It’s a dark colour and it opens with a knock.
Or two.
Footsteps, a pause, then the click.
That’s the order of it.
I like the pause.
I know she’s looking at me through the small lens.
Just for a second.
The well oiled brass deadbolt prepares for its surrender.
Again.
The smooth click of defeat.
Unlocked, unbolted, unnecessary.
Open.
In.
Click.
The lock is a lock once more.
Now with two in its charge.
8pm tonight UK time the Broken Verb is on the theme of nature. Submit poetry here to be read or played on November’s show. Next shows theme is alcohol. The written word or mp3 are acceptable formats.
Archived shows are available here http://www.reelrebelsradio.com
Peace.
My breath was hard,
Tough, as I climbed.
Grass of foot and wet,
I trod.
I found solace
Alone, by my side.
Misty winds distracted me.
Tempted me away
From my sodden silence.
I remembered then
Why I came.
Why I stood.
On damp hills
Where drizzle and dew
Sit side by side
On gentle blades.
Where grey clouds
Whisper secrets
To comfort the broken.
I came
To remember
Why I stood.
Tonight at 8pm UK time The Broken verb spoken word poetry show is on the theme of ‘Politics’. Thank you to everyone who contributed their written and recorded poems and time.
Next months theme is ‘Love and Despair’. Light and lovely, dark and desperate, pleasure or pain. You tell me. Submit poetry here, or timkerton@yahoo.co.uk, or @timkerton on twitter. Record your own words in your own voice in mp3 or wav format or send me the written words by August 24th.
Click here to listen. http://www.reelrebelsradio.com/
If you miss the scheduled time the show will be saved in the archives.
Love.
His thin brittle anger broke free again.
Sharp shards of pain pushed out.
I silently encouraged him.
Entertain me. Please.
I’m bored.
Opening sunny gates, we drift…
Lengthways..
Our lives stay the same.
Tomorrow we die.
Tell me one lie.
One lie.
Overhanging trees undermined our cynicism.
Too beautiful.
Too nice.
For us.
Spit and curse for me.
Poison my day.
…bloody boatman.
Our lives stay the same.
Tomorrow we die.
Tell me one lie.
One lie.
My violence was swift.
Cunning. Nasty.
He saw nothing.
Felt everything.
Steel glanced off bone.
Flesh fell away.
…bloody boatman.
Our lives stay the same.
Tomorrow we die.
Tell me one lie.
One lie.
Drifting now.
Lighter. Sweeter.
Awash with blood.
The deck was slippery.
One heave.
His splash made me chuckle.
…bloody boatman.
Tonight at 8pm UK time The Broken verb spoken word poetry show is on the theme of ‘Bankers’. Thank you to everyone who contributed their poems and time.
Click to here listen. http://www.reelrebelsradio.com/
If you miss the scheduled time the show will be saved in the archives.
Love.
I wanted to see what was happening.
Switched the TV to CNN Turk.
A penguin documentary filled my screen.
While CNN International was live on the scene.
We are all penguins
But some more than others.
Police brutality unites
Children and mothers.
Bring us your tear gas,
Some water from your cannon
The camera goes both ways
We will force you to re-examine
Your brutal theft of all we hold dear
Your violence, your hate, your culture of fear.
Your encroachment upon our secular state
Your attempt to undermine us. Alienate.
This park is a symbol
One of many last stands
I pity you having to watch
As our movement expands
This isn’t about one country
One city, one town
This is global resistance
And we’re not backing down
Our Freedom of expression,
Our Freedom of assembly
Our Freedom of press
Our right to expect nothing less
You have taken our liberty
Our sight and our lives
Now sit back and watch
As your world crumbles and dies.
Because we’re not resting until
You tumble from power
Until you beg for forgiveness
Hour after hour
We are all penguins
But some more than others.
Police brutality unites
Children and mothers.
Collective noun
for a collection of nouns?
Underground buses
and washed up towns.
Opened up and ruined, I let the wind in.
Rich man vs. poor man, this old beggar will win.
Understand that dynamic.
Un-sink our Titanic.
Our destruction designed it.
My cruel mistress confined it.
Shut down and smashed, I lock the rain out.
Roof vs. sky, that old beggar has clout.
Follow your lead?
Unlock my greed?
Fuck you. Your creed.
Your unnecessary need.
Your words have a choice.
They represent your voice.
But neither adhere
to the things we hold dear.
Closed in and battered, I let the sun shine.
Conflict vs. passion, one old beggar’s divine.
Wine in my glass.
Death on my plate.
I’d rather die ten years too early.
Than ten minutes too late.
Un-Tory this benefit, un-bonus my bank.
Un-vomit the single malt whisky you drank.
You do none of this of course.
In fact it gets worse.
Nothing to say ‘cept a warning or curse.
Scrawled in sick on the tube station floor.
Mind the gap.
Mind the gap.
Mind the gap between the rich and the poor.
The sniffing bus
was sniffing late,
my oyster card
was past its date.
My pockets spewed
the change I’d begged.
I slammed it down
on the drivers ledge.
He took off roaring
I stumbled ‘n’ fell
This sniffing day
is going to hell.
I picked myself up
and found the seat.
This one came with
something to eat.
A kebabs carcass
adorned the cloth.
The tomato tempting
but I swept it off.
Onto the floor
it bumped
and rolled
Next stop;
the street of Old.
Hoxton bonnets,
fixie bikes,
twitter feeds
and facebook likes.
GPS your every move,
some location that
we all approve.
Post a photo
of your sniffing lunch.
Grated ice on
your sniffing punch.
I feel empty,
I wonder why.
My sniffing soul
just kissed the sky.
Like the dead, knotted branch
that threatened everything below it.
She rolled paper with tobacco,
licked and rolled the thing.
Like it was nothing.
I heard the wind, it whispered again.
The whisper before the roar.
A flick, a flame, and a snap.
Dark again.
Apart from the ashy glow.
And the half lit smoke curls
that disappeared.
Slowly.
I tried to think of something.
To say something.
But nothing came.
I could feel her stare
through our night.
Her lips drew again on the cigarette.
Glow, smoke, the impatience in her eyes
reflected the ember.
Smoky anger now.
Still nothing.
I can say nothing.
I let the moment pass.
Our moment pass.
One more glow on the ember.
Resilient disappointment gave
way to pity.
She turned and walked away.
How should I know
what time it is?
No Tall Stories 