Three poems by Geoff Stevens

Made up with Rimmel
but the wires still show
your skin transparent
the flesh like Pears Soap
you are a robot of the age
fed by impulses from the media
and radio waves from an environment
installed and maintained by The State.
CCTV spies on you
watches your every mood and move
its unseen operators pushing the buttons
and moving the levers
correcting any deviation from the prescribed.
You think that you are your own person
but you are not a person at all
but a toy being played with
by the spoilt brats of governance.

You have no reservations
the signs in your eyes
say Bed & Breakfast

STONY PLACE (The Burren)
Grey mud
over which someone has ridden
a heavy bicycle
mud frozen into lava
a huge rotting hippo or rhinocorus
of a place
the ribs showing through the carcass
flowers from the Artic
and from the Mediterranean
like honey in the lion's entrails
on the Golden Syrup tin
both being visited by bees
It is a graveyard of history
with floweres
ancient bodies buried here
tombs of stone
celtic crosses nearby
inscribed by gaelic lorraine
daytime and the place
may be lit by weak sunshine
and camera flash
dusk and the sun dies
with its blood light
soaking into the limestone
• Geoff Stevens is a regular contributor to IS&T – and also check out his pictures in the right-hand column.

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