Visible Oppression

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I am oppressed,

without chains.

 

I am oppressed,

without a cage.

 

I am oppressed,

without a curfew.

 

My tyrant is a Notion

A threat which has

Words

It whispers my

Downfall

And rages

Unseen

Behind eyes

It hides

Within bodies

It possesses

 

It has a view of the world

I do not live in

As an equal

I am

NOT

Admitted

 

It controls a world

I do not want to live in

As a woman

I am

NOT

omitted

 

Forced to face such a world

This is my torture

As a prisoner

I am

 

Inhibited

 

My cheeks are pressed against the glass

My eyes

Rub

Against the clear surface

 

I see it

Cloying before my eyes

The truth

Such nectar

Such poisonous nectar

 

The Notion,

sees’ it too.

Though feigns ignorance.

 

It’s what’s holding me against the window

Looking at me through the glass

It’s what’s done up my button hole

Trimming my secret garden with it’s

Scythe

Violating my justice,

Coming in my nectar.

 

I am militant

In suffrage

smeared

jeered

feared

 

The Notion

The conductor

The puppeteer

Plays on with the defilement

It’s theatre

A distraction

My rage disguised

 

But my eyes remain open

Merged with the glass

I watch

The Notion

The pornography

The deception

Do It’s work

It’s wrong

Such fuel

Such rage

It builds

And it will build.

The glass won’t withstand the volume of eyes

Dried

And forced

Upon it

So we wait

And watch

And fuel

And rage

 

under the visible oppression.

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Pixelated Generation

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Pixelated generation,

Square eyed and wired up.

We see through screens not a,

Looking glass.

Liberated yet confined,

Online,

The notification generation,

We twiddle our thumbs and

In fantasy lands we play.

We’re virtual,

We’re viral,

We’re out but not outside.

Fresh air deserves a selfie,

Friends deserve a like,

And our faces are nothing without a

Profile.

Revolutions storm the media,

Not streets,

Campaigns are hash tags,

And chants are tweets.

Keyboards are weapons,

Each Enter a

Shot.

We’re aware,

We can see,

Our world has shrunk.

We’re lost,

We are struggling

Our WWW has us stuck.

We’re silent yet social,

Loud but not heard,

Contradictions define us

Lose us

We’re absurd

We’re hypocrites

Immortal machines with

Decaying

Youth

Our hearts are

USB ports,

desperate for interaction.

We download, off-load

Our emotions are all

Online.

My Supporters

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Like an audience
they raised
their Luminous faces
Uniform yellows
In various places
On Hedgerows they lined up
Cheering me on
During the gruelling early months
Of spring
I ran
I progressed
Slowly
They were a constant
A crowd
They marked my road
Either side I huffed past
Blooming banks
Blowing Trumpets
They watched
They grew
Just as I was
To a fighter
I was going further
They were turning to yellow
Flashes

Till spring passed

A graveyard of flowers
Now line the streets
I run past
A stronger
Version of my self
But they wither
And I remember the gruelling months
When they would
Stand
A proud not cowardly yellow
A reminder of how
Quick
These seasons can fade
I look back on the
Beginner
When the daff’s were my only
Supporters
They glowed as I struggled
My standing ovation
Gone now.

With only the chaotic cheers of
Summer
To look forward to.
I miss
The regimented hedges
The whisperings of sunshine
The lines of beaming faces
I’m now on my own
An intermediate
With a newfound
self confidence
That can only carry me further.

Cheers now wait at the finish line.
Birds can’t fill the hedgerows
Daisy’s never stay in line
Except when chained
But I’m not that kind of procession
Butterfly’s are intermittent
And so
The relying relay had lost its
Baton
I’m alone.
Till next spring.

I’ll show them daffodils what a
Fighter I am then
And perhaps my ovation
Will be standing once again.

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A Tribute to Bees

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Something’s happened

They’re rising up

The pollinative

Rebels

Are a buzzing cause

They are being

Forgotten

Waggling flags

Of yellow and

Black

‘comb the fields

Like

poppies

A fleeting Reminder

The battleground

Of blades

Of grass

Of Flower

The pollinators have

Mobilised

Against giants

And

Pests

The pollifactions

The Workers

The Queen

No longer divided

Take flight

In

Hexagon formations

They attack and

Sting

Buzzing anger sings

Loud

Their ecological ideas

Manifesto

Fall under

Concrete ears

Their nectar truly is

Nothing more than surplus

Their bodies

Their work

Their worth

Beautiful

Ignored

Who else will hear their buzzing fears?

Honey is sweet victory to industry

Industry is death to all else

#SaveTheBees

The Inanimate Hug

In a cushion sandwich,
Fleshy meat between two buns.
Sluggish and huggish.
Resting in the comfy,
crack,
of seam and plush.
The girls,
Satin and Cotton can take my weight.
I nestle in their cleavage,
They wrap around my arms,
holding soft,
my lazed limbs.
Squeezed and pressed upon.
Inanimate yet intimate,
They embrace,
I seek.
Never questions asked,
They obey.
I crease their crevasses,
punch their bumps,
Manhandle their lovehandles.
And they adjust,
Submissively,
Unknowingly.

Ah the sweet revelry of obedience,
the abusing love of expedience.

The Exercis-s-s-e

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My body a-a-aches with lack of purpose

Joints rusted from weary practice

I lay

Uneasy , unwilling,

and tired-d-d.

Fearful of a creak, ug,

or crack, ah,

if I move.

My organs obese with fatigue,

My muscles sat-t-t-turated

with lardy laziness.

Mind inactivated,

Thoughts dread-d movements,

Each breath a

*Twitch*

Dreading thought.

I wince and lay,

My bulging heart expands,

Betrays my every

Apprehension.

My exertion ah,

A naivety.

My application-n-n,

Deceptive.

*Gasp*

Why did I run?

I lie,

Burnt, slumped,

A failing-g-g

initiative

An aimless intention.

A barfly’s revolution,

When stars bedazzle and turn

epiphany’s to crystal.

But the morning,

The run,

Is in fact trampling on broken glass.

Shattered purpose-e-e.

Why did I run?

A Dance that Glimmers and Glares

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Lashes do fan,

Do fan fan da flamico style,

How they flicker and flirt,

like wings flapping against your cheek

giving teases of a gentile sort.

Just to fan fan away like a tango

Skirt.

Flashing leg, I mean hazelnut eyes.

Daring you to embrace,

But your arms are lost to the hairs that fall to a

Blink.

I mean to the brink of a night where the stars are saying

Fly fly, nod off stamp those lashes down.

And like a broom they wait.

Bristles forgotten on the floor.

Gathering nights dust.

Like the morning-after mascara of your clumping disgrace.

Twitching only to remember the cha cha-ing of your

Seductive fluttering legs,

I mean eyelashes.

Which started this mess.