American dream

there are dark corners
of the American dream
where the eyes of citizens
have no gleam
just foreclosed houses
repossessed cars
‘n old gang-bangers
with keloid scars

there are cold spots
to the American dream
where isolated citizens
in loneliness scream
high-priced rooms
where insanity hums
‘n funerals for old folk
where no one ever comes

there are decaying bits
to the American dream
where the hopes of once-happy citizens
now curdle like rancid cream
here the rich get richer
while the poor try not to mind
‘n we all pretend not to see
the home of the brave decline

copyright © 2014 KPM

American dream

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even ardent feminists have their moments

no one sees you in the morning
without your made-up face
no one else’s mess to clean
things remain in their proper place

no one leaves the top off the toothpaste
or one lonely sheet on the toilet roll
no dirty dishes in the kitchen sink
and the TV remote is yours to control

but when you climb in bed at last
on nights when the wind makes a lonely shriek
do you regret your single status?
do you feel something of a freak?

when you unlock that door
at the end of your working day
do you long to see somebody?
a lover to whom you can say:

hey sexy, it’s only me
will I cook or
will we go out for tea?
how was your day?
mine was shit – wait’ll you hear
then into their arms you can disappear

copyright © 2012-2014 KPM

ardent feminists

consoling sounds

sudden puff of air
bed slats creak
mattress’ delighted squeak
signals that he’s not there
(he’s probly gone for a pee
then he’ll be comin’ back to me)

two quiet clicks
water in a rush
noisy toilet flush
cursin’ when the door sticks
(I was right: he needed a pee
now he’s comin’ back to me)

he whistles down the hall
puts the kettle on
another Sunday dawn
shattered by a crow’s call
(now that he’s had his pee
he’ll bring a cuppie back to me)

sunlight assaults my head
his pillow smells like him
givin’ in to a sudden whim
I clamber out of bed
(his face I long to see
but first I need a pee)

copyright © 2014 KPM

consoling sounds pic

August’s end

all the flowers in her garden
have hung their head
cause August has arrived
and its end is a cause for dread

scented lilies & lilac lupins
wear faces full of woe
& the dahlias grow depressed
as autumn winds begin to blow

the foxglove has an attitude
cause they like it when it’s hot
but just now it’s blowin’ a gale
& cold is somethin’ they’ve forgot

in the hanging baskets
lobelia & petunias are entwined
longing for the days
when the sun warmly shined

but the keeper of this garden
is the saddest of them all
for she knows the end of August
heralds the start of fall

for though she loves the autumn colors
she hates the onset of shortened days
for soon snow will slam the windows
with an unforgiving, icy glaze

copyright © 2014 KPM

Our Girl's Garden

“Darling Bear”

I was in the wilds of cyberspace
havin’ a leisurely look
when I ended up at Amazon,
‘n decided to treat myself to a book

‘twas a novel I’d long wanted
as it was used, it cost just one cent
2.80 USD for the postage
to me it was money well spent

the book arrived quite quickly –
I didnae hafta wait an age
it was in pristine condition
save for the title page

there at the very top
printed in blue ink with obvious care
was an inscription reading,
“Happy Christmas, Darling Bear”

now if you’re a friend o’ mine
ya ken my mind works differently
I read those neatly printed words
an’ my imagination ran free

who was Darling Bear?
was it a woman? was it a man?
were they Eskimo or Egyptian –
did they hail from some exotic land?

had they been childhood sweethearts –
best friends at the start?
fallin’ in love as they grew older,
vowin’ that never would they part?

sumthin’ painful musta happened
someone probly got hurt real bad
an’ the sight of that book in their bookcase
made ‘em cryin’ sad

so they got rid of it (along wit’ other stuff)
tryin’ to banish memory
hopin’ someone in love would buy it
someone just like me

copyright © 2011-2014 KPM

Darling Bear mystery

B-movies

the heroine’s been rescued
just in the nick of time
as a long-forgotten child star
scrubs his face of grime

the Wasp Woman has a head
made of papier-mâché
an’ Godzilla has saved Tokyo
its people live another day

the Bride of Frankenstein
is stressin’ over her hairdo
meanwhile Killer Klowns From Outer Space
are busy chasin’ me ‘an you

I pay no mind to those
who think Price & Karloff whack
an’ I make no apologies
for wishin’ I was Karen Black!

copyright © 2010-2014 KPM

B-movies pic

in the real world

a coffin-like claustrophobia
is suffered by the working-class
theirs is a tenuous existence
with all the fragility of glass

mortgages, rent and children
consume their every waking thought
while the endless spectre of unemployment
leaves their nerves flayed and fraught

the wealthy have no such worries
privileged are the Powers That Be
with their drivers and their yachts
and holiday homes beside the sea

armored with their art collections
and the stocks that they amass
the rich enjoy immunity
from the cares of the working class

copyright © 2010-2014 KPM

intherealworld pic

childhood’s corrosion

a proud beige house
now colored rust
untended/unloved
Mommy’s flowers reduced to dust

the picnic table too
bears sorrowful scars
termites ‘n damp rot
leavin’ craters like those on Mars

familiar city streets
now shit splattered ‘n sway-backed
kingdom of the indigent
their faces tired ‘n cracked

childhood’s succumbed to decay
abandonment abounds
urban erosion’s evil echo
she’s haunted by corrosion’s sounds

copyright © 2010-2014 KPM

childhoods corrosion pic