It Burns

(By Sil, the 8th of August, 2011, London riots)

Voices without faces
Itch for destruction
The streets become bull-rings
Rage demands satisfaction
It burns

I’m busy
Preserving my middle-class bubble
Sweeping up the garden
In the wind

I Get to See

(By Sil, the 8th of August, 2011)

Slip into the hour
A pocket of sanity
Let loose
Until we won’t know
What is yours, what is mine
Entangled humanity
Shared space; shared madness
And in this dance
We’ll slouch in tandem
We’ll tap our misery away
Stretch a leg
Itch in the head
Synchronised breathing
I get to see the hole between your legs
Your worn-out soles
And maybe you’ll notice a few things, too
My delinquency
Penchant for a dance with death
I am not steadfast
God knows I wobble
God knows I’m only two steps ahead
And I’ve been walking for years

A Silver Nutmeg and A Golden Pear

(By Sil, the 1st of July, London)

Sprout
From barren ground
Bear enchanted fruit
To lure a king’s daughter
A feat that only
The well loved deliver

But don’t climb the fence
Just for the thrill
Of a blushing pear’s kiss
The shudder of pulp crush
Against sore teeth

Allow the wind
A rush of whisper
To silence Fear’s hostile hiss
Wellcome the flail
With arms of gold and thoughts of silver
There is no sweeter ambush.

Confessio

By Sil
(the 1st of July, 2011
London)

I gave Luxuria legs to run on
I was intoxicated
With fumes of excitation
I got lost from time
Couldn’t find the handle on the door
Couldn’t see the gaps in the floor

Oh, God, don’t jab me
With the adrenaline-filled syringe
Administer a lesser punishment
For luxuriating in a reckless binge

I will repent
It was Pandora who opened the box
It was the Dark Priest
Who whispered casually over my shoulder:
“Lying is not one of the seven deadly sins”

Mea culpa
Mea culpa
Mea maxima culpa

The Silver Tree

(By Gub, the 30th of July, Hay-on-Wye)

Leaf'd willow
Bark'd oak
Or alder spine

The fruit falls
Sober flat
Upon the ground.

The buds that yearly
Blossom
Besmirched
By age
By time.

Tree's entropy
Pears turn to slime
And are crushed under foot
By innocent tramples
Not knowingly but once
Sourced
The loss forever
Associates fear with guilt
And... falling foliage, sound.

Forgotten child
Forget
Forgot

Further
Found...

Provocation

(By Sil, the 30th of July, 2011, HBC)

Think of me
Running in the heathlands
Covering your step
Treading the forbidden path to the left
And though your aversion
Will scour my calf like tangled gorse
I’ll break through
This partition taboo
I won’t stop
Until I’ve marvelled
At ink-stained rock
Submerged in froth
The morning sun
Casts on us all tomb divers
The same detached stare
Beauty cannot be fenced-off
And if you dare
Me
With one gentle brush of hand
I will prove
The mighty fortress you built on this beach
Is just a castle of sand

Swarm Intelligence

(By Sil, the 27th of July, 2011, London)

Staring at a screen I window-shop seduction
Glamour and song
The cross-section of a world
Where pain is articulate
And redemption is the sleek pomade
On a dandy’s moustache
Thoughts swarm like ants around a crust of bread
Collectables are rounded up and slobbered on
Relentlessly, concussively
I want to crush those trampling beasts
See them punctured like tulip bulbs in spring
I rail
I can’t dress up derail in gold string
Those who can do
Those who can’t – sting