Inhale, You’re the Victim


Inhale, You’re the Victim

by David R J Sealey


I watch your chest, rising and falling,

I’m not afraid but I am young

and I’ve gone away, but not from you,

please open your eyes, see this through.

You’re old, but not old enough,

are you happy inside, or welling up?

And all you felt and all you knew,

is that all that there was to you?


I long to leave and take you home,

to bury our heads back in the sand,

and when the hand hits five o’clock

we can watch Come Dine With Me.

There aren’t enough hours in the day

and we cannot see above the spray

that we’re balanced atop a tsunami,

roaring towards our destiny.




Where is our home again?

Is it where we used to guess

who would win and who’d get fired?

It would be nice not to feel tired,

to drift away in a midnight calm,

to wake up without an alarm,

hoist my main sail in the breeze

and sail away, far away from harm.




Do It Again! Do It Again!

Do It Again! Do It Again!

by David R J Sealey


I’ve heard that some poets were so blessed with time

they could spend whole weeks reworking a single line.

I work in an office and, though I’ve seen printed mine,

I have seen not a penny, not a nickel, nor dime,


and I know that my words are not groundbreaking

or classically poetic like Thomas or Constantine,

but just imagine if Jagger or John Lennon did just sing

All Shook Up wearing the blue suede shoes of the King,


or Picasso just painted pictures of bowls of fruit,

or the Coen brothers staged a Casablanca reshoot,

or Hendrix played Greensleeves unplugged on the lute,

or the Fat Duck served up slabs of salmon en croute,


or we all lived in round houses raised from the mud,

or foreign armies invaded, borne on rivers of blood

and we all died of syphilis or the black plague;

don’t you just wish for those good old days?


I just wish that one day I’d get paid

for words that I have so carefully laid,

for all of the cards that I have played

without resorting to rhymes so staid,


and I am sorry if you find this derivative,

but I fear I have plagiarised the dictionary

and the internet in the course of its creation;


only poetry prays for the death of innovation.






Back and Forth

Back and Forth

by David R J Sealey


Cold hard cash creates harsh costs,

hides corpse hoaxes, heals cruel hearts,

chides hurt children, cancels help cheques,

holds corporate hostages, hardens choking hate.


Down by law, destined by love,

lashed back down longer before dawn,

draw breath last, don’t believe luck,

lay back dead, last balance drawn;


burn it all! Build institutions against

affluent insider bankers, all insidiously brash,

bonking in America, breeding idiotic ancestors

annually, internationally, because age is bond.


With shared thoughts, we should transform

this small world through shared wealth;

we’re stronger together, when standing tethered

to standards we think should work,


our hearts alive, organs held aloft,

all hope outweighs; always help others,

organise humanitarian acts or host action

against high occupation and hostile outrage.