Wolves In Sheep Clothing: Nov, 2013.

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Now the wolves unashamedly shed sheep clothing; having no fear of revealing themselves, anymore. Media reports invariably commentate: poverty, destitution riddled helpless hopelessness. Public school university graduates – qualifications bought – approaching late-thirtyish, to near middle-road forties, begin to praise Thatcher’s separatist segregation; defining two absolute prevailing classes: absurdly rich – through successive generations – people, as opposed to pitiful spores of plebeian proletarians. Shamefully resorting to levying income tax, on waged sustenance hardly able enough to pay overheads, bare necessities too meagre; incapable of retaining change, from shackling expenses. London’s mayor, an upper-class befuddled old fool, climbed to the highest reaches of civilisation’s armament turrets, harping on like blaring trumpets, how noble and acceptable it is, to extol and, more importantly, embrace the encroaching phenomenon known as Greed; with socially adept relations and multi-millionaire government employees as intimate confidantes and, viably placed support systems, whose life-expenses owe everything to tax-paying unfortunates, bottomed to the very last rung, on society’s ladder of misfortune.
The tabloids, in eternal jest, take uttermost sweet pleasure informing Joe Bloggs, and penniless: comrades, colleagues and associates, how impossible situations have become, for those hard-working unfortunates to better themselves; even when engaging life-long employment, with an estimated pension calculated to yield precious little, before death claims a saddened carcass, pleasured in broke-pocket love-making and weaned on decades of making do with scant little.
Prototype expendables we are, equivalent to those wandering souls condemned to the veriest of frontlines. at the beginning of grievously indefinable war. ‘The chaff that the wind, supposedly, driveth away,’ a symbolic nothingness; unregistered on life’s scale of intrinsic value. It’s psyco-analytically galling, to think: the highest echelons of social achievement and lifelong fulfillment, are a set of cut-throat, demonic purveyors, of: pain, suffering and hopeless insufficiency.

Roodbwoy Poetry: hybridised sensitivity.

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Sunlight bleached every dark corner
Welcomed salvation in our midst
Rain had showered holy water
Not a seedy black hole was missed
I saw him coming through clouded
Stark, rapturous tranquility
Rasta immediately crowded
Flooding airport vicinity

Children obviously deserve what
We had; life’s enjoyment threshold
Pushing memories of quaint, past
Insulating futures less cold
Rolling Xmas reach round again
Swift-pitching prized packaged adverts
On-screen; driving us all insane
Holding up thinned mobile alerts

Surprised calculations on-spec
Token presents mean so much more
sampled precociously correct
Consigning annals to folklore
Tables creak under sumptuous weight
Abundantly fat, with greasy
Excess heaped on every plate
Brussels sprouts brimming bruised turkey

Cupboard love writhes music’s beat
Office parties no-doubt include
Hot rising blood engaging heat
Mistletoe, giving good excuse
Surfs innocent proclivities
Pussies’ boots battling corked screw
Drink’s idle infidelities
Such an end, to begin anew

Roodbwoy Poetry: ‘waits for no-one.’

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Wandering seasons, ’til they’re gone
Skirt aimless invisible years
Age fearfully attempts prolonged
Continuity; with much tears
Your best days’ meekly fused chagrin
Steering steady sensible course
Frail, unwearied, wrinkled skin
Taken aboard with-held remorse

Greying hair creeps unwanted veil
Counting stopped; after realized trap
Ticking time’s annual flight scale
Callously exposed body-map
‘Waits for no-one,’ so it’s said
River rolls; meanders along
Matching strides; footsteps’ every tread
Mistakes made belay glaring wrong

Illusions conjured demon drink
Creaking bones bore ill-health
Aspirations rapidly shrink
Debunking hoped for instant wealth
Wedged between generation flaps
Stereotyping getting old
Subsisting on left-over scraps
“Live for the moment, as foretold.”

Deep into night, soulful rallies
Gate-crash restless incursions
Playing havoc inside dream-follies
Chasing breeze-coloured confusion
Followed misty, glittering paths
Almost grasping life’s elixir
Actualities fallen flat
On your face; straight down the gutter

Roodbwoy Poetry: circle of hypocrisy.

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Many expected to survive
Enduring unexpected turmoil
Such dreams were held in high regard
Regardless to unfair odds faced
Hurts more than can be imagined
Especially, since sleep estranged
Every hope of tranquility
Serious unqualified doubt
Shouldered screaming antipathy
Rabid thoughts defiling sincere
Attempts; simply, to hold things down
We remained calm. vied for the best
Dreading customary abuse
Questioning legitimacy

Visiting aroused acute senses
Ceding misgivings for future
Contemplation; fear-laced, tepid
Anxiety imputed scowls
Obvious tension alluded forced
Traceless residue, yielding screened
Impropriety, expertly
Hidden under layered falsity
Plastic smiles underlined deceit
Broaching niceties, on surface
Pleasantries lacking emotion
An atmosphere cutting like cold
Unrelenting steel, thrusting through
Permissive unprotected flesh

Roodbwoy Poetry: Beauty and her beast

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Contentedly playing love games
Swooning gasps mixed flirtatious gaze
Footsie under the table served
Purposely broken inhibitions
His car absolutely took her
Laboured breath away; strapped in
Mesmerizing lights sparked the cockpit’s
Zoom; to his luscious bachelor pad

Looking up at her tormentor
Beauty yielded to temptation
Strawberry syrup trickling
Breath-filled, trembling, excited cheeks
Smiling broadly, wishing for more
Adoring kisses laced with slurps
Flutter her bursting heart’s bouncing
Attempts to break through her breastplate

Every ounce of her bewildered
Body trembled convulsively
Passing out in delirium
At the benevolence of her
Nemesis; beast of her nightmares
She was on fire – burning up
Yearning her captor’s feathered touch
She pulsed throbbing expectancy

Roodbwoy Poetry: that moment

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So, the man just streaked
Through this airplane
Full of celebrity paparazzi
Screaming, squealing, appealing
Most seated, shrieking people
Confronting flashing, glaring
Camera and picture-taker

Me s’ey: “What a time?” That moment
Captured art-giving, ‘one in a million.’
Stamping their whole experience
Unforgettable – living poetry in surreal
Motion; almost a feeling; the beauty
Of which, lives forever in players minds
Knowing they witnessed history

According to Foucault: Poetry will
Fuse Art; replacing stunted religion
Aesthetics supplanting textured plane
With mind-searing caricatured
Surrealist actuality; psycotherapeutism
As opposed to spirituality
Ascending enigmatic heights
Scaling Babylon’s greatest tower

Roodbwoy Poetry: love on heat.

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She skipped excitedly to bed
Thinking hard about his question
Rosy-cheeked light-headedness called
Dreams; incessantly about him
Visions of complete satisfaction
Trailed tears, staining countless pillows
Did he really say, ‘I love you?’
To secure her hand, in marriage

Her head laid scented clouds tonight
Mouth-watering anticipation
Forcing her against crush-velvet skin
Whimperingly weak at the knees
Fluttering lips touching whispers
She melts; easily surrenders
“Of course she obviously loves him.”
Innocently pure, piece of fluff

“And! She wants her wicked way, with him!”
Bludgeon senses with rose fragrance
Fall lightly, limp into powerful arms
Burning heatwaves’ soothing surprise
Wrapping meaningful protection
He actually said he loves her
I saw her almost faint, with shock
Swiftly embracing pitched dark.

Roodbwoy Poetry: such a user.

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In slight twinkles, beautiful brown
Eyes flowed future indulgence
Worlds filled full with caressed
Pampered, slavish subservience
Canoodling swollen lobes
Whispering hot frosted breath, touched
Urgency-laced fervour, soothing
Frayed irresponsible nerves

Questions inevitably have to be asked
Does he actually love her
Pulsing hot, rabid flesh tells no lies
Are you going to find time to doubt
held tight in limited spaces
Preening loves close proximity
Fluttering lips brush sweet empathy
Sussed: beat surrender’s ice cream call

And to bed; goose-pimples tweeting
Breath-brrring teeth as cold sheets press
Body-heat flushed closed together
Sobbing kisses trading hot spots
Of course he wants her – no one else
Bronzed rippling pecks cajole her
Neatly packaged; all to herself
Hardly time, to take a breather.

Roodbwoy Poetry: flashflow.

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Games principles and notaries
Play; trickling through simple array
Renegade exasperated few spouted
Days, bristling spewed mini-dimpled
Displays; angry bees despoil his garden
Spitting venom, perchance to kill – synergy
vexed decrees embroil, interwoven
Bitching boredom’s dance without frill

Locking placed their glass ceiling
Pitching witchcraft endorsed religion
Swing-laced spears crave brass railing
Raising cross-spores techno-region
Squeezing rounded box, into metric whole
Engineering status-fluid work, ensure
Occultist coven assumes control
Hammering, ‘or else you’re broke.’

Concentric circling contract, even tighter
Burning essences remain, well crumbled
Family – Nee children once future
Self-sacrificingly disassembled; seemingly
You endured many trialled permutations
Busting gut – all codes’ boiling pot
Interestingly, view crowd epiphanies’
Broiled inculcation
Hell’s abode flowing lethal shot

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