Wednesday, 3 October 2018

Poetry Thursday 328 - Difficult words

Depression, once you've acquired it, never completely leaves but lurks in hidden places and, rather like a genie in a bottle, can be conjured into the open with a variety of stimuli. A word for example.

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What’s in a word?

One word is all it takes to rock you,
to take your delicate balance and tip it,
back to a place that you rue,
bury deep and are loathe to admit.

Life is hard enough to keep at bay,
often too hard to totally overcome,
but in some measure kept away,
from the delicate inner sanctum.

Just one word may thrust you back,
into a dark, squirming misery,
that is the delicate ego sack,
so easily stirred into an insecure frenzy.

It takes months to achieve some balance,
with a degree of warm and fuzzy,
for it to be torn apart by utterance,
either accidental or with malicious discourtesy.
©David L Atkinson October 2018


The world continues to degenerate into a chaos of politically correct rubbish. A university has spent a fortune in carrying out tests on money to find germs. They weren't disappointed! 

My mother worked in a shop in the 1960s and she could have told them about how filthy the lucre was then, it doesn't take a waste of money by a so-called seat of learning to work that one out.

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Filthy lucre

It covers the cash in my pocket,
The handle on the shopping trolley,
The door handles and electric socket,
The books, and the handle on the brolly.
The basket in the market,
The seat in the theatre,
It covers the vegetable packet,
The slab of yellow butter,
The potato loose in its jacket,
The handle of the grass cutter,
The buttons on the phone,
The switch on the wall,
It covers every damn thing at all.

Germs the omnipotent life form,
that we’ve an innate defence against,
covers the world in infinite swarm,
in spite of politically correct advice dispensed.
©David L Atkinson October 2018

God Bless

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