One Legged Prayer of the Common Man

F**k those Tory toffs,
they have lots
while we have nots.

Burn them
in their majestic beds,
while WE sleep in sheds...


Full stop,
a wealthy, fatty stop,
as we ALL drop...

©Steven Francis poems 2013

Soul Sale

I sell souls
a tenner a pop
at the soul shop.
A tenner, or fiver
for one that was worn
by a healer who died
peacefully in his sleep
where souls are most sold.
Dream Arena,
crafters supreme,
builders and market of souls
(by yours back from the devil.)
Ten quid a soul
five shillings off for a tame one,
pennies in the dish
at the soul shop...

©Steven Francis poems 2013
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Trigger (In A Grotto)

Its come for me
as sharp as lizards
and quick like tea,
death in breaths
heavy as the sea.

That is done
hello the worm
goodbye the sun,
feel a blink
an invisible run...

©Steven Francis poems 2013

Death: Art and Easy Task

The death of a stranger is never a worry
to others, not a pain;
as death of yourself will be easy for those
who dwell not within your name.
A sad glance at an occasional obituary
(maybe yours)
and then off to news and sport
at the clicking of a kettle.
Care for gentle breaths
always venturing on being last...

©Steven Francis poems 2013