We fear the shadows,
not for what lurks there
but for what we might do
if we wore that cloak.

The chilling Vaudeville mask,
fixed in constant mockery,
gives echo to our own hollow laughter,
gives mirror to our cynical eyes.

Behind the opaque glass of bureaucracy
we stand ready to pass judgement,
emboldened to a thousand anonymous noes,
yet troubled as we take our turn in line.

We might stifle a shudder
as the new bill is passed into law
but who would raise a voice
against the promise of security we all crave?

Tomorrow’s breakfast news announces
that we are the silent enemy within,
confirming our suspicions,
and so we nod obediently in guilty approval.

A pen takes pause before
it can confess to the unwritten page,
lest it note down some truth
and leave its author to apologise later.

Then, as each darkened screen comes to life,
relegating shadows to a corner of the room,
a bright young thing appears in High Definition,
insisting that she is heard.

“We have had enough of question time
and doubts that drive us into our neighbours’ homes,
over our colleagues’ shoulders,
merely to attend to our own insecurities.”

Beneath studio lights she continues
“The answers are all here – not there”,
gesturing from around her
toward the panel and their darkening faces.

“If I watch over your shoulder, but from the front
as you watch over mine -
or if we are back to back, even -
how should we ever be defeated?”

“Only if I turn my eyes,
look with suspicion at your heel
and cause you to mistrust my care,
then will we be caught unaware.”

“We were ever connected -
only the medium is new,
and that is poor excuse to warrant disconnection,
promote uncertainty, doubt and division.”

“Our community is stronger than ever,
in size and scope and skill
and we will support each other openly,
without need for dark places and closed doors.”

Applause like a hundred shuttered windows opening,
echoed by many thousand fingers typing,
is signal that a switch
has taken place.

The social networks are set ablaze;
a shared vision begins to form,
of mutual ownership at the speed of light,
rendering private fears into obsolescence.

We fear the shadows,
we act like strangers,
and then the daylight comes.

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Be Bold:
the World is hungry for you
and those ideas will
eat you up inside
otherwise

Take Heart:
you may have planted
a thousand unfruitful seed
yet one will be plenty,
should it grow,
and it will grow, mightily,
lifting you with it.
Keep planting.

Be Brave:
snuff the tiny voice in you
that squeals
“I can’t…”
“..but..”
“..but..”;
it is killing you.

Dare.
Dare and we all win;
it’s not difficult -
you just find it too easy
to think it so.

There’s enough of you to go around,
and so
give it away;
your gift is meant for others -
that which is not consumed
becomes stale,
an unseemly ornament.

Reach out:
many a dream
requires a touch from another’s hand
before
it can be grasped.

Relish
your friend’s victories -
they taste sweeter than your own;
you have your reward already:
you feel alive again.

Unite
your passions,
your will,
your friends and well-wishers, all;
you will not fail.

Defy
the odds,
the naysayers,
the obstacles and unknowables;
your success will become certain
in time.

And so
Be Bold,
my friend:
it speaks of who you are
and everything you will yet become.

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In the debris of tomorrow
i will find you
and lift you from the dust

In the debris of tomorrow
i will gather gems you lost
and take them with us

In the debris of tomorrow
we will learn our value
and barter ‘gainst our worthless toys

In the debris of tomorrow
we will taste again
amongst the the dispossessed

In the debris of tomorrow
we will kiss scorched earth
and plant a new life there

In the debris of tomorrow
things that made us cry
will appear small amidst the tumult

In the debris of tomorrow
we will leave fear behind
and press onward through the dark

In the debris of tomorrow
fierce realities
will not part my hand from yours

In the debris of tomorrow
we will take a different path

In the debris of tomorrow
one good shoe
will fetch a thousand shillings

In the debris of tomorrow
iron and sweat
become politic

In the debris of tomorrow
magic and science
will be allies again

In the debris of tomorrow
forgotten tools
will regain their edge

In the debris of tomorrow
i will be your shield
and you will be my heart

In the debris of tomorrow
we will build a home for future kings

In the debris of tomorrow
honest friends
will be all we can afford

In the debris of tomorrow
there will be much to do;
we will have no time for sorrow

In the debris of tomorrow
faint-hearted sun will start;
the faded moon will close

In the debris of tomorrow
will we find god?
will god find us?

In the debris of tomorrow
there will be more questions than answers

In the debris of tomorrow
is kindness and hope
coated in soot and hunted for dinner

In the debris of tomorrow
is our untainted love
and a catch at a fleeting chance

In the debris of tomorrow
we will prevail

In the debris of tomorrow
is another day

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High-wire
Cheesewire cuts the souls beneath my feet.
Frowning down at
Emotional account – is overdrawn.
Planning permission required
From grass-roots up;
The sky’s the limit.
Only 20 pounds and this
Is what I bought.
A drought,
A hunger -
Desperately seeking captivated audience
To catch my drift
Across a landscape,
Painted wordily in ink.

Personal Effects
And yet you still are unaffected?
I spilled not knowing -
Thick and slick -
Too slippery for me.
Humpty Dumpty.
Broken lines and fragments.
Shelling never stops.
Did I mention how high I was?
And now back home on earth,
My heights are but a fighter jet,
A mirage through the clouds.
All my thoughts are pregnant birds
That try to fly betwixt these words -
And though perhaps they’ll go unheard
They yearn to sing aloud.

Holding hands.
A piggy-bank
A childhood could not fill.

Timely intervention
Watching notes rain wet on teenage years
Discordant striking tears for fears -
Pneumonia or chill?
No gangrenous hopes,
Nor organic dreams;
All chrome and armour clad.
Wires corrode
And yet they hold
Ideas aloft, aloof and crazed
Like a preacher dressed in plaid.
To this moment complete,
Nothing may alter
A tattooed sermon never taught.
I’d like to leave this honest yoke,
Be back where I belong.
No bad egg yet the question I beg -
Would He rather a Father distraught?
Back to back
With mother moon,
All things considered
The end comes too soon.
But not yet.

This chicken run
Can’t catch my breath,
However clumsy I feel.
Wings spread to the heavens above -
Almost gracefully sometimes -
I pray but not to God;
To the gentle breeze
That carries my weight,
That I should not fall
‘Ere I reach the stars.
Air miles short,
Curtailing destined rise to fame.
Though in my heart
I feel uplifted,
Off the wall,
I feel no shame.

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Ridicule is most painful when

The joker and the joke are

One and the same.

Confessing a weakness

In every action:

This terrible self-parody,

An unintended act

By a clown who cannot cry.

Intaken air sometimes brings

The world in with it,

A punchline to the ribs

Released as a foolish whisper.

Death is full of ill-humour and,

No,

Even the jester will not die laughing.

If the gallows man knows this gag

He’s not letting on

As he tightens the tie at his neck.

The crowd knows what follows

And herein lies

The predictability of a limerick life.

Cartoon cats never catch the bird,

While the coyote detonates

Himself

Yet again;

Did they write the script?

Self-contained comic stripped

Of dignity by the second page,

Stapled and folded over

Upon itself;

Apparently quite popular

With the condemned.

Tragic comedy

Is the dead man’s gift;

An artistic sacrifice without reward

Except for the comfort

Of soliloquy.

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