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Scuffle on the Underground February 23, 2009

Posted by Phil Groom in London Life, Poetry.
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The crowded trains
the need for space
the endless crush
of the human race
a race against time
a race against waste
a race erased on every face
by frowns and fears
and jokes and jeers
till thinly veiled
wrath
breaks through
a cough
a sneeze
a dread disease
a shout
release
a fist finds space
then silence falls
and words replace
the thin veneer
of the human race…

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Words February 22, 2009

Posted by Phil Groom in Poetry.
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Words

I threw a brick
through a window last night.
The brick just laughed
while the window cried –
bits of broken glass lying bleeding on the floor,
no one picked them up:
no one knew what they were for.

Throwing bricks
through the windows
of other people’s lives
leaving jagged edges jutting
out at us like sharpened knives:
we think we are so clever
with the careful words we choose
and we feel so much better
when they leave a nasty bruise.

Words are free —
but we’ll pay the price,
Words are weapons —
but we’d best think twice
before we draw them
to join in the fight —
will we speak in love
or will we speak in spite?

Did no one ever tell you
that a word is like a sword?
Good for slashing,
good for stabbing,
and it brings its own reward
as the blood flows freely down the polished blade
to leave your best friend reeling with the mess you’ve made…

Words are like a rainbow,
dancing in the sky,
filled with golden promises
that hide behind a lie:
for when the storm is over
the rainbow can’t be found
and the pot of gold
it promised you
is gone,
without a sound.

WORDS!
They can pick you up
or they can knock you down,
they can creep like mice
or they can dance like clowns,
tumbling like an avalanche
to bury me alive,
whirling like a boomerang,
there’s nowhere left to hide,
coming back to haunt me:
like a brick between the eyes.

Reaching Beyond February 19, 2009

Posted by Phil Groom in Poetry.
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I wrote this back in the mid ’80s during a long spell of unemployment courtesy of Mrs Thatcher.

That woman was an inspiration, wasn’t she? It seems Mr Brown is following her lead now, bless him, so I dedicate this song (yes, it is a song rather than a poem, but I’m no singer so I’m not about to torment you with my rendition of it) to all those whose lives are being wrecked by our glorious leader’s economic policies.

Reaching Beyond

One in three million
parasitic statistic
rejected by the human race
(no use now)

Why carry on?
There’s no future in living
in the limits of time and space

So I’m reaching beyond
mankind’s imagination
colliding with the truth and grace
(far out now)

meeting someone
who says he knows where I’m going
though I’ve never even seen his face

Endless lies
fill empty lives…

Endless lies
fill empty lives…

(repeat to fade)

Shortcut to this post: tinyurl.com/reaching-beyond

Finding God February 8, 2009

Posted by Phil Groom in Poetry.
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The God who was
is not the God who is:
that God is dead,
slaughtered
by the insanity
of humanity.

Where are you now, my God?
My God, my God…
The cry of a mother
who lost her child
My God, my God…
The cry of a child
who lost his mother
My God, my God…
The cry of a God crucified
who lost himself.

Where are you now, my God?
Is that your face I see
in a beer glass…
in the roots of a tree…
in me?

What kind of God are you?
A delusion? A dream?
A home I can run to
when the fire falls
and the bombs explode
and the bullets scream
and the blood flows
and my tears stream,
never ending,
down my face?

I fear, my God,
that I shall never find you
unless you first find me.


Shortcut to this post: tinyurl.com/finding-god

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