Marks for Perseverance
Exiled to a lonely corner, wanting more than letting on
something is wrong with the state of myself,
love as transaction, flowing freely of course
being silently watched, no effort at a smile.
Making the world go round, insolent situation
cutting hands and feet to ribbons in protest,
I don’t care about you anymore, if I ever did
rolling one’s own jelly babies not really my problem.
Serial butterflies galvanise the rotten core,
protected in instances of eventual delivery
home-grown opportunity not a mortal sin
just the run of the day, everything is special.
Principles aside, nothing at a loss.
Breaking through ranks, ass being grass
and me being the lawnmower, catch you out
mutual benefit never hurt anybody.
Instant messages, never mind the duress
the tawdry ambition ascending for the kill
bleeping phones on a constant adventures
transmitting turn-ons, a glorious guilt.
Streetscape for want of a better life,
the passer-by muscles by a hearty congratulations
knowing less than required, plugged-in cartoons
advertising psychosis hidden in a purpose.
Patricia Walsh__
© Michael Lee Johnson: Fall Thunder Drums
© Michael Lee Johnson: Fall Thunder Drums
Decomposition
Wet and tame, from an unfathomable journey
drenched to the marrow, a failure’s song
seats being taken, fast friends watching by
consuming junk a survival pact, forthwith
closing the drawer on negative history.
Haggling through fairy tales, a prouder fancy
kissed in full view, slammed into order,
not respected afterwards, by any party
wandering through the river, declarative
cigarette in one hand, rolled unwisely.
Living to regret, a good size girl you are now
more than an apology needed to up the ante
poisoning gatherings, when we need to celebrate
any excuse for an event marred by you
attention sought and delivered, grudgingly.
Making use of telephones in slight chagrin,
brilliant mistakes prolong a certain agony
preserving social occasions for these loves only
lingering pain never crosses this mind,
sympathetic crossings teach little and often.
Drinking the poisoned water, immersed for same
whole decadence in a little crowded room
devoid of conversation, needing the quips
necessary to live nicely, hating the same
attractive phobias hiding behind propriety.
Patricia Walsh__
____________________
Eternal Vocal
Brushing ahead, temperatures rising
seated outside in the sweltering heat.
Cannibalising sources at a perfunctory will
conversion fodder over as many days
inveigled crossways into a salvation.
Mission being to the world, over the tannoy,
name-checking the Bible after a fashion,
convert from heaven and earth, assigning
some glorious soul that is worth redeeming,
thrilled through occupation otherwise staid.
Praying in another tongue, scarified
bringing toys to school no mean feat
force-fed today’s lesson after a baptism
writing from a necessary fount of knowledge
other commitments watch as stars implode.
Shaken-looking enemies in one’s own household
bringing fire to the earth always happens
spoof doctrine tightly bound in prayer
destination theology never sounded so sweet
cutting the sinner’s edge, saving face.
Supporting on licence, cleared at half-time,
Cross-eyed doctrine burning on the long finger
rewarded through exposure, an exclusion zone,
apologise through indifference, a hard fate
softer days find a way to infatuate your psyche.
Patricia Walsh__
Christian Witchcraft
Tripping sagely in the common space
founded by licence by an omnivorous cry
future being everywhere, cover versions aside,
simple venom towards the room of confidence
god knows a purpose for other people
shaken to foundations a test for livelihood.
Stuck together, like perfume, fateful lessons,
exorcising through a touch, a purpose redeemed,
being anything you want, as long as it’s free
the childlike gaping at the parental world
kept free from sin for the time being
assisting the afflicted in a moment’s effort.
Fostering the wrong type of attention,
speaking in tongues a novel type of expression
lightly scared, by return of post and air,
whittling the light-switch to a comfortable stub
recognising bygones in throwaway television
avoiding same, salvation permitting, solid.
The educated fear, politely dissociating
enough for another day, withdrawn from society,
visitation from on high, crippled through ignorance
attempting to act, on a prize-give free,
salvation turning on itself, a sociable drunk
flashes of brilliance enough to cry in the wilderness.
Patricia Walsh__
____________________
Local Saviour
Photography, being truth, begs a productive line
appealing to the miscreants hobbling fine.
Purposefully falling at the first hurdle,
falsely modest, switched off, no hurry.
Out of sight, remaining outside the look,
salvation at arm’s length in the oppressive heat,
supporting the diehards, familiarity ignored
seeing eventual results on a season’s broadcast.
Managing perspectives, too much to call for,
manhandling crosses a meeting denied
taunted from truth, a hardwired domesticity
familiar slights burning like heaven.
The cocktail of experience, scared by salvation
marry or avoid, under the orange sky,
tired exhibitions cry out for recognition
godly exhortations freak the dark fantastic.
Stealing, for celestial betterment, an exorcism
complexion changed under cover of right,
sleeping in tongues a readiness profoundly
summarily married over a technical fault.
The truth will in and out, stationary following,
this occupation serves well, thanks for asking
weak spots in the psyche let the baptism in
the tracked mind paying for run-on tweaks
Patricia Walsh__
