August Wales

And as the loaded red beast dipped
to tag a sincere, sickl'd dawn,
there arose my hiraeth
and I was home in Wales
in Carmarthen chains...

© Steven Francis poems 2012

The Race For Glass

Celebrity smoking
crunching, fiddling
and raging.
Those wind up pigs
are here to stay.
The frittering, fingering
boiling and stuttering
wind up sows,
here to stay
and f**k the armies of slug footed
press ganged kids.

We labour nothing
only to seek a life beyond the vain;
a foul glitzy whirlwind
that terrorizes ambition
and gifts it to the sloth cameras.
Autographs and semi literate biographies
become bibles to the unbibled,
those decibel children who seek gold
before a soul...

Steven Francis poems 2012