Fancy Fairs

A tune of steam organs

crying out, enticing punters to venture further.

Fire eating, honeyed words and deft fingers

trap them in a warm shell,

mothering them beyond their sanity and good sense.

Pennies escape their purses

to be replaced by humbugs aplenty.

Unicorns

Are we just displays,

faces painted on with shimmering gloss

and sparkles in our eyes?

Given tinted glasses so we can’t see the cracks

spreading across our bodies

so we never have the opportunity to repair?

Our personalities never expansive enough

to fill more than a sentence,

a breath between speech,

a second of a cursory glance?

 

Or are we intelligent minds

housed in bodies we can love,

strong, supple and up to any task we try?

Views and motivations

and goals we strive for and achieve every day.

Emotional, yes, but also logical, calculating,

creative and inventive,

deserving of respect not just from the masses,

but ourselves too?

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An unknown person

Socks and shoes of apple cores;

a worm seeks the seed.

These poisoned shells are restaurants

with fine presentation but shallow portions.

Bumping shoulders doesn’t hurt

when they’re invisible.

And no-one ever talks about how long those shells

are empty.

H.U.Gs

We sell heaters for 99p. They’ll not oil filled, or gas fueled; not even blower heaters. They’re fleshy and warm: heart utilization generators. H.U.Gs for short. Most people walk straight past them, not trusting them to be efficient enough for their needs. So they sit there on the shelf, year in, year out, gathering dust. I thought I’d tidy them up today, display them a bit better. I sold two in twenty minutes. The buyers were the happiest customers I’ve ever seen.

A display at the exhibit

Twist it good,

squeeze the dye from the rag

and paint broad strokes

over their eyes.

 

Tease them, taint them,

make them crave

the taste of inking,

have them savour

the sharpness on their tongues.

 

Tempt them with

cherry-laced vinegar

that leaves a permanent stain

on white memory,

and finally gather

their multi-coloured tears.

Life Lines

I keep it locked away in a small box

I paint it on my skin

I wear it in my smile

I hide it in a bottle of gin.

I hold it out like a banner

I tuck in it my boots

I coat it in beeswax

I simply don’t give two hoots.

I display it proud on a shelf

I hug it tight to my chest

I watch it and make notes

I take pleasure it giving it out as a test.