Fay de Way

Fay de Way. pic for poem

 

she sat amid

the hot, fast breath

of escaping beauty

adoring her own brazen image

in lights and a mirror

that would soon forget her

 

the punters in their prowl of seats

alert to form and hungry in

the animal kingdom

just out of sight of the bait

shortly to be released into

a wilderness of unspent desire

 

then on to another gig

a pole, a stage and hungry eyes

leering at the inflation of flesh

in the loan to value contract exacted

as they gather in the cash

for moonlight and velvet

 

the hunters swoon

and track back to the bar

order in another libation

for another excuse to loosen

the conventions that exist

in that particular safari park

Bully Boys Brag

Bully Boys Brag

All of it, the wished for song

of air squeezed and compressed to utter

chants. Those tribal, primal, screams

that seek to possess

to claim victory

and leave an image, a semblance

of superiority like musk on a jungle trail

or the laments of survivors over

their dead

Those chosen ones who somehow contrive

to vacuum the air of remorse

as they swell in their putrid vanity.

Those purely muscled men strike poses

and raise flags over a smoking wasteland

claiming victory

already succumbing to inertia

Their fat arses on a bed of hungry weeds

feeding that strident song

it’s notes looping away on collapsing thermals

of bravado

in the laying down of new mown history

uncertain in its fledgling state

The stench of power

The “justified” abuse contrives

to be respectable

whilst the losers scrape to find

some solace in whispered prayers