a quiet man by Alan Corkish

I am not a silent poet

i do not like a quiet man
never trust them, seldom can
the thoughts that they refuse to speak
are suspect, hateful, grim or bleak
inside their heads, chained and secure
polluted thoughts; coldly impure
pace in shame, afraid to reveal
the rottenness which they conceal
within this tainted unripe cell
ignorant half-framed fears dwell
here walks the immigrant silently accused
the wife who cowers cursed and abused
the lazy idle labour-shirker
who unlike him is not a ‘worker’
the sons and daughters, brains washed white
with ‘Jesus’ or some other shite
the striker at the factory gates
is fighting for everything he hates
this quiet man observes and judges
his partial-sight is stained with fudges…

so i do not like a quiet man
never trust them, seldom can
their heads are stuffed with jealous violence
…the greatest sin on earth is silence

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