Archive for March, 2015


A penny for the dullard poor…

Those skinny arsed boys
Are leaning on the wall again
In their dirty faded jeans and joggers
With their rawboned faces they all look the same

Education and opportunity is passing them by
They are wild eyed knife carriers
Caught in switch blade lives
Without a guiding hand to keep them from the night

Another generation lost
They only have fading hope
And even that is destined to blow up
In a puff of hash pipe smoke

But for chance them and me
We would be the same
But for someone taking time
An artist of motivation, a sketcher of different lines

Still the pillars of our communities
Witter on about rising levels of poverty
But line their pockets all the same
Whilst flatly refusing to take any blame

I have heard it whispered it’s in our genes
I challenged just what that means
Are the poor genetically imprisoned
Or just modern slaves to unreason

They speak it secretly in their Ivory towers
And whisper it on their parliamentary benches
But even us dullard poor
Know exactly what that stench is

I know my revolution will never come
But in small ways I have won
This poor boy who came from nothing
Is proud of the things he’s done

But what about them…?

© 2015 Peter Anstiss


Misspent Youth

Do you miss being young?
Was it was as difficult for you?
As it was for me,

Given the chance to spin upon that wheel again,
I would be less afraid,
More in control,

I would be angry at the right times,
Love more and obsess less,
Let people know how I feel,

But that’s the sad thing about youth,
Blink and it is gone,
it’s a one way trek on fast track path,

The river sweeps you forward,
Fast flowing onwards,
There is no turning back,

© 2015 Peter Anstiss


Love and other old addictions

There is no glamour in the cigarettes
That I still struggle to resist
Just another longing tug
For a former addict

I hunger for a familiar taste
Like I hunger for your lips
But I can resist desire
I know my time, and place

It’s hard to be the past
It’s hard to be disgraced
To know I’ll never brush away your hair
As it falls across your face

But I have my memories
I cling to them each and every day
I can be the boy that never was
The one that ran away

© 2014 Peter Anstiss



An offered shield

This used to be the place
Where my friends mother worked
Even though she has passed from this earth
Her kindness still speaks to me on silent days
In wordless echoes felt even in all this desolation
Like the sun upon my face

Ticking Time

She is love, unstinting
She is the cradle, where you began
She is fading, piece by piece
She is falling, and can’t be caught
She is emptying, it can’t be stopped
She is always with you, an echo in your heart
She is mum, she loves her daughters, she loves her sons

© 2015 Peter Anstiss

A mixture of emotions flung together with thoughts of my mum and the mothers of others.