Always at war.
Every bulletin lists casualties,
Devastated buildings, grief.
Bloodied, scarred, lost, missing,
Found dead. What about the lost dead.
Forever wanting you to discover,
Uncover their brief candle burn.
Tag Archives: Paul Brookes
We live, by Paul Brookes
in a fake peace between world wars,
Shop and shop to stay reasonable.
Families are killed elsewhere.
We see their relatives tears on plasma screens.
Sometimes tears drop closer to home,
And we are reminded of our fake comfort,
That is preferable, a faux fur covered blade
Sometimes bleeds and we are keen.
Our Justification, by Paul Brookes
for the gang rape
and killing
of your eight year old
Child
Is that, like you,
She was
Not human
And therefore
Not under
The rights
And privileges
Of humans.
You must
Be tolerant
Of our beliefs
If you wish
To stay
On our land.
Her screams
Were just
Those
Of
Any
Animal
And do not
Justify
Your action against us.
Some Baked Bread by Paul Brookes
for the journey
to the hole in the ground
where they were asked to lay
on the still warm dead
neighbours and children
to be shot
As their ethnicity was cleansed.
the soldiers with guns
wrote home from the war.
It was such an event.
A Queued (From “Queued At World’s End”) by Paul Brookes
life. Born to this line
of cotted bairns,
crocodiled infants, later slumped with others outside
a locked classroom wait for lessons,
marshalled exams desks.
Job interview stare at strangers,
ranked at work,
Drs, dentists waiting rooms,
appointmented even my wedding.
Waiting list for a council house,
parents evening line up with others.
Finally listed as deceased in papers, online.
Regimented plaque for my cremation.
As that world ends another begins.
Join another queue, another thought
of final judgement already delivered,
or forever pended.
Without Permission by Paul Brookes
he walked on her grass,
uprooted her wild flowers,
She says “Don’t touch
without asking. It’s abuse.
Stop it. No means no!”
Fantasies of ravagement
on both sides who know
these are merely fantasies
that should never be public
so a no becomes yes,
and abuse pleasurable. Always safe
words agreed beforehand.
Always taken too far, control
and power corrupt.
An Inappropriate Life by Paul Brookes
Born inappropriate to this inappropriate world
this inappropriate earth I learned how to be inappropriate
in school, met a lass
who said she was inappropriately ready
to be inappropriately wed, so we inappropriately married
after three months of inappropriate courting
she bore inappropriately our first kid
after six months whilst I worked inappropriately
in inappropriate employment
Promoted inappropriately to inappropriate manager
so we bought our first inappropriate home,
furnished inappropriately, after decorating inappropriately.
I had an inappropriateallottment where I grew inappropriate carrots and potatoes and cabbages.
She died inappropriately after seven years inappropriately fighting
lung cancer. I never remarried inappropriately
Bring up our second child inappropriately
tell her inappropriate dream stories of our inappropriate love inappropriate life.
Slavery by Paul Brookes
is good for you. All folk
should be chained,
manacled to a mortgage,
to work, to an employer
a partner. Freedom denies
your human rights. Slavery
teaches you the meaning of life.
Demands you act properly.
Constrains you to common sense,
sets out a wild world of imagination
creativity and invention. Freedom
is too wishy washy. Lock
and load your chains. Don’t let
loose and free your mind. Freedom
is heavy, restricts, denies movement
of blood, bone and brain.
Become a slave and see our world
with new eyes, fresh perspectives.
Hopelessness Is Life by Paul Brookes
Only the hopeless live.
Only hopelessness makes you smile.
When all hopelessness is gone
then you will grieve at the loss.
There are three streets we can go down,
Faithlessness, Hopelessness and Selfishness
Without one of these the others cannot exist.
There must always be hopelessness
in the best of times. It reminds us of an edge
to life. Surrender to hopelessness
and all will be well. It is the force that drives
all that is worthwhile and good.
Guns Are (From A World Where 2) by Paul Brookes
good. Make you feel safe.
Make you more responsible,
like your own child. Nobody
hurts my child. I’ll shoot anyone
that does. My child needs
a decent education. Some shooter
Who wants to be famous kills
my little one in lessons.
I’m glad I’ve got my gun
so I can kill the shooter
and his family. Guns are good.
Make folk sit up and listen.
Refugee (From A World Where 2) by Paul Brookes
is good. To belong
is wrong. Be homeless.
Mortgages and rents are chains.
Tread the world without burden.
Find a banquet in a crumb.
A glassful in a droplet.
Warmth in a newspaper blanket.
Comfort is a concrete underpass.
Our Folk Burn by Paul Brookes
Management say “Lessons will be learnt”
Folk have already warned bosses.
Management say “Our sympathies are with the families”
Death toll expected to rise.
Management say “Lessons will be learnt.
Austerity costs must be met.”
Because by Paul Brookes
(For Afghanistan)
people killed further away
do not grieve any less.
a mother is a mother
even if her fashion is not ours.
a father is a father
even if we disagree with his beliefs.
an explosion is an explosion
even when on a flat screen.
Nothing (for Manchester) by Paul Brookes
is real.
My smile was a pink balloon
floated above me. I sang.
A big bang.
Blood on the balloon.
I find metal nuts and bolts.
I can’t sing. It isn’t real.
A Bridge by Paul Brookes
anastomosis [ah-nas″to-mo´sis] (pl. anastomo´ses) (Gr.)
It is bin day. Sound of breaking glass.
A vein.
between places,
one person and another,
you and your kids
a busy crossing between beliefs.
from wick to ash.
full to empty.
Broken, blocked, under investigation.
No link, information dammed,
Adamant your side is right,
other side apostate.
Bloodied metal sends a message,
via media bridges.
Bins must be wheeled back to their places.
Our Mobiles by Paul Brookes
(inspired by Cath Campbell)
are in the shape
of small graves
for children
who mine the precious
metal inside
that makes them work
and you look
into the screen
to stay connected
but do not see
their gritted lives
as they haul
the valuable
out of the hole
and the world
has never been
so connected
by the small grave
you carry in your pocket.
Deliberate Death of a Conformist by Paul Brookes
I insist I nodded in agreement
at all they accused me of.
I refuse to make a spectacle of myself.
I will not protest. I agree with all
the folk in power do. I always obey
the law. Drive correctly. I want
an easy life. No hassle. Why am I
guilty? Whatever it is I did it.
They tell me -That’s too easy.
You must have done something worse.
If we told you to jump out
of that window would you do it?
So I did. Now they arrest me again,
-You caused a public disturbance.
-I agree I say. – There must be something
You don’t agree with they say -No I reply.
– If we told you you died in that fall,
and this police station is heaven – I agree
Immigrant Tongues by Paul Brookes
closed mouths
welcome occupation
of tongue by tongue
gypsy together
enrich each private space
breath ripens
restless unsettling in
make a home in us
shape our tongue
their tongue entwines
with ours
*
Paul Brookes was in poetry performance group “Rats for Love” and is in their “Rats for Love: The Book” Bristol Broadsides, 1989. His first chapbook “The Fabulous Invention Of Barnsley” by Dearne Community Arts, 1993. He has read his work on BBC Radio Bristol and had a creative writing workshop for sixth formers broadcast on BBC Radio Five Live. Recently published in Ekphrastic Review, Red Fez, The Bees Are Dead, The Beatnik Cowboy, Clear Poetry, and others.
I’m Just About by Paul Brookes
managing between the barricades.
My kids play between sniper targets.
I fetch the shop through broken
buildings perforated by gunshot,
past cars jammed across streets.
I’m just about managing between regimes.
Paul Brookes was in poetry performance group “Rats for Love” and is in their “Rats for Love: The Book” Bristol Broadsides, 1989. His first chapbook “The Fabulous Invention Of Barnsley” by Dearne Community Arts, 1993. He has read his work on BBC Radio Bristol and had a creative writing workshop for sixth formers broadcast on BBC Radio Five Live. Recently published in Ekphrastic Review, Red Fez, The Bees Are Dead, The Beatnik Cowboy, Clear Poetry, and others.
The World is an Abbatoir by Paul Brookes
Blood and guts flow
down gunnels
into the fires.
We all hold the gun,
the knife
to the animal’s head.
We all watch the flesh shake.
We all smell the burning.
We all wash our clothes,
our skin, the image
from our eyes.
How to contain
the splatter of another’s life
as we take that life away.
Paul Brookes has performed in poetry performance group “Rats for Love” and is included in their “Rats for Love: The Book” Bristol Broadsides, 1989. His first chapbook “The Fabulous Invention Of Barnsley” by Dearne Community Arts, 1993. He has read his work on BBC Radio Bristol and had a creative writing workshop for sixth formers broadcast on BBC Radio Five Live.
I am not a silent poet 