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A Foolish Reality

I want to talk
to people

but I need
more wine

cos sobriety
equals fear.

– Lennie Bezwik


i ran

from a small remote town on
the banks of the narrow river,
cold water running over fresh
grey rocks and white houses
facing the water in ascending
rows that stretch onwards and
upwards across the sloping
green mountains, I ran.

I ran at a calm and steady pace,
knowing that the hills would
only get steeper and the body
would only grow heavier and
the pain would only burn stronger
as on and on I go and leave
the dreamy morning town
behind me, I ran.

I ran amongst other runners
and felt everything that
they felt but none of us heard
anything except for the guardian
angel voice tucked deep away
inside the cores of each of our minds,
deafening us from all
surrounding sound, I ran.

I ran as my mind and body battled,
the body crying stop,
the mind screaming to carry on,
yelling for victory and rallying the limbs
to carry on until finally they embraced,
the dominant mind seducing the
submissive body and
becoming one, I ran.

I ran past the coast and
welcomed the deep blue breeze that
kissed my skin as the distant finish
line grew larger in size with every breath
and on I ran as the inner beast inside me
roared my battered body towards
the old town hall where crowds gave us
love and wanted nothing in return.

– Lennie Bezwik

Pure Night

sweeter now that the air is
damp and silent and my friends,
those raindrops those pure little oceans,
lay on the other side of the window in
the stillness of the night.

old boy in the flat below plays his
music loud and I hear nothing except
for the distant warm buzz of the baseline,
humming from beneath these
wooden floorboards.

empty is the night, purified from all
the troubles of the drudgerous day,
as clear and empty as the empty cans of
beer at the bottom of the rubbish bag
that hangs in the corner.

and every star smiles down upon
the millions of street lamps that light
the roads that join the towns and cities
and glow from space like diamonds
scattered across the murky canvass.

– Lennie Bezwik

Each Life

Each life,
each love,
each friendship
is born and
grows to its
full strength
before it
weakens and falls
and fades
like each tree
on this planet
which eventually
will also perish
like each and every
star in this

– Lennie Bezwik

On the bus

I learned everything
on the bus,
long journeys and
all colours shoot by,
the upper floor of
the red double decker,
the rat race on either side.
through all seasons and
skies of all shades through
the streets of west London
in the busiest parts of
the days,
traffic jams taught me
the books in my bag
taught me how
to use otherwise wasted
the music in my headphones
taught me to stay
and the monotony told me to
escape while I can,
now here I am in
some foreign land,
opening the balcony doors
to feel the freshness of
the morning draft come in
and kiss my face,
listening to the neighbour’s
gentle guitar strings playing
that take me back to
my days on the bus
where my thoughts and
dreams began.

– Lennie Bezwik

Defeat at Wembley

You could be
a ten year old
child crying on
the steps or
a fully grown
man swearing at
the ref,

no words can
raise your players from
the ground,
no tears can
change the score line
on the board,
you came this far with
a heart full of hope
and were robbed of
all joy when
the whistle was blown,

the crushing blow has
been delivered to
your inner child who
your eyes
lower, your chin
falls, your heart
sobs, your team
have lost
at Wembley,

it will always be
someone else’s
and the heartache will
always be

the long road home is
even worse,
the ifs and buts just
empty words,
you try to be
strong but still it hurts
and the heartache will
always be

the scenes are repeated in
the evening news,
you change the channel but
can’t change the truth,
champagne and jubilation was
taken from you
and the heartache will
always be

your girlfriend unaffected,
she can’t understand the
pain of a child that burns
in the man,
she can’t comprehend why
your head’s in your hands
and the heartache will
always be

– Lennie Bezwik

Dancing Derelict

theatre derelict
She’s singing on
an empty stage and
dancing in faint light,

she’s spinning in
her favourite dress to
empty seats and silence,

she gives her all with
teary eyes cos
no-one’s there to
see her move,

the lights are off,
the curtains drawn,
the theatre closed,
now never used.

– Lennie Bezwik

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