The Wordkillers

We kill the cure
Condemn the curse
We shout and spit
As though it fashion
Is it!
The words we use
No smiles, all eyes
And fingers pointing
‘That’s what they’re for’
Are they!
A reckless adventure
Inferno in waiting
Made for decay
Meant to delay
Does it!
Prefabricated values
Shoved down throats
Gagging, we choke
For the wordkilkers
It hurts!
And I sit, write
Hide and worry
Wondering, just wondering
Have they won?
Lord no!
Please no
Cant have
I’m begging

50 Word Stories: My Friend

“You, my friend, are sadly lacking in moral fibre.”
“Why, because I choose calm words over impulsive violence?”
“Because you are unwilling to participate in the reeducation of others.”
“I am willing, but violence only begets violence.”
“And if I made you?”
“My friend, for you I’d make an exception.”

True Strength

Where go the creepers
 Where go the worms
 All those agents of verbal malpractice
 Who stands tall
 Who shows courage
 As the fighting grows so grand
 When displays of a Neanderthal past
 That which still prevails
 Are displayed for all to see
 They hide behind their engendered violence
 —
 We are better than that
 —
 It is a stronger soul that says no
 Who states the case
 Who remains calm before the storm
 When others panic
 And in impassioned plea says:
 We must change
 
 
 
 

Bruised



 
 purple and blue
 my love for you
 
 purple and blue
 fading from view
 
 purple and blue
 my love for you
 
 purple and blue
 volatile stew
 
 purple and blue
 my love for you
 
 purple and blue
 violent hues
 
 purple and blue
 my love for you
 
 purple and blue
 I suppose it takes two
 
 purple and blue
 my love for you
 
 purple and blue
 just one big bruise
 
 
 

Storm Rising


 A storm is brewing.
 There is no wind, no rain, no lightning bright,
 But an undercurrent of rage and despair.
 I feel it in the floorboards,
 Sense it in the stale air.
 It is an oppressive force, self-perpetuating.
 Musing over my coffee mug has never felt so grim.
 Maybe it’s just me,
 Maybe the good is just hidden,
 But I wish to remain in my warm seat
 And never leave it’s comforting arms.
 Yes, I’m looking out on a storm.