A life spent through a lens
Projected on silver screens
Of ticking mechanical fruit
And multicoloured streams
A monochrome war room
Covered footprints in snow
That final emptied magazine
He delivered the best show

© Donna Roberts

Instructions:

A large handful of crushed ice
Add approx. a 1/4 cup of spite
For bitterness, add a lemon slice
A drop of malice, gives it a bite
One part venom, but only a splash
And 2 heaped tablespoons of scorn
Next, add anything found in the trash
Also generously sprinkle grated thorn
Then mix thoroughly with a beater
Before pouring onto a chilled plate
Trust me, it will taste much sweeter
Then serve to the person you hate

Bon Appetit!

© Donna Roberts
 

Our faces were hidden
Behind harlequin
Masks
As we imbibed
Plum Merlot from
Concealed hip-flasks
Then together we
Embraced as we danced
At the ball
On the black and white
Diamond tiled floor
In the hall
Our lips gently parted
As we leaned closer
To kiss
While the bystanders
In their jealously
Began to hiss
But I was lost
In the sinful taste
Of your candied lips
And, oh! The way you
Seductively swayed
Those hips
Whispering soon came
From deep within
The enclaves
The bitter not realizing
It was they, not us,
Who were slaves
But we laughed at their scorn
And took no heed
Nor care
As I trailed my fingers
Through your soft
Dark hair
And in that moment
I reached over
To set your visage free
Only to find
The person behind
Was none other than me

© Donna Roberts

Peter Fechter used
To lay bricks to earn
His daily bread
But had grown tired of
The hellish grind of living
In the East
And despite knowing
The risks were high
Of being shot dead
Decided, with his friend,
To escape the clutches
Of the Red Beast 
So together they tried
To cross over the mauer
Into the free West
But the wall guards had
Heard a noise and fired
Twenty one times
When the only sin
They had made was to flee
From being oppressed
One did make it over
Except for Peter who
Paid dearly for their 'crimes'
Shocked, the bystanders
Gathered and angrily
Screamed, "Murderers!"
Whilst in the Death Strip,
The young wounded man
Pitifully cried for aid
But the Grenztruppen der DDR
Ignored his blood-choked
Murmurs
As did American & Western soldiers,
And no attempt of rescue
Was made
And it was there in the
Warm August air at the foot
Of die Berliner Mauer
The young man was caught
And tangled up in sharp,
Rusty barbed wire
By the bloodied hands of men
Who had too eagerly used
Their power
Which was why
Peter was left to die
Alone in the dirt and the mire

© Donna Roberts
 

I viewed the snapshots
Of those broken dreams
The charred helmet lying
On the scorched grass

That blue and gold patch
With the frayed seams
Of all the things which
Had come to pass

And I wonder if they
Even knew or realized
Their journey was over
And not just the flight

In the final dwindling seconds 
Before they died
And if, moments later,
They were bathed in light?

© Donna Roberts

Greedily devouring
The side-show
Attraction

Yet his dignity
Never faulted,
Set rigid like stone

Despite the monsters
And their cruel
Reaction

And it was always there
In the pregnant silence
Of your pain

Or in that polite smile
In that refusal
To complain

The humility and grace
Which he held
Burned brightly

Mind sharper
Than any beasts'
Tongue in the crowd

History will not treat
What that man
Suffered lightly

Joseph, worry not,
Your Mother
Would've been proud

© Donna Roberts

© Donna Roberts

When your parents die
You become an orphan
And when your spouse dies
You become a widow
But there's no name for
When a parent loses a child
Is it just too terrible to lend name
To something so reviled?

"Bang,
Bang,
You're dead,
Fifty bullets
In your
Head"

So they sang
In the playground
So they laughed
And went to play
From sunrise onwards
And onto bed
All except
On that day

© Donna Roberts

I once heard a collective voice scream as one..

It came from no where, a spontaneous ticket parade,
Floats and flutters, like singed butterfly wings,
The lost gathered on every corner, every street, avenue,
An aurora borealis of red, white and blue.

Southern, then Northern glass spear, belched flame and plume,
Metallic birds had swooped on their prey,
Faces, in the dozens, emerged from jagged steel edges,
What were the final thoughts, words and pledges?

                              959:1028

Time has eroded, but I've dreamt such dark thoughts of late..



© Donna Roberts, 2009

(AN: Written in slang and 'sloppy' English to reinforce the context of the poem)

We're out on the town tonight
Me, Jay, Dan, Gav and Wright
We'll hit the bars, and 'ave it large
Line up the shots 'cause we're at the 'Barge'

And they're kicking off
There's gonna be a fight
Oh there'll be blood on the
Streets again alright!

Knock 'em back, one after the other
'cept for Dan, he's scared of his Mother
"Fuck off ya prick!" he shouts out loud
Right from the center of the crowd

And they're kicking off
There's gonna be a fight
Oh there'll be blood on the
Streets again alright!

Crouched in the bogs, racking and stacking
A couple of snorts each 'cause we're packing
Tune's kicked in, we're feeling the beat
Won't be long 'til we're back on our feet

And they're kicking off
There's gonna be a fight
Oh there'll be blood on the
Streets again alright!

I'm feeling horny, now fancy a shag
It's not that long 'til I spy a slag
No shrapnel left, but I want a stab
Fuck it, I'll just buy her a kebab

And they're kicking off
There's gonna be a fight
Oh there'll be blood on the
Streets again alright!

We're ready for the off, I'm gonna fuck her
And if she ain't careful, I'll do her in the gutter
Some lads walk by, shouting bollocks at us
Mouthy prick, needs a slap to stop his fuss

And they're kicking off
There's gonna be a fight
Oh there'll be blood on the
Streets again alright!

I'll throw a punch and then we'll scrap
He gets one passed me, lands on me trap
I chin the prick and think we're done
Something flashes, sharp pain near lung

And they're kicking off
There's gonna be a fight
Oh there'll be blood on the
Streets again alright!

I'm on the ground, sounds of screams and "run!"
I guess tonight really wasn't that much fun?
Sirens are blaring, I need someone to hold
Can't think of anything more, I feel so cold

© Donna Roberts

Oh, Polaris,

My most dearest
And most beloved
Of all the saintly
Night lights

Jewel sat high
In the heart of
The crown in the
Dark charcoal skies

At rest beneath
The gentle feet
Of soft winged
Angelic knights

Your glorious
Celestial aura
A constant flame
Which never dies

Oh, Polaris,

How I yearn
To lay beneath
Your eternal
Iridescent beams

Blanket me in
Your silken threads
Spun from
Golden spools

The essence of
My sweetest and
Most cherished
Of dreams

And a burning
Beacon of beauty
Reflected in silent
Milky Pools

Oh, Polaris,

When those who
Are at a adrift
In the murderous
Turquoise seas

When storming clouds
Have gathered
And the gilded
Eagle soars

Let your bright
Incandescence
Reach down and
kiss the very leas

To safely guide
All lost souls
To the cusp of
Distant Sandy shores

© Donna Roberts

I've often seen him sat there
With plastic carrier bag
As he patiently waits by the door

Disheveled clothes
And with pallid look
His legs stretched across the floor

And he looks up
And asks me,
"Is it ten o'clock?"

But I shake my head
And open up
Key turns in the lock

I've often seen his empty cans
Lying in a concrete bin
As he patiently waits by the door

Standing up
And with unsteady foot
His hand clasping can number four

And he looks up
And asks me,
"Is it ten o'clock?"

But I shake my head
And open up
Key turns in the lock

I've often seen his old work mates
Walking close on by
As he patiently waits by the door

Hand waives
And with shakey motion
His smile being quite a chore

And he looks up
And asks me,
"Is it ten o'clock?"

But I shake my head
And open up
Key turns in the lock

But today he's no longer there
With his plastic carrier bag
And no one seems to ask me
For the time anymore

And now I often wonder to myself
Whatever happened to him
And if he's still asking for the time
But only at a different door?

© Donna Roberts

Oh, you think you were the first on the scene
 belle of the ball, love's lost dream?

Oh, you're convinced you're always right
 values and morals being so tight?

Oh, you believe your fake plastic smile
  hides truth behind white enamel pile?

But, oh I think you are such a bore, such a bore
     your very presence is a chore
and did I mention I find you such a bore?

Oh, you think you are a bright young thing
  yet, without heart you can not sing?

Oh, you're convinced that you're full of charm
   those poisonous words will do you harm?

Oh, you believe you are not what you seem
  when all I see is hot air and steam?

But, oh I think you are such a bore, such a bore
    it's all been done to death before
and did I mention I find you such a bore?

Oh, I think I've said enough for now
There's not much more to say to you
You see you've really offended me
And just from your very own view
So turn away from the mirror's surface
And don't forget to turn off that light
Tomorrow morning's a brand new day
So let's just agree to forget tonight?

© Donna Roberts

The snow crunches beneath our worn-out boots
But we're numb, we can't feel our feet
Or our frostbitten hands, nor remember the last time
We had anything fucking decent to eat?

But we'll march
And we'll march
And we'll march on
Until the very last one of us are gone

We're thirsty now, dry as cuttlebone
Our parched lips are blistered, cracked and raw
'cause we've had nothing to drink for fucking hours
And even then probably more

But we'll march
And we'll march
And we'll march on
Until the very last one of us are gone

The stench of fear hangs 'round the air
As does the noise from our haggard breath
From where we're completely surrounded
By this fucking endless hell of frozen death

But we'll march
And we'll march
And we'll march on
Until the very last one of us are gone

There's blood and guts smeared on the ground
It's everywhere, dark red on white
Tread carefully where we place our feet
For it truly is a fucking awful sight!

But we'll march
And we'll march
And we'll march on
Until the very last one of us are gone

And we're all young men, and we're all brothers
And we'll all leave behind, weeping mothers

But we'll march
And we'll march
And we'll march on
Until the very last one of us are gone

And just before, we fall into slumber
We'll simply repeat our name, rank and number

But we'll march
And we'll march
And we'll march on
Until the very last one of us are gone

And many years from now
Will they still care,
Or even remember
That poor young soldier lad
Who died in fucking Stalingrad
So long ago,
On that winter's march,
Late one night in December?

© Donna Roberts

The old grey brick stacks
Stood proud in the
Northern skyline

Were once loved
Admired and considered
To be sublime

Seen now as a black-handed
Salute towards
Victorian oppression

The cold air is charged
And weighty with
Collective anticipation

The crowds are now gathered
Watching with children
In their cars

Quietly waiting for the
Ultimate moment beneath
The cloudless stars

A voice announces,
"The squibs are set,
there's no turning back."

As the people excitedly
Mutter, "The last chance
to see the Stack!"

A spark of orange light
Flashes moments before
A thunderous roar

Which sends flurries
Of countless camera flashes
All across the moor

"They fall, they fall,
and now they are
crumbled!"

Only a plume of dust left
As the crowd
Are humbled

As the new dawn
Creeps in and the
People vacate

Silence has now fallen
Save for the sound from
A creaking gate

The landscape has finally
Returned to the place
It once used to be

As a breeze through
The trees whispers,
"At long last, we are free!"

© Donna Roberts