the same silence for all,

      We share the same scream –

Where both could be the opposite proposed

By the ignorance of alien a theatre,

     And both you, and I, loading the same mag with

The same, one, round.




     We are soldier you and I,

Knowing only how to die,

     To greet a led lined body bag,

And never know it ‘life.’

     We are never known for love

And many our coffins – they are closed,

But a bullet be our ‘prepared to take,’

     As water doubles vision in the eyes.


We will never have a family,

     We will never have a family,

          We will never, have a family -

For the dance and trickery of evil,

     Will label all our sacrifice – a lie.


And the worse is yet to negotiate;

     For we know although we sometimes doubt,

 ‘We are, ‘The  Giant of Love!’


Michael J Waite 15th March 2020



◄ Beyond The Gone Crowd

The Loan of Bread Now Stale ►


No comments posted yet.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message