How to Quash a Rebellion

Oh crap, I think the populace
Have gone and got some impetus
Let's dumb them down with more TV
They love that television screen
Or just put cocaine on the street
So if they're high, they can't stampede
I tell you what, this will work best:
Let's post another terrorist threat!

poem by Matt Pocock
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Goodbye, City of Blinding Lights

Goodbye, City of Blinding Lights
You never were my friend
I was born to you, my sweetheart but
You'll never see my end

Goodbye, City of Blinding Lights
I never will forget
Your plastic hearts, your hair-styled queens
They linger in my head

Goodbye, City of Blinding Lights
You'll not blind me again
Now, I was caught up'n your beauty
For these sins I must repent

Goodbye, City of Blinding Lights
I leave you not for God
I leave you not for work, for sport
It's'cause everyone else cannot

poem by Matt Pocock
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Shopping Bags

I hate these shopping bags
They weigh my body down
They keep me on the beaten track
They break every bone in my back
To a doctor's note i must defer
My life, I do concur
For what may be must be
And what may not be cannot see
I'll throw away my shopping bags
And see how far you throw me
To Guava, Java, Bali, Mali
To study, to lecture, to teach, to hurt
To suckle the teat of wisdom that does not exist
But whatever the sucklers say
The revolution has begun
It is within our hearts and minds
Because if one human, not a man nor a woman
Can preach like John Paul to mass
Like Darwin to a class
Like Kennedy to a nation

[...] Read more

poem by Matt Pocock
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My House of Human Skin

Look at me now, no uncouth wife
No mocking kids, no drab sex life
It all seems so immaterial in
My House of Human Skin

The waves of doubt that lapped my shores
Were quashed among the slavish whores
That visited my halls within
My House of Human Skin

I now have cold philosophy
That always comes easy to me
My thoughts will move forever in
My House of Human Skin

I am not God, I am not grace
Though I may have a normal face
I gave up being your kin within
My House of Human Skin

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poem by Matt Pocock
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London's Burning

His eyes reflect the golden fire, his pupils burning bright
As he turns away they feel a sudden, crying urge to fight
Big Old Ben has run away, they always thought it might
London's Burning
London's Burning

The chapels down in Kensington are bursting into flames
The children of the neighbourhood are dancing, gone insane
They hug their parent's knees and try to cry away the shame
London's Burning
London's Burning

Members of the royalty rush in to see the Queen
She's rushed off to a bunker, told to wait and not to scream
But all of London's gone aflame, her bunker traps her here
London's Burning
London's Burning

Teenage gangs are on the prowl, they go from place to place
They need no names or calls or shouts, don't need know their race

[...] Read more

poem by Matt Pocock
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