even angels make mistakes

misfortune dogs her footsteps
though she’s committed no crime
her daily life is chaos
in what’s supposed to be her prime
wind roars in her ears
heart beats with an infernal rhyme
seductive are the voices
which keep whispering
“it’s time”

the working-class continue
with their bingo & horse races
immune to clouds above
that resemble laughing faces
children skip to school
their bickering mouths filled with braces
she watches, the back of her throat slimed
with bitter Zopiclone traces

yet she awakens every morning
to another church-bell dawn
downs endless cups of coffee
in a faded gown of black chiffon
an hour at a time
she resists thoughts of all that’s gone
in the memories of those who love her
she’ll find the strength to carry on

copyright © 2015 KPM

even angels make mistakes

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alone at the end of the world

snatches of old songs howl through her head
some sorrowful
some joyous
some reminders of dread
bound by memories
of a life that came to naught
in God’s final joke
she is firmly caught

abandoned houses, vacant lots
empty landscapes
empty eyes
that leave no tear spots
humanity has faded away
sunlight
moonlight
have both gone astray

no calendars or ticking clocks
stripped out stores
stripped down cars
the world’s been reduced to a cardboard box
no more a life of everything
no holidays
no flat-screens
no birds remain to sing

copyright © 2015 KPM

alone at the end of the world

(sub)urban nightmares

hell is bein’ forced to see
dat which causes misery:
     racks o’ new clothes
     dat ya got no money ta buy
     handcuffs on yo’ man
     cain’t do shit but wave – bye bye
     heavy snowfall
     when yo’ landlord’s cut off da heat
     a baby boy in raggedy shoes
     too small fo’ his growin’ feet
     folks comin’ out de grocery store
     when you ain’t et in 10 days or more
     da banker dat denies yo’ loan
     dere goes da house you’ll nevuh own

hell is bein’ forced to see
other folkses misery:
     strung-out hos on corners
     endless homeless faces
     unemployed peoples
     wit’ sad defeated faces
     no pre-natal vitamins
     for dat baby in yo’ womb
     got no health insurance at all?
     bettuh start savin’ fo’ dat tomb
     men whut live in boxes
     asleep in fetal positions
     ‘n others dat you know
     strugglin’ ta survive in awful conditions

hell is when ya realize dat don’ nobody care
hell is da fear dat you could end up dere

copyright © 2014 KPM

(sub)urban nightmares

 

a life of squalor

tis a sordid life they live
in this aging Scottish scheme
where most of the inhabitants
have lost sight of the dream

all the paths are garbage-strewn
graffiti covers the outside walls
cursing children run in packs
angrily kicking old footballs

an idle teen sits in a garden
of dandelions and dying grass
tracing patterns on his arm
with a bit of broken glass

in the filthy flats behind him
9 out of 10 are on the dole
and he wonders if he’ll ever escape
this housing scheme’s black hole

where all the closey’s smell of urine
and nightly drunken slatterns holler
joyless junkies and ex-convicts
living side by side in squalor

the shard of glass is bloody now
he’s exorcised his foolish dream
so up the crumbling stairs he climbs
imprisoned by life in this squalid scheme

copyright © 2011-2014 KPM

alifeofsqualor pic

the boy with red laces

I saw a boy this morning
he had red laces in his shoes
his hair was lank & greasy
his right eye had a bruise

he wore a dirty sweatshirt
his jeans had a hole at the knee
& he shivered with the cold
as he shyly glanced at me

though the morning air was chilly
his forehead shone with sweat
as he timidly enquired
if I had a cigarette

I took out my menthol Sterlings
I placed them in his grimy hand
saying, “you can keep ‘em, dude,
‘s okay – I understand.”

he thanked me then he hurried off
this boy with red laces in his shoes
just another fragile human
with a face full of the blues

copyright © 2008-2014 KPM

red laces pic