POLICE – DO NOT CROSS




            The mine tape seals off

Regions where life premature of death

Ceased unwittingly to be,

            And nobody knows till gossip

From drones touches their tongues –

Favouring importance,

And fantasies of fame (to be seen).



            But ask yourself this

While carrying your knife,

Ask in all honesty the taking of life,

     Ask beyond minutes,

Hours or days,

Ask of the region where space

                                                becomes dead.



            What if the corpse that once lay

On the ground,

Was notorious in wisdom, 

Strong hearted a citizen,

A bold of a human who once

Dreamed of peace.



            What if that citizen,

Who once tolled the line,

Seeking for family a wage to be proud,

Didn’t play by the knife,

Never triumphed in violence

Or courted the gun for a vice?



            What if that Man,

Woman or Child,

Now rumoured wrong for

A thug to be crowned,

Started life bold

With grit for a living,

Never took blame to another’s existence,

Never stressed all his bitterness

At society’s woe,

            Never turned just for drugs

His wife to a ho!



            What if that space now

Vacant of life, once suggested your Dad,

Your Ma or your Child,

And what if that Child now staring

At you, pissing his blood down drains,

Blood in us all that veins once pulsed,

Pumped from a heart that only knew hope,

Would it make retrieval of steal

Any quicker and fast,

Quicker and fast

Quicker and fast,




            Think twice of your life,

Value this gift while on Earth,

Think twice of the blade

Never mentioned in prayers,

Think as he stares,

            What if that space soon

To fade to a nothing,

A space of a nothing to conjure

            All tears,

What if that space,

                              Was You?




Michael J Waite 0539hrs Tuesday 8th December 2009.




◄ She Glides Like Snowgoose

Salt of The EARTH ►


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Ann Foxglove

Wed 9th Dec 2009 07:50

I don't know if a poem has to be aimed at anyone. On the one hand I guess the point of a poem is to communicate, and that implies it does have to find someone to communicate with, but also, a poem can just BE. I see this poem as a tribute to someone who has died, and a comment on the pointlessness of that death, not a lecture to all the youths who carry knives, who, as is the point you are making Rodney (I think), will never read this poem.

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Rodney Wood

Tue 8th Dec 2009 17:19

Really solid piece - I'm just not sure who it's aimed at.

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Ann Foxglove

Tue 8th Dec 2009 09:23

Hello Mike, this is a really powerful and tragic poem. I suppose if someone doesn't value their own life, they don't value anyone elses. I don't think it seems real to them, but just a computer game. That's the tragedy too.

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