Poetry by SM Jenkin

The Buddha of Wetherspoons               

The golden boy of Rochester, frequently seen
preaching to the converted in the Cathedral's shadow.
Our very own saviour floats serenely above the
sea of cigarette butts bobbing in half-empty pint glasses.
Brilliantly blue eyes and reddish-blonde hair
spurn the light, leave an eerie after-image I blame on
dim lighting. Nobody will poach the golden lion -
untouchable above our cloud of stale beer and hot air,
too busy putting the world to rights
to your adoring bunch of tailors dummies
You are the lotus flower in our mud.
Down in the two Brewers, some heathens whisper about
your pinstriped suit swiped from Marks & Sparks.
But your eloquence grows over pints of cider, with ice;
there are times when I almost believe you.

Outside, normal life drops to a crawl, a whisper of fumes
and blocked exhausts. Free your chakras;
we’ve got to break the system from within.
Give me liberty or give me death.
Burn the zoos to the ground;
let the animals die if they can’t be free. They’re better off,
you know it. Don’t you?
Go back to your cocoon darling
But let me buy you another round my lovely lotus blue,
while you entertain the troops,
foot soldiers in your war.
You’re saving the world one soul at a time;
our Buddha of Wetherspoons.

​


Chicken feed      

To be well adjusted to the world
is like twisting the neck of a chicken,
and calling yourself an Osteopath.
Bertram's sun will not now rise for you -
and the world twists and sinks
and brings you with it into shadow.

To be well adjusted to the world
is to be an apology on the tip of the beak
of that chicken. The dumb seeds scattered
on the dirt will not now rise for you -
and the world twists and sinks
and brings you with it into shadow.

To be well adjusted to the world
is to have your neck snapped like
that chicken, wondering
why it hangs at an odd angle,
until your wings are out of sight,
they will not now rise for you -
and the world twists and sinks
and brings you with it into shadow.

To be well adjusted too,
the world twists and sinks
and follows you into the shadow.

​

Bio: SM Jenkin is a second-generation Irish writer, a lover of science fiction with itchy feet and one of the editorial advisors for Confluence magazine. SM is a regular performer on the Kent Live lit scene and has had work published in literary anthologies and magazines including: Boyne Berries, The Mermaid, City Without a Head, the Medway Festival Fringe, All Sorts and Unexplored Territory. @sajenks42  https://www.facebook.com/SMJenkinWriter 

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