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Philip Housiaux

Shock And Awe (War Politics)

The liar’s babes bubbles in growth
within womb of all mankind
mothers first to sense, groan -
of pumping corpses into minds.

Minds decapitated by shock and awe
and soul pregnancies to war linguists -
will uteruses fight instincts law
or embryo’s selves rip to resist?

Unto the generations unseen
the political rapist’s semen
cleaves egg and maternal mind
living milk as if divine
but the deceiver’s life sentence.

London’s false prophet
Earth fertility vomits.
Washington’s false prophet
stars to dirty comets.

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Universal Gallows (War)

Washington and London, conquerors proud
penitents, Earth’s perturbation cowed.
Your torn ingested satellites held -
so much interstellar molecules
for mighty spiral galaxies to meld.
A hundred billion arms swirl and pull
your million killed, your hegemonic rules.

Men’s courts a gravity shallows
false prophets beyond human gallows
but judgement, a constants universal -
the proton, neutron, and justice, no rehearsal
man’s victor’s justice, a shame unique.

Our big bang dies of cold regret
only to rebirth, in life’s spasm.
So hungary for critical mass, yet
refuses recycle in star plasma
your volatile words, your sensous gas.
It fearful of spirit tainted matter

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So We'll No More Go A Fishing (or Roving)

So we'll no more go a fishing
only father proud son
quiet strength of huddled waiting
sharing enough reason.

Through the needs of strength and caring
ribbed rose catch gasp in ice ballet
to cease our bellies yearning
as reindeer jump in relays.

And walrus hide and ivory sled sob
when ice flow thins to rupture
when leviathan moves near under
and unknowing our small lives rob.

And thrown lance unfolds whale fat pearls
then smeared on faces deep bond and cold home
and whale bone pots of oil roam
when women join in death’s twirl.

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The Tawdry Apostrophe (Extended Metaphor) Part 1

Prologue
Alas not just the pure search, and procreative struggle of poetry
can a hood over psyche’s head put, and stumble out prison security
but attitudes to communication generally, particularly where it is difficult.
So let’s see, is my “Apostrophe” condescending self-indulgence
hiding behind an erudite popularism? (I have been told so.)
Something tawdry, base, inferior, unworthy of me and the world the poorer?
(I fear so.)
Or light verse ironic ephemera, gone tomorrow, raw rashly
attempting to self-justify, with cynical political expedience?
You are my referee and reviewer, for I fear indolence
and my political enemies’ public backlash, imperialist violence as prosody.

But a warning, I am serving no caviar and hors d’oeuvres; but cod, chips and vinegar
for this is no time for reflective trimeter, and lovingly chosen metaphor.
I have a story of ordure and a warning to give, the form I need is narrative
the boozy romp of bald description, the extra long line and hate inspired initiative.

Well then.
An English Grammar School

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