Richard Pierce

Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter

Life, Poetry


She spread his arms and legs
Across the table and secured
Them with silk rope to make
Sure he wouldn’t slide off the
Dark oak while she had her way
With his flesh and bones the
Way Anatomy students do.
What he’d thought love was
Nothing but the search for
A new group of sinews. And
Afterwards, he dripped from
The table into a tin pail.

R 20/01/2023 11:52

Keep lying then, keep spreading
Those untruths about how the Brits
Are immune to mental health issues
Because of that famous stiff upper
Lip and that exceptionalism that’s
Made rivers run dry and separated
Us from the Continent, and killed
Uncounted people there and here.
Keep fooling yourself that those
Demons will never fetch you from
That imagined high pew of yours.
Wealth is never an exemption
From the final truth.

R 20/01/2023 16:03

In these dark days, some of us
Have the luxury of being able
To flick a switch to spread light
And warmth through our empty
Caverns that are in reality richly
Appointed houses inhabited by
Our own soul-eating ghosts. The
Light drives them away and
The warmth comforts us until
We step outside and see those
Who really need light and shelter.

R 20/01/2023 16:06

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