poem

Mick Wood: second prize Syllable

here they speak now words
so i go round there and she give it some right grief
it like there no past
then he come in you think you big fuck man do you?
and no time to come
so i lamp him one in mouth and down he go twat

they in house or car or pub all of time they go
it too far for walk to town you fuck mug
we go we walk far each day it no mile for us

they pay man name jim to ride bike that go no where
walk on path that move

we sit out at night
the street for car or park in you thick mate or what?

we sing songs from home
stop that blood row i call filth i send hard man round

we ask learn their songs they go
i i i will all ways love you oo oo
they get drunk fight cry
you my best fuck mate sam bo how fuck sad is that?
we go our name are sunday innocent jesus solomon daniel

some time church boy come
christ love you
he like too thin
we feed him
christ save
he help us too much
tell us he cut his own flesh
christ love me
he think we not know the lord
christ save

some time art girl come
she want draw and write and tape us for
art out reach
she start dress like us learn our songs
we like her but she go

why you come? it all smile and laugh in your land
though poor you more peace and real than us
we tell her of kill and bad men she go
it all our fault i hate this blood place
i hate queen blair church pop beeb old
bill mum dad r and b
we go we hate gay

she not come more time
we miss her
we like smoke good weed and flirt with her

it rain it rain
we try walk to sea

there no path here no walk here
you up to no good we all need say so to leave path
this land it own by some one
not you

we ask where their land they go
own back yard
they laugh
but not with eyes
they not own own land

now they speak here words

we not want you in this town
this place just for us
we spell it out for you in words of one




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