poems

by Anthony J. Langford

 

 

 

Human spiking

 

The troublesome one

Begins in soil

And ends in flight

The damage is done in the bedroom

With eyes to the stars.

 

 

 

Pointed down

 

Pointed parasites where politicians played

Dressed up like old thespians, worn overcoats

Bedraggled jester hats adorned every slug infested

Speech, which the people swallowed and gorged, desperate

For belief. Blighted cries, whereforartthou

Hollow, turgid disappointment

Until next time.

 

Assumptions were made and admissions transcribed,

The bill passed, credit please, and all was quiet again, until the escalated interest

Was revealed and the unfolding of the deal, disorderly conduct,

Without the arrest.

Sanctioned fiscal genocide, how could they, send ‘em down the river

Bonds were misplaced and misguided trusts, now swapped, swimming upstream.

 

We know where this will go, yet there’s always hope, in a new beaming face promise.

Create, tear down, seek and destroy, has always been the standard fare, bangers and mash

If you please, steadfast they go on, changing the tune, as we don’t see the parallels, blinded

by faith, which of course, is the only way forward, as our meals are served lukewarm and we blame it on the waiter.

 

 

 

Thirst for a dead label

 

Peering back

Through the open door

The one that’s never closed

Yet you’re reluctant to revisit

Nostalgia comes with its own dangers

Rose colored perceptions have their benefits

Yet a longing for what was

The pull to the deep forging beginnings

Leaves the now

Tasteless

Bland

And spiritually empty.

 

It’s a place too comfortable

Never to be topped

And best avoided

Until the point

When going on is not an option

And going back is a necessity.

 

 

 

Improve on original

 

This is how it goes

In paradise

 

Gritty

Laden with experience

Events to share

Now and always

Without recourse

As stories

Are always glory laden

Devoid of guilt

Or repercussions

Nor denigration of reputation.

 

Another deluded

Day

Before destiny.

 

 

 

Well planned foundations

 

Those days

When you’re far too tired

To make a decision

Let alone fight

As you knew it all yesterday

But now you remember nothing.

 

When you possessed more than hope

A victory

Encircling the palm

Close to a fist seizure

With the next step

Ready to follow

The previous one.

 

Those planned days ahead

Collapsed in cracks

Tomorrow

The worst of all

Sense

Being the first victim

And now there’s no plotting

An initial step

Let alone

A successful

Connecting dot trail.

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