Dying is the first race

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Never mind Lawyers,
Children with no mouths,

Never mind Inspiration,
Write Now.

Photo – ♦Personal♦

-short evocative poetry-

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The smell of new curtains

It came from the right side like God, or a deer, a

Migraine warning;
Chemotherapy strikes at any time.

Where am I going wrong?

Under community skies and red roofed buildings, immaculate
And unfinished,

Holding on for next week’s rent,
Even if you were alive,

I’d not have listened,

Missing a father to say what’s wrong
In his opinion,

Old enough how,
To hear sterner words in music,

To understand that the clinic serves Japanese-Americans and Kenyans alike,
On the dusty Main Street of the farming village,

The dusty, ochre-coloured Main Street covered,
With maize drying, and

Women slipping from bus-stop to bus-stop with children in their hair, that was
Probably,

Paid for,
By a man with a plan – the clinic,

And mum’s words,
Soft and gentle and supportive,

And different from yours;

I can take it now daddy,
Where did I go wrong?

I can make things right now,
The deer came from the left.

And whilst hindsight works in accidents we do not see coming,
At least Cancer gives us time.

 

♦Photo♦ –  laurieanichols.wordpress.com

-short evocative poetry-

We cavort wildly with Language

The fish comes steaming, and
English is not the only language making sense.

Here politics comes with dark green Kale spewing flavor,
Kenyans having lunch on the Boulevard,

Lakeshore strip, Victoria;

Commitment is the idea that momentum cannot disrupt motion, that
Committed, one moves forward,

Becoming better,

Choosing beyond the sound
Of Visiting Americans,

Prodigal sons,

Providing proof of the pudding, cavorting
Wildly,

With language, the idea that language is not owned, it is spoken –

Shot beyond the target,

Marriage for instance, cannot not be left with just men and women,

It must not be left to white opinion,
It is,

A new democratic notion, an
African one.

In time.

-evocative short poetry-