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oppositional poetry, prose, polemic
Gordon Scapens
Explaining Progress
This isn’t a supermarket
but a cathedral of stored blessings
awarded to those carrying
the appropriate purse.
This isn’t money you spend
it’s oil for the cogs of commerce,
something to ease contentment
to faceless companies.
This isn’t a queue to exit
only a ritual conga dance
to the tune called
‘the insolence of wealth’.
This isn’t a till receipt
just a page from a bible
saying something is hidden
that needs to be told.
This spreading of such places
doesn’t mean they breed
it’s just money is a religion
in certain quarters.
And the corner shop
being boarded up
is just learning
to live in the dark.
Life disguises itself,
tells the biggest lies.
Fading Away
The attitude towards her
is like she’s an inmate
but she feels separate
and belongs somewhere else,
but not sure where.
There are daily happenings
without her choosing,
and strangers visit,
talk like they know her.
Time interrupts silence
for group mealtimes,
group activities, group bedtimes.
She is always included
but wonders why she’s here,
why the past is a story
all about someone else.
She knows she’s individual
but remains silent
in the step she’s taken
in her life that wasn’t there,
knows she’s not a number
but does have a name.
If only she could recall it.
She Will Never Be Less
Hear her change minds,
undaunted mouth playing
with a poetry of conviction.
She can hold a moment
in the grip of a smile,
but wear your prejudice
like a worn-out medal
and there’s nowhere to hide.
Tears are freely offered
but only for emphasis,
especially when seeing herself
in discriminating eyes,
and the sensitive will discover
her lifetime’s secret ache.
She is the revelation
of an indefinable spirit
but has relentless faith
in her right to equality,
never to be reduced
to anything less.
She is worth more
than just her image,
and tries to realign attitudes,
but retains the belief
she can’t be classified.
Observe, take notes, learn.
She is Woman.
She is where man comes home.
​
​
Ukraine Conflict
The good guys:
When the war is over,
separate but together,
they’ll audition for clowns,
paint smiles on faces,
remember laughter,
scatter jokes about leaders.
They’ll dispense love again,
a daily ration of hugs.
They’ll remind themselves
of who they are,
and be able to look up
and speak only stars.
This is deserved progress.
The bad guys:
When they lurched
to the start of it,
separate thugs together,
rattling misread signs,
not knowing the distance
between them and consequences,
they were worse than fools
and were defined
by the good they hated
and the senseless butchery.
They would never have
their place in the world again.
This is deserved retardation.
Gordon Scapens © 2024