The Eater Of Dirt

Kept out of the way, not to be seen,

Is the rag with which you like to clean,

Underappreciated in a heap,

Waiting in a bucket to earn its keep,

Your dirt picked up in its vast enfold,

It does not rebuke and does not scold,

Absorbing the muck, providing shine,

So that all is in order, all is fine,

When this rag’s luster is faded, lost,

It prepares itself for being tossed,

After all it is covered in muck,

Become loathsome in your very yuck,

Can’t bear even the thought of its touch,

The transferred dirt being much too much,

Better just use a rag that is new,

Clean, for all your new dirt to imbue.

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Cup Of Quirk

All tastes better in this cup of beauty,

Banal transformed to upmarket snooty,

All looks better in this cup of art,

Not run of the mill, an exquisite part,

All smells better in this cup of aroma,

Known clothed with a mystery diploma,

All is more fun in this fun cup of quirk,

An amnesiac spell for toil and hard work,

Fully immersed, the cup is hard to see,

And forgetting the cup’s there is too easy,

Liquid contents causing confusing haze,

Of correct context and time, hours and days,

To appreciate the cup and not to sink,

Must stop swimming and swallow all the drink.


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The Migrant Refugee

What a beautiful sight to see,

Migrant birds in their flock of V,

But girl wrapped up in silver foil,

Only thoughts of how she will spoil,

Running away from civil war,

Her fault no status and dirt poor,

And boy hopped from place to place,

With cheeky refugee disgrace,

He recalls leaving all he knew,

So the Nazis could not pursue,

Settlement homes dismantled so,

Houses emptied nowhere to go,

And the people are spilling out,

Our silence and their loud shout,

From so many corners, leaking,

Different languages speaking,

But World is full up with folly,

Can’t stay here, we’re very sorry,

Move on quickly and climb up high,

There is always room in the sky.

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Armed With Chocolate

It was mayhem in that field,

Queueing masses to be billed,

And carts loaded up with ire,

Erupting bodies of fire,

In minds mutiny was planned,

Flames of discontentment fanned,

Whilst one queuer sat on crate,

Her face showing the hour late,

When at last it was her turn,

Chocolate was her main concern,

She checked it out with such haste,

No more time could she waste,

How long would it take to eat,

That quick fix to her tired beat,

But the target was another,

This woman was all mother,

Chocolate given like a smile,

To cashier girl who all the while,

Was working as best she could,

In her shoes, queue had not stood,

And with that simple sweet act,

The shopper indeed changed fact,

Scene of black became so white,

Same facts, rearranged, despite.

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The Eye That Got Lost

The wind blew and blew,

And made all things flew,

And there was a pop,

And they could not stop,

The balloon with the eye,

Stationed high in the sky,

It floated far away,

Did not want to stay,

Unexpected escape

To a new landscape,

For the spy in the sky,

Which waved goodbye,

And with nothing to spy,

On where it was and why,

It hid.

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Rammed Down

It’s easier to generalize,

With sweeping


That shock and disgust


It’s the small details,

Not mentioned      , swept

away, Too hard…to face

…lest it becomes

actually real.

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Bent By Life

Cheese counter work made his back ache,

Standing long hours, without a break,

Big blocks to be sliced and grated,

For the orders generated,

So it seemed ideal when I saw,

He now shared the cheese counter floor,

With another to divide the load,

Relieve his ache, no longer slowed,

But the aproned woman who served me,

Could not straighten up I could see,

A hunchback she was with curved spine,

Back ailment a requisite sign,

Embarrassed I now must refrain,

No more asking about his pain,

As all is relative, that’s life,

More, worse ills everywhere, rife.

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