jingle jingle!

jingle jingle!



My flaming eyes still burn to hate you;

you and your fenced-in little world.

My jaded hands just ache to stab you,

to push in deep the blade of truth.

And in your trimmed back garden land

I see the hungry picking worms,

and in your smart, fat children's faces

the flattened colonies of ages.

Yet when I raise a blood-drop from you

your daughter's slender hand persuades me

that I can't bear to see you bleeding

nor to feel you breathing.

Keith Armstrong

the jingling geordie

My photo
whitley bay, tyne and wear, United Kingdom
poet and raconteur