Who am I ?

i once was young but am getting old
and so my story must be told
i built the chimneys that caused pollution
the workhorse of industrial revolution

in the linen mills the work was maniac
my hands built that ship titanic
people and goods i did export
ships from all nations i saw through port

i made fine rope, Delorian cars
I’ve served a million pints in bars
i fought my battles, i show my scars
but yet I hold what we call ours

I’m proud of my traditions
orange and green
hindu, seek and Muslim
and all shades between

who am i ?

i am the first
i was built to last
i am indestructible
i am Belfast

By
Forty Two
© Forty Two, all rights reserved
Picture Credit : BBC

Author Notes
To close my collection for National Poem Writing Month I am writing about the City I call home. I hope you have enjoyed the month and found some value in the poems. My personal favourites were The Void and Chaos and Calm. Thank you all for reading.

The Forrest of Death

You come to our land to raid and plunder
into our woods you thoughtlessly blunder
with horses charging hoof’s like thunder
laid waste to our most sacred space
twas the weak and lame you did chase
now this will be your final resting place 

Five thousand years we ruled this land
so manny days like grains of sand
we lived with this forrest hand in hand
look around at what you would debase
as darkness falls we start the chase
this will be your final resting place

you will loose your way it will transpire
your horses wallow in the mire
as we decimate you with our fire
this is our land, we are not afraid
we bring vengeance with a serrated blade
no one shall come to your aid

By
Forty Two
© Forty Two, all rights reserved

Picture Credit : www.pageresource.com

Cattatude (written for fun)

Bozo, tell your story walking

and don’t do any talking

to the fuzz,  the pigs or the cops

or i’ll find you in ten minutes tops

check out my cattitude

i’m running this whole dam neighbourhood

watch your step you know you should

I was away but now i’m back

hustling dogs, taking their snack

my reputation is quite renowned

and I just stepped back into town

so dog muggings will again be rife

this cat knows that is the life

and they call me Cat The Knife

By

Forty Two

© Forty Two, all rights reserved.

Author Notes

Written for the contest

Make me laugh my butt off hosted by Ez Writer on all poetry

Watching Paint Dry

The paint
is transferred from the pot to the tray
from the tray to the roller
from the roller to the wall
the wall changes from
melancholy maroon
to wonderful white
then lightening lemon
the process is cleansing
the flat is silent
save the noise created by my movements
the process is repetitive
leaving my mind free to wander where it likes

I am taken to forgotten conversations
incidents and actions
decisions I made that were not my own
or made only to appease
or find acceptance
it brings questions
why ?

understanding comes like a chisel
cutting away huge husks of armour
that has wrapped around my core
a wisteria circling vine of protection
that had stifled my growth

like a crumbling icecap
part of me tumbles to the sea
leaving my new face raw and exposed
as the old floats into the distance
I watch it through watery eyes
and ask
who am I

By
Forty Two
© Forty Two, all rights reserved.
Picture Credit : Forty Two

Author Notes

Approximately two and a half years after escaping abuse, I have been housed. I am now in the process of decorating my new home. In truth I have not used the term “home” for a very long time. The house I lived in with my abuser I referred to as “the house”, my fathers house is “dads”. Soon I will be “home”. I intend to write about the changes after National Poem Writing Month. Work, decorating and a poem a day means that Blog Post must wait, but I look forward to sharing my thoughts with you.

Chaos and Calm

Chaos and Calm

Missiles screamed towards the earth

emitting on impact a dull thud

a noise that two years ago

had shook him to his bones

but he had learnt to ignore that noise

easily

the screams of men

ripped asunder by molten metal

was a closer, more shrill sound

that was drowned out

by shouting sergeants

ordering guns to be loaded

savage shells sent in return

the deep thud

that echoed with the scent of acid

the dust cloud that lingered and intensified

as more shots rang out

the cry that constantly carried

over all of this

“medic” “medic”

was silenced by the crack bang

of riffles

that brought a closer cry

“medic” “medic”

he silently stood still

taking no part in the carnage

passing no judgment

not complicit, just compliant

he hauled heavy equipment into place

then watched

Alfie, Artillery animal

horse

the calm amongst the chaos

By

Forty Two

© Forty Two, all rights reserved.

Picture Credit : cometscorners.wordpress.com

St George

George, slayer of dragons, soldier of Rome

who against the Emperor stood alone

ordered to reject Christ, he would not obey

so with his life he would pay

he gave his wealth to the sick and poor

then prepared for the ordeal he would endure

23rd April, year three hundred and three

was the date of George’s destiny

a wheel of swords was the torture device

he died and was revived not once but thrice

throughout the ordeal no repentance was said

so they took him out and cut off his head

By

Forty Two

© Forty Two, all rights reserved.

Picture Credit : www.constantinian.org.uk

I had no real idea why George was sainted before today, so I looked it up. In todays world The Truth is defined as a widely held view regardless of the facts. If this story is new to you, and I suspect most only know about the mythical dragon, I implore you to look closely at all the things you “know”

I’m Fine……..

What you have missed in all the confusion

is my state of health is an illusion

my smiling face dispenses delusions

to look at me you could not tell

about my daily walk through hell

the truth is I am not doing well

Every nerve and fibre want to break

yet every day another step I take

so that in society I participate

I cry yet tears have never fell

the cause of my pain you can not tell

the truth is I am not doing well

The thought that runs inside my head

is I would rather have lost my leg instead

so my condition would be displayed

then people could reach the correct conclusion

because what you have missed in all the confusion

is my state of health is an illusion

By

Forty Two

© Forty Two, all rights reserved.

Author Notes

We, as society have changed the meaning go the term “how are you” into hello. We ask people how they are doing without actually wanting the real answer, taking the fact the person stands b before us looking complete as proof they are fine.

Invisible illness come in a multitude of forms with symptoms and effects as diverse as the people who suffer them. Generally those people go through life lying about the state of their health in order get along with the people they interact with.

This helps neither the afflicted, or society as a whole.

Paradise

Forget the clear blue sky

forget the golden shore

forget the secrete pathways

that others walked before

forget the drinks in coconuts

that exploit the passing trade

you go in search of paradise

in the wrong place i’m afraid

 

Forget the packaged desert islands

with a culture oh so fake

forget the holiday hot spots

that were designed to take

forget mind numbing tours

with nothing new to find

my friend I tell you paradise

is just a state of mind

 

Some find it in a crowed room

some find it on there own

some find it in a sacred place

where they go to atone

some find it by a babbling brook

or a car festooned with chrome

but some will tell you paradise

is to simply have a home

By

Forty Two

© Forty Two, all rights reserved

Picture Credit : www.mindfullymusing.com

5 out of every 100 rough sleepers, the other 95 are invisible.

The Square Peg Resistance

The Square Peg Resistance

The holes are round, smooth, and uniform
thats the reason us squares are forlorn
designed for pegs that have no friction
no place for square pegs and their bitchin’
designed so we all will get along
but I say society got it wrong
the pointed edge you would remove
our thoughts of which you don’t approve
our pointed edge of controversy
are designed to test society
to prove that we all have real choice
to express freedom with our voice
may I remind you now, before you forget
round holes are a tool of the politically correct
standardised spaces stifle suggestions
remove the ability to ask questions
when every hole is made the same
equality of outcome is the name
but what would happen do pray tell
when a peg has capacity to excel ?
that peg will not be allowed to go far
and that is your trick to retain all power
so where there is controversy
you will find it caused by one like me
we do not forgive, we do not forget
we are legion and we are growing yet
so suck it up buttercup
us square pegs will fuck your shit up

By
Forty Two
© Forty Two, all rights reserved

Picture Credit : cryptocoinupdates.com

Starting From Scratch

Forget the past and start anew

Is sometimes what you have to do

burn your boat on a foreign shore

and you are gone for evermore

for a better person to create

you must first start with a clean slate

 

Move in to ramshackle space

create a haven, your own place

with thoughts and feelings of your own

build your castle, claim your throne

on other’s voice,  should you heed

trust yourself, you will succeed

 

Then seek out your own desires

and light the world with your own fires

each thought and deed a victory dance

and every day you will advance

forget the pain you have amassed

there is no future in the past

 

By

Forty Two

© Forty Two, all rights reserved

Picture Credit : Forty Two. That is the bedroom wall of the Council House (one bedroom flat(1)) I have been granted. The rest of it is only marginally better. I will post poems/pictures of the improvements as they happen.

Author Notes

 

After 25 years of abuse, 2 and a half years of charity I am moving forward as a new person in a new place. If you are reading this, you have came to my life during the transition, and you are part of what I am taking forward.  Thank you for being here. All others in my life are now obscured by the burning bridge I left between myself and them. That is what starting from scratch means to me.

Written for the contest “what does starting from scratch mean to you”

By the group “Starting from scratch” on all poetry.