Celebrity They were pointing at me; “the man in the paper; the poetry writer.” One finger-pointing; another their hand clasped tightly over a widening smirk. Made me Feel embarrassed. Turning to flee I then caught a glimpse of myself reflected in a shop window - a bathroom tissue tail was trailing from the back of my trousers!” |
Beyond The Page Out Into the ether Like a spirit from the flesh to infinity or eternal ignorance For comment and criticism I commend these words to cyber space |
Cryogenics wake from nightmare beheading feeling rough. Flaming hell, I’ve got tits and me bits have gone? Fall from bed and stagger to wardrobe mirror where am not to be seen in reflection? Form is female? Scream and she screams? In comes guy expressing pleasure, giving thanks for my return. My return her return what return don’t understand am confused am still dreaming must be dreaming? Says it 2143 and wife has my brain. This can’t be real, can it? (Inspired by the urban myth of the victim waking up on the park bench feeling stiff and sore only to discover a operation wound and that they're a kidney short?) |
Rose Tinted Spectacles The sign on the wall said "Keep Britain Tidy." Tide was out. Beach awash with soiled sanitary towels and disguarded condoms. Children made castles with human faeces. Swam in sewage. Evaporated happily in nuclear waste! |
Gynocologist Nervous anticipation. Feet in stirrups, legs akimbo. She shivers as he slips his steely instrument deep inside her most private place. "Relax." he says, "Relax?" she repeats, feeling full to burst. Bewildered by the bloating of it all she gazes down and is shocked to witness his shoes and his socks being kicked away and his feet as they're drawn up tight! |
Mammon Sad streets the haunt of so many bearing such sorrowful faces passing with barely a friendly word to spare, each in their constant and self imposed trauma generating an atmosphere of menace; overcharged in the way some breath, their inaudible chunner. Despite our numbers we feel isolated. Instinctively we know it has become dangerous to invade other’s personal space so much as making eye contact, hide behind our newspapers (probably the only reason we’re still buying them?). Our fancy electronic devices seem more a magnet than shield to assault. Thank god for the broadsheet! After hours our shopping malls are now barred and shuttered, deserted. Imagination draws our fears from the shadowy corners, from where they hide, out of camerashot. Overall, the foreboding impression appears the Police have been reduced to little more than a glorified street cleansing crew. C.C.T.V Who’s watching and why? We have a rich country yet the richer we become the more we crave, the less we like to share, the more envious of each-other’s success, the more unappreciative, the more intolerant, the more we object and the more we want to bust each-other! |
More or less its love Less is more, she feels, and much to be appreciated, thankful for, enjoyed. And she turns her back to me? |
Beggars Can’t Be Choosers Paid at last, money at last, tomorrow she’ll shop; stock the pantry; fill the children’s stomachs; treat herself. Sobs a little as she wipes away a trickle of the last turn’s seed. A moments despair leaves her feeling a dirty whore, ashamed. Guilt takes flight as the doorbell rings, more earnings? |
Published by write-away |
Copyright © 2001 Philip Johnson. All rights reserved ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ===================================================== |