Caricature in flesh

 Ive copied them all to get a sense of self
Not a drop of myself toasting daily health
faceless baseless merry I tell you what i've heard
my gestures are well rehearsed though thoroughly absurd

they've been learnt for survival
The real fell during subsidence
like cliff rock into the sea
bread into the stew mouths of glee

Turn to the mirror briefly
just to get an ounce of relief
I don't recognise anything
A method actor lip synking

so deep into the new role
the old me vanished as a whole
got washed out like a stain through the steam
no matter how unique I really seemed

I think to myself huddled in demand
what a beautiful shell

One hundred owls

 I'm in the tree with a hundred owls
hooting the night out screeching power
fear induced entities crawl surrepticiously 
upon the forest floor

avoiding these hypefocused eyes
that survey all that moves or cries
Up here its any sign of movement
and these ones dive into the blackness

just to surface with prey in mouth
beak wet with blood spelled
something for the hungry chicks sounding 
begging for what vanished from the ground

These owls decide among living and dead
with which phantoms to converse with
close to Royalty yet supernatural nearer
The rodent shakes persecuted in terror

across the leaf littered forest wings tear
lifting the loose matter into the air
like a sea wake behind it
pitch darkness

one hundred owls speak
eye
claw
beak

Discount your anger

 Now they are friends
They used to bomb and burn our homes
Used to mock us to no end
We have been designated for the title of bigger man

To leave and let the past transgressions lie
to be akwardly polite as old offenders pass by
No knife tucked under hungering for fingers to wrap
and present for a chance at miraculous rectification

just bow your head
shrapnel still in the wall
old leaflets half stomped into the mud
still readable denigrating your people

Fire took the clumps of suburbs
instead water they sprayed more bullets
No real exit as they culled us off
Like a common pest

Like the nazi did the jew
the hutu to the tutsi
death by popular demand
we just bow our heads

praying not to be slaughtered
yet the hour has passed and now we are few
vengence occupies the space
where the heart was

The killers have denied their part
photographed themselves in handshake clasp
local blogs and rags show peace has been brokered
At the cost of people who once lived

a famous politician with support from abroad
sets it all up to repeat
As you bow your head
go about your business 

A path to poverty

 on the hill lies the roundabout
I climb the hill in an old car
Winding around the verge
looking for something eyes can't see
no noses smell

I crossed the terrace
where the caves meet
the stream flowing out 
purified people didn't mind getting wet in the cold water

it must have been blessed
and they celebrated letting a limb slide in
My eyes searched the small creek bed for gold
The treasure i sought misplaced in my heart

Absent parent

 Neglect set in after a few years
to be the lost item
somewhere nobody looks
Noone would embrace

The child left in the skip
of a heartbeat
to the phantoms of circumstance

good intention is not a cheese
a toxic mould though
that chokes us broken soul

trying to keep up inside the forest
you leave us in there
now we are gone

forgot our names
forgot our voices
relief from our mistakes

we are the children
the children of abandonment

good intention your furry heart warming box of excuses
leaving them behind like old furniture discarded

cracked mirrors of your very own image
of every angle that shapes how one feels as a mistake
The rejection of that deep love, that responsibility
The blindfold one wears is not a cape of invisibility

a strange machine awaking to a world too disinterested
therefore rusting as tears form highways across the young
and clueless hopeful face

The children thrown out of somewhere
Where none may see
To be abandoned so very betrayed

treated with indifference
the same as a stray
fortitude build them up
to rule the world one day

The unfit afloat

 I am ship wrecked on the angled grey peebled shore
stuck up there so far
the next tides won't pull me back in
hear the low humm of my pain

so I am here clumsy but stately
strangely off angle yet perfectly pointing back
to those sinsterly white english cliffs
stationarily insane

Speaking to the gulls with my sails
telling them of my years at sea what I sought out
some of them just smirk beaky cheek now

Likea smile riding the riptide up a seven foot wave
curling in derision's blasting grace
so my wood dries

I feel the keel deep under these stones
longing to drag it all back into the water
to feel the freedom chaos and aimless passion

of the sea

I feel the tips of the low waves lap
like an invitation I had from a false friend
longing to see me dive headfirst into protruding rocks

that my gore would entertain for enough minutes as 
it would take them to find the new victim
alas such ones drowned now as the sail kicks up

Oh Im grinding back into the froth
My structure sound and tough
exiting the nightmare of the land

to be lost once more on the meer the mar
the ocean that has almost no end

Execute an arsonist

 I saw the farce of a person
the sun swollen in his eyes
fear blended into thick sweat

grass seed hanging in the crusts of his hair
he has trespassed lighter and jerry can
what a beast awaits within me

For I walk the streets
the air speaks to me
fragrance misunderstood unbelieved

This world you look down on
will turn upside down for you

I saw the false christian
out early to burn forests
the back draft carried him inside

to feel the flame for a few seconds
on his soft pink trechery for skin

I saw the new decade the new century
brotherly time leaking mysteries into my current perception

The swamp comforted me
the little water stopped it from being engulfed
I see the weak legs of the laggard

the easy ignorance that you pick up everyday with
as I pick up a blade
For I have no more voice to even shout
i'd rather hear you gurgle

while I bleed you out
for the forest here is sacred
I must commit you to its roots

as I do my humble self to the eternal
the sick may only be cleaned
with their own flame and sharp machinery

The living God surrounds me in nature
he whispers my will
he owns my heart

The very truth he converts to the seasons
blessing and cursing
destroying and creating me a new

thus the tragic death of an arsonist
gratitude to the faith of the eternal life