A poem #96 – Pound of flesh

From within the din of vagueness,
I will give it to you straight.
The change has long been underway
and we have all arrived too late.
The time to double down your chips
has gone,
along with our hope
our sense, our calm.
We did not inherit the earth
but instead shape it only with our pains
to hold it in our hands as clay
and disgrace it
for our gains.
Our cloying platitudes
cover a sea of discontent
drowning the balance of nature
that which Time will long lament.
You may have your pound of flesh
you may have it, blood and bone and all
and in the moonlight naked
all of us: accountable.

JP Collins


A poem #71 – Colourblind

The truth of it is,
I am colourblind.
I see no difference
between black and white.

After all, at which point did you choose
the colour of your skin,
and which location, geographically,
you were born in?

And on what grounds
could you make your decision,
with no knowledge of a colour’s attributes,
or detriments given?

If only you’d stop
and take a moment to see
how colourful the fruit
of this world can be,

but your indoctrinated behaviours
and mindless insistence
keeps you blindly ambling on
in a pale existence.

Only you
can change your directive,
and education is key
to a correct perspective.

How silly you sound,
your comments unfounded,
unquestioningly siding
with idiots around you.

Take a stand and think for yourself,
make your own name,
let’s bleed out this poison
in society’s veins.

JP Collins