My poems

Landlords, agencies, MPs and their friends Everyone who has will get more     and will have an abundance But the one who does not have:     even what he has will be taken from him. So why do those who have little share what little they have And those who have much keep it all?

And September births the year again With promise new for all; The freshness flushes last year’s thoughts If any can recall… October ushers Autumn’s hour We look ahead to play As half term finds us home once more As though we’d never been away. The darkness waxes through the days With plenty to remember; November’s work is rushed along Before we hit December When it’s Christmas this, and Christmas that And candles, trees and deer, And nothing can get organised Until we’re back next year – Where did it go? It’s all so fast When it’s head down to the grind And your days are focused full ahead And all is Auld Lang Syned… So January comes again And no-one wants to work But exams are getting closer and Their threat will pierce the murk. February speeds on by With warnings getting quicker And the days March past relentlessly The work comes at you thicker The weeks are waning faster now As only April May Bring June so soon to test us all And ebb the year away And then July presents itself And

The calendar capacitor has built up its charge And now the events are discharged at once. The plates spin, and the time clicks towards the next appointment. In my power point full and current? Am I ready, and amped up? Or is this deadline a dead line..?

Left. Right. Backwards. Front. For. Against. Anti. Pro. For the many. For me. In. Out. Remain. Leave. Better together. Break up. With or without us. So much screams at us Raised emotion - exhaustion. Connect. Disconnect. The balance must be found Not in being good or bad Binary right or wrong >The balance is found Neither in imbalance nor In the balance thought The balance is out, Out of these two dimensions But not trapped in thought.

And the wheel turns And darkness threatens once more And the blowhards send the brave And the brave kill the brave And turn on the objectors And the wheels turn in the mire of lost hope And the brave lose their hope while the blowhards hope they win And we all lose as the wheel turns And the brave come home in pieces, in boxes or in tears And the darkness is pushed back once more And we say we will remember, while the memory is still fresh And the wounds are fresh And the wheel turns ever on And the flowers bloom and the silence is noted And we say that we will never forget And the wheel turns again And the blowhards are pumped with greed And the brave are fatted on tales of glory And the wheel turns David Ault - Ripon Poetry Festival Winner, 2018

There are islands in the sea of noise, traffic and marketing - Green spaces where trees stand impossibly, fighting for light With urban wildlife foraging for scraps from those who have plenty. ----- He sits, round glasses and blond baldness One cigarette, then another, possessions all around There's a watch, shorts and a bag-body - another cigarette is lit and he watches alert from the corner of Queen's Park. ----- Red, white, orange, yellow - roses and buildings grow together stunted by what's around and beneath.