Cancel culture

Feed the vulture, cancel culture, 

Stitch up surgeons with their sutures 

Stone the prophets, steal their futures 

Prevent clairvoyants telling fortunes 

Cancel agents and their clients 

Halt the scientists, stop the science 

Erase all emblems of defiance 

Tear down works of literary giants 

Silence sculptors and musicians 

Artists, painters and magicians 

Cancel art that speaks against you 

Blot out history that offends you 

Limit the freedom of the press 

Shut down the media, more or less 

Cancel language, cancel talking 

Stop us thinking, running, walking 

Cancel culture, flex the strong arm 

Cancel all that triggers alarms 

Call them all out, name and shame them 

Cancel culture, then pass the blame on 

Steve Wheeler © 17 January, 2021

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Try not to stare

At the end of the street where the three pathways meet who knows where your feet will travel? \ past the strip clubs and whores, drunken bullies and bores, just don’t stare as their stories unravel \ there’s perverts and nonces, and deviants and ponces who’d rival the vile Jimmy Savile \ there’s clip joints and boozers, and gamblers, and losers, and hustlers and waste-yer-time rabble \\ 

keep your eyes dead ahead, and your thoughts in your head as they paint the town red where you travel \ on bad concrete tracks, over potholes and cracks having sheer heart attacks in the gravel \ you could choke in the mud of this bad neighbourhood, you could drown in the blood of the battle \ no one would care, you’d be left lying there in a bright neon glare that will dazzle \ near the ill-repute clubs and the alcohol hubs and the noisy hubbub of the razzle \ there's no semblance of law, there’s no order at all, there’s no fall of a magistrate’s gavel \\ 

move along while you dare but please don’t stop and stare at the urban despair in the city \ make no contact with eyes, and disguise your surprise because most will despise any pity \ put aside your alarm and disarm with your charm or you’ll come to some harm in the city \ the district is seedy, but the people are needy, stay away from their greedy ferocity \\ 

Steve Wheeler © 16 January, 2021

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Nailed

You can nail a shingle to your office wall 

Screw a photo frame secure so it won’t fall 

You can nail a horseshoe up above your door 

Nail a hundred objects high, or even more 

You can pin your pictures to an album page 

or secure a backdrop to a drama stage 

You can fasten any object as you will 

but Christ climbed willingly up that hill 

The nails did not secure Him to that tree 

The spikes did not prevent Him being free 

but love became His sole constraint 

and Christ died for the sinner, not the saint 

Steve Wheeler © 14 January, 2021

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We all fall down

The disco Rollarena 

down by the yacht marina 

was a human melodrama 

I wish I’d brought me camera 

to capture all the clamour 

We’d skate around in circles 

‘till we all fell down 

I'd pretend I couldn’t skate, 

chat up girls and stay out late 

My knee pads simply bait 

as I fixed meself a date 

‘cos the future wouldn’t wait 

then my head would spin in circles 

as the world fell down 

To our Sony Walkman beats 

we’d go skating through the streets 

cruising pavements and concrete 

on those roller blades of heat 

that destroyed our bleeding feet 

as we skated cross the cobbles 

‘till we all fell down 

In the Eighties skater creed 

we would feel the need for speed 

crashing down so hard we’d bleed 

get back up and not concede 

keep it rolling, feed the need 

Skating over potholes 

made us all fall down 

Steve Wheeler © 5 January, 2021

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Slow seeds

I’m lying on my lonely bed 

while Dylan’s tunes grow in my head. 

Out in the rainy street a siren is whirring. 

Day fades slowly into twilight 

and I switch on the bedside light. 

Inside my tranquil room, my thoughts are stirring. 

There, in the noisy world outside 

order and chaos coincide 

while all is still inside my peaceful room. 

I read from Dylan’s poetry; 

the slow seeds of his imagery 

take root inside my mind’s poetic womb 

Bob / Dylan / Thomas – sages, 

on the tracks and off the pages, 

each assails my brain with poignant verse. 

Rage against the dying light 

you precious angel of the night, 

and each in time will quench my curious thirst. 

 

Steve Wheeler © 4 January, 2021

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Spongiform

I read more stories than I could ever write 

I imagine more battles than I could ever fight 

I sleep more dreams than I could ever say 

Like a sponge I soak up each and every day 

I absorb more knowledge than I could ever show 

I go to more places than I should ever go 

I write more scenes than I could ever play 

I soak up the hours and I mop up the day 

Steve Wheeler © 2 January, 2021

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At the turning of the year

At the slow turning of the year 

the artifice, the ersatz tear. 

Our futures are unknown, unclear 

imbued with our unfounded fear. 

Yet as I hesitate a while, 

I catch your enigmatic smile 

that says to me, we travel not alone. 

Fear is for one moment then it’s gone. 

Steve Wheeler © 31 December, 2020

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