POETRY

POEM: TWO BLACK DOGS

I have one black dog that loves me
I have another who thinks I’ll fail always
One black dog adores me
The other feels a different way

One black dog gives me freedom
One black dog gives me chains
One block dog is my companion
The other might drive me insane

One black dog shares my adventures
The other locks me inside
One will be with me whatever whenever
The other black dog makes me hide

One black dog always has a lick for me
The other more likely to kick me down
One black dog who will bring me his toy
The other would lead me to drown

One black dog shares warmth with me
The other an oppressive dead weight
One shows me unconditional love
The other dog triggers self hate

Both black dogs I feed
Only one of them I need
One I give toys and bones to chew
The other gets my self doubt and neuroses

Both dogs rarely leave my side
Never going too far away
One faithfully keeps me safe
The other let’s me go astray

One black dog is my canine soul mate
We operate as one being
The other black dog is more of a curse
That sends my confidence fleeing

One black dog I would never choose to be without
The enabler, the faithful, the hero
The other block dog I’d love to go away
When he lingers I am zero

Everyone loves my one black dog
With him I am a better human being
None can see the other black dog
Though he is huge and full of negative feeling

You see, I have two dogs, not one
Both are as black as night
But one shines like a beacon to me
And helps me with my fight

The other? Well I try to ignore him
Though i don’t always succeed
Over that black dog I seek mastery
To keep on a shortened lead

So my one black dog is beloved
My soldier in the war I fight each day
I treasure him despite his rebellious quirks
And he keeps the other black dog at bay.

COPYRIGHT BLIND JOHNNY SMOKE 2020

POEM: TIN

From under a frown, I utter…
‘put that tin down. Back away from the shelf, leave that last one for somebody else. Your basket already doth overflow, hang your greedy head in shame and on you go’.

How dirty is your anus that you need 48 bog rolls in the next few days, mend your ways,
your diet must be wrong and your kecks must pong. Put those beans back, you don’t need any more fibre if that’s what’s inside ya.

Of which castle are you the king, that you need so many things, more so than me mum and dad, or that little old lady you’ve made look so sad, as you beat her to the last loaf of bread, don’t be a knob, let her have it instead.

As you load up your shiny car, take a moment to think how far, some of us are away from essential supplies, and that while you’re hoarding, someone else vulnerable might die.

All the hand sanitiser in the world won’t cleanse your grubby mind, of your greedy ways, of your acts unkind, everyone for themselves as you decimate the shelves so there’s bugger all left for me and my essential delivery.

You see, I’m stuck inside, on the advice of the wise, so for food shopping I’m a bit stuck, but it’s not like you give a … rats clinker, you’re behaving like a winker. Shame on you.

Being blind I’d normally catch the bus, I don’t mind, don’t make a fuss. Two bags in my right hand is my limit you see, guide dog in my left hand, because, you see? I can’t, very well. But it’s not a sob story I tell.

Because I’m lucky. I’ve got mates, I’ve got friends, and I know that the world isn’t going to end. We look after each other, because we can, and we want to, not like you, not like you, and this selfish hoarding that you do.

My friends keep dropping by, with bits and bobs for our modest supplies, and we smile thankfully and wave, from inside our isolated cave, while we batten down our hatches, missing gigs and football matches, but we’re safe, we’ll get by.

But we’d get by with a little bit more food in our house, if you hadn’t been such a bulk buying lout. Your pantry may bulging with beans, and your freezer might be groaning cos you’re mean. But there’s one thing that occurs to me, that your soul must be quite empty. Quite lacking in empathy as you parade the darker side of humanity, down that aisle.

So put that bloody tin down, you clown. Put that extra butt wipe back, you twat. Go home and lock yourself away, and don’t come back for a couple of days, mend your ways, you utter swine.
I hope the rest of us will be kind, think of others, and not be selfish buggers. When we come out of the other side of this, for those around me, I’ll have a shake of hands, a hug, a kiss.

But for your I’ll have a scowl, a frown, because you wouldn’t put that last tin down. Idiot.

POEM: (EYE) BALLS TO HATRED

Ban the eyeball.
It sees.
It provides information.
Neural pathways to grey matter.
Eyeball sees a colour.
Grey matter responds.
Eyeball sees skin.
Grey matter decides if its colour matters.
Ban the eyeball.
Dig them out.
Sew the lids closed.
Grey matter starved of visual data.
Grey matter can’t hate a colour it can’t see.
Blindness battling Bigotry.

But if you need to hate?
If you need to feel superior? Entitled?
If you thrive on fear?
Would you then use your ears?
Listening for a trace of race.
Accent or dialect so you can suspect someone is different to you.
An excuse for abuse.

Would you use your nose? Olfactory detective.
Searching for clues.
Making assumptions.
So you can clutch at the straws of race war.

But the eyes, ocular spies, are the worst.
Tools for judgement in an instant.
Feeding the Bigotry ingrained in your brain.
Let that Bigotry starve.
Close those eyes on hate.

Ban the eyeball.

 

Copyright Blind Johnny Smoke 2020