Archive

Almost flash

In days gone by there have been times

when the noose of love has avoided me

I can tell from your smile there is not time

for love here in a while.

I do not care for it you cry

there is no time to be good in here

the cooking pot is fresh and I need flesh

not motive and feeling and care

I look at you good and meaning

you listen I see in your eyes

have no fear this is the beginning

of a work and deed most endear.

 

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2020

All those new hospital beds

who is going to fill them

the sight of the preparations

fills me with unease

the breaking of bonds

 

by social distancing and clinical separation

fear has a strange place in our hearts

we push it away but it slides up to us

with a snide smile

 

The power is in the hands of the one

the broadcaster

the rest avail themselves no more

of the corruption known as mass

movement of people but really I do not care

for it either, the use of the word mass when it is individuals

all the way.

 

I wish that all the people of the world

could see the outright power

they wield as they all

say no to distancing and move

closer again.

 

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2020

All dried up

the poetry no longer flows

is it the starting point of something

greater

or the begin of the end?

It is about the rights of all to make it,

to make the useful known splendours

of the coastline feel like the zone

of efficiency about which we turn.

Introduce a feather with deft touch

and throw in a burr, all hooked

in your woolley jumper like

thought in a tangled brain.

Schizophrenia is its own place

a version of events not sown

drama instilled by following thought

patterned youthful ardent replacement.

It does not throw you a flower

it offers nothing, rewarding sanctity

with virus-strewn wickedness

and evoking roller-coaster turns

and hair-raising. Scalp me and you shall see

the mesh that is my brain, the hazards

that chemistry has yielded through

the darkest medicines known to man.

It closes the rentboy off from the rooms he has

rented, it opens doors for whores to come

and use, for their wishes are but space

and time alone with you.

 

Space for rent.

 

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2020

There are days when I live in flash

these are the days when I am ill

I wake up in the morning and decide to

have fun

and let the notion take me

spontaneous actions and events

fill me with joy

as my random device

direct accesses

my commutating ring

switching between the real and

the esoterically sombre.

These are good days and intensely

personal. I don’t

like to be interrupted while

I create.

 

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2019

I feel the effects of your words

worse than the pills you administer

you break the pain barrier into thirds

One third pain

one third shame

one third visual gains

of lore and restorical mainline

opiate addictive flames

frying my mind

taking me places

without control

where the knife

comes out of pocket

and suredly opens

the clasp to

you and your

timed aggressive notions

that you will

open my door

again with a

boot.

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2019

I don’t know about you

sometimes I wonder

what it takes to make you see

you are a lot crazier than me

 

I get the pills and therapy

you get along without

I see you longing for voice

to tell them of your choice

 

reason of your stemming

time of ripening buds

when friends are not real

fantasy and threat replaces their deal

 

with the Devil, to sanction or report

the fact that they no longer

see a point to being in the thrall

of psychotic dreams of poetic gall.

 

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2019

My teacher’s voice in the classroom

of hate

like a predator drone as I gazed out the window.

 

 

She couldn’t stop it, this hate,

for it was a solvent in use

to gain a respite

from the world of known

things called the right

of realtime examining

of cause and effects.

 

 

There is no right and wrong

in the boundless energies of

timely being.

 

 

There is a time for it to be

here and they want it now.

 

 

It’s not what my mind thinks

it’s what my mind does

it bends over backwards

and over the loop de loop

for you.

 

 

And your understanding

of the crisis at hand.

 

 

By the morrow it shall be

over but for the sorrowing

anger of you and your

sinning breaths.

 

 

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2017