Not No More

I can’t pretend
Not no more
Not no longer
I can’t talk a good game
About numbers and profit
Can’t beam with fake
Excitement at being
Given more of the same
To do
Even the money don’t
Matter
Its potential for
Transformation into
Material things is
Far less important
To me now.

I wanna chase
Rainbows
To the place
Where the
Sunset sky
Meets the horizon
Make music
Sounds and art
Write
And read.
Please
No more of this materialistic
Claptrap of benefit
To no-one
Nowhere.

Escape
Now there’s a thought
Shall I do it?

Advertisements

The Shabby Suit

Eight or so years ago, I wrote a poem entitled The Shabby Suit while sat in the concourse of Sheffield railway station watching the world go by. In the years that followed, events would cause me to think about the poem. On a couple of occasions I even searched for it in my boxes of scribbles Рto no avail.

Earlier this morning I was having a clearout, and guess what fell out of a dog-eared notebook? A folded A4 sheet with said poem scrawled on it. Allow me to share it with you – was it worth the wait?

The Shabby Suit

Once upon a time
It was a source of pride
It indicated that he was
Getting ahead,
That he was important
Somebody;
He wore a tie.

I see him today on the
First delicate,
Beautiful
Day of spring.
Young students sharing discoveries
In scruffy jeans
Hobos smiling and observing
Beauty via a can
Of beer.

He regards the love of others
And envies it.
For the thing that
Once meant so much
To him and
Defined his
Existence
Is now threadbare and
Worn.

He has fallen out of love
With its symbolism
It is old and grey
Like the man himself
And he realises
There’s nothing else.