Categories
Poetry

Two Poems by Stephen Druce

A CATASTROPHIC HABITAT


Nothing works in
my small flat -
it's a catastrophic
habitat,

the key to the flat
won't turn in the door,
the sign says three but
it's really number four,

the letterbox opening's
a millimetre wide -
the doorbell rings
but only outside,

security was fitted
with the burglar proof -
so the thieves broke in
through the leaking roof,

a fire broke out and
the smoke alarm failed,
the wall fell down when
I pulled the curtain rail,

the power cuts are frequent
so I'm often in the dark,
the cat can't meow and
the dog can't bark,

the stereo is broken and
the bathroom mirror cracked,
no signal on the wi-fi --
the extractor wont extract,

the microwave blew --
there's a hole in the bin,
the ceiling fell through and
the goldfish can't swim,

the fridge won't close and
the cupboards don't fit --
like my wrong-sized clothes
and the washing line split,

the rocking chair snapped
and I landed on my head,
I bounced into the bedroom
and I broke the waterbed,

the toaster burns the bread
when the settings on low --
the cork's stuck in the bottle
and the plants won't grow,

the vacuum cleaner won't suck --
the light bulbs have popped,
the superglue has never stuck
and all the clocks have stopped,

they undercut the window panes --
they all have two inch gaps,
the gas pipe burst -- I must be cursed --
the building just collapsed.


THEY'LL NEVER KNOW
THE WAY WE FEEL


They'll never know
the way we feel.

they'll know our names
and what we earn --
our capital gains --
our tax return,
and what we're worth --
our height and weight,
our place of birth --
the time and date,
our number flat --
our fixed abode,
our habitat --
our postal code,
our social links --
our network friends,
the way we think --
how much we spend,
our DNA --
the streets we go,
our resume --
the bills we owe,
our hidden scars --
our blood relation,
where we are --
our information,
star sign -- if
our passport's real --
but they'll never know
the way we feel.
From Public Domain

Stephen Philip Druce is based in Shrewsbury UK. He is published in the USA, India, the UK and Canada. He’s written for theatre plays in London and BBC 4 Extra. 

Contact: Instagram – @StephenPhilipDruce

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Amazon International

Categories
Poetry

You’ve Already Made It

By Stephen Philip Druce

YOU'VE ALREADY MADE IT

Don't you strive for the fame
or pursue its fortune --
play a roulette game
like a business tycoon,
climb a high status ladder?
don't even start,

you've already made it,
you've got a good heart,

don't boast your conquests -
your qualifications,
the talent contests --
the expectations,
don't conquer the mountains
or top the charts --

you've already made it,
you've got a good heart,

don't be frightened to lose,
or to take a rejection,
wear an ego bruise
for your imperfection,
your legacy is sleeping -
you've got a head start,

you've already made it,
you've got a good heart,

don't stack on your power,
don't you mass on appeal,
build the tallest tower
or sign a record deal,
bin your trophies -
certificates -
rip them apart,

you've already made it,
you've got a good heart.

Stephen Philip Druce is based in Shrewsbury UK. He is published in the USA, India, the UK and Canada. He’s written for theatre plays in London and BBC 4 Extra. 

Contact: Instagram – @StephenPhilipDruce

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Amazon International

Categories
Poetry

Poetry by Stephen Philip Druce

From Public Domian
THE GOLDEN FLOWER


Let the blue mountain slide,

to the pink snow abyss,

let the green city hide

from the burgundy mist,

let the copper creature wither

in an oil painting splatter,

give the new crimson river

for the silver sky to scatter,

let the violet tree tumble

in a turquoise dissolve,

let the yellow hill crumble

in a ruby moon fold,

let the purple sun sear,

let the orange lake drain,

take the red rainbow spear,

lance the cherry forest flame,

chase the claret rain away,

sink the lilac in the sea,

let the amber cloud decay

but let the golden flower be.


THE FIX

Oh what a drag,
to be a perfect
duplicate of two,

burdened with all
the characteristics
of our makers, we are
struck down with their
every trait for our
precise imitation,

once the fresh
dewy offspring shoots
in the new wind, we
rose from the good earth
as one-off hopefuls,

the first day of spring -

"damn!, I'm turning
into my mother!"
shrieked one,

"I'm turning into
my father!"
shrieked another,

"We didn't bloom
unique, we're all copies!"
chanted the endless sea
of petals, washed away
by their own tears,

true, we are our makers,

what we do,
and the way
we do it,

every detail,
passed down,
traced back,
and nobody ever
broke the mold,
never a break,

we're all sentenced
to the same fate and
there is no escape,

that's the fix,

so think twice before
you roll the dice.

Stephen Philip Druce is based in Shrewsbury UK. He is published in the USA, India, the UK and Canada. He’s written for theatre plays in London and BBC 4 Extra. 

Contact: Instagram – @StephenPhilipDruce

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Amazon International

Categories
Poetry

Poetry by Stephen Philip Druce

Stephen Philip Druce
ADVICE IS FREE BECAUSE IT'S WORTHLESS

Go on a skiing holiday -- it will do you good.

You're a novice that doesn't walk with any
measure of style or grace, so fly off an
icy mountain at seventy miles an hour on
a pair on sticks,

olympic skiers get injured but you're exempt
from such physical injury because you're a
manager of a launderette,

ride a motorbike, it's the freest way to travel,
free to leave the road and land on your head
three fields away,

bungee jump! the ten second thrill
is worth the trade off - whiplash and
long term spinal damage,

fly on an aircraft as often as you can,
you have more chance of getting struck
by lightning than crashing in an airplane.
Ignore the fact that unless the machine is
in perfect working order you could nosedive
from thirty thousand feet into an ocean bed
that is so deep the creatures there have teeth
shaped like tennis rackets,

undergo plastic surgery!

Put your blind faith in a bogus surgeon who
may consequently render you with half a chin
and no nostrils. Forget the post-op catastrophe,
okay so you entrusted a surgeon with the credentials
that extended to that of a pottery teacher -- he
fled with your cash and now you breathe through
your ears, but give it a go.

Ocean surf!

Take advice from the veteran surfers who lost
all their limbs and torsos to numerous shark
attacks. They can still roll their heads onto the
surfboard. There is nothing more aesthetically
pleasing than watching a human coconut surf
on a giant pitta bread.

Get a tattoo!

The best way to pamper your soft, elegant,
silky skin? -- deface it with ink! ink! A substance
that if spilt over your coffee table would spark
a major household crisis, but your precious
velvety skin? -- screw it, you're good to go and
vandalise yourself with tacky meaningless ink stains.


THE BIG LIGHT

She made a candlelit dinner,
but without thinking he put
the big light on so he could
see what he was eating -- so
she left him,

keeping her happy was like
walking a tightrope for him,
and the night he put the big
light on, he fell screaming,

he hit the ground, unlike
the falling leaf he caught
when he placed it in her
palm and asked her to
make a wish,

he always forgave her, like
a bird forgives another for
stealing its bread,

and as he flew alongside her
he wondered how passing clouds
could find their way home,

he would talk about how the sun
and the rain could make pretty
rainbows - the colours of the flowers
on the mountain he climbed to pick
for her,

but without thinking he put
the big light on so he could
see what he was eating -- so
she left him,

finished her meal,

blew out the candles
and left him.


ANALOGY OF A POLITICIAN

Two schoolboys are summoned
to the headmaster's office for
stealing apples from a tree
belonging to a resident next
to the school field,

One of the boys admits to
stealing an apple, but tells
the headmaster that his friend
didn't take one -- though both
boys took an apple each,

one of the boys is given detention
but the 'innocent' boy escapes unpunished,

the 'innocent' boy tells the headmaster
he is profoundly remorseful for being
present at the scene of the 'crime',
and though regrettable he fully understands
the decision to punish his friend as it isn't
fair on the owner of the apple tree.

The 'innocent' boy is the politician.

Stephen Philip Druce is based in Shrewsbury UK. He is published in the USA, India, the UK and Canada. He’s written for theatre plays in London and BBC 4 Extra.

Contact: Instagram – @StephenPhilipDruce

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Amazon International