Sean Reddan is currently kickin' it around Europe. Sean's a kick-ass poet. Dig? Check out his website at this address
"Fist Strikes At Ten"
The audio-vision
Tape-recorded screams
Shop window
Restaurant ice creams
Me kill you in a big city
Taxicab and rose p.m. pretty
Lightning bolts yet sunstroke
Pepsi advertisement begets Coke
Channel vision
And subway submission
Riding the train
Suburban to omission
Castrated men poke their fingers at you
In dire straits finger nail chew
Kleptomaniacs and muggers grew
On the side - walk don’t go skew
The audio-vision
Tape-recorded creams
Shop window
Restaurant ice screams
Broken pubs, the ace of spades and the queen of clubs
Cosmopolitan like flowery shrubs
Loneliness is setting in
Weighless diets are making thin
Neons glitter and rodents shimmer
Men bag men ladies trash can
Eenie meenie mynie mo
Down which alley should I go
Hawkers throw their bodies at you
If you buy one I’ll given you two
Is everybody mad or are you just sad
Live life fast but don’t get had
Idols and martyrs join hands
The saint’s name above the cathedral
Saint somebody or other, Jack
Above the billboard man, Mack
The staircase up my own hole
Living daylight I’m but a mole
The security’s on my button’s pushed in
Night break dancing with my gin
Time for Newsweek and other tabloids
Page to page war or celluloids
Time for the rush hour past
Humanity in an iron mask
One two catch a nigger by the toe
Three four catastrophic situation, Joe
My radio says single or alone
Light up the big ozone
And burn up this whole fuck hole
It’s a dance for the burnt up soul
Mary saw the world buggering up the christ-child
Her holy son - born to be reviled
Temples of doom
Portraits on this screen
Cheer up you’re not the only one
The only lonely night sight bum
They’ve all left you and are far away
Buried deep above the mantle place
And the journey through your face
The loss in your heart encased
Some books and many more
Speak of all the old folklore
Diamonds on a faraway shore
And your sorrows beg for more
Tomorrow is a new tomorrow
A buried and suffering excuse
Raped, hooked and one of us
Riders on the back of a bus
Thinkers and fools alike
Carry on they do they fight
Wisdom aloof in penthouse suites
Tia Marias and built up streets
Business goes on and the world spins
A man must do what a man must do until he wins
Speak of forever hold our piece
On the prince’s brow - a crease
Ripped sneakers and Rolls Royces
We must make our own choices
Be be be be be be
I you you and you me me
Shopping malls
Customer cultured halls
Fist strikes at ten
Hurry on up with your groceries then
"Oil"
There’s a man on the corner standing with a knife
He wants to make this night
The bloodiest of his life
He wants to make a stand
He wants to make a point
With a bottle and brandy
He wants to make a point
There’s a man in a hard hat he’s just walked on by
Just finished work at the construction site
He doesn’t need any alibi
He wants his own piece of land
He wants to strike oil
He’s sick of all this terror and toil
There’s a makeshift singer with tears in her eyes
She wants a recording contract she wants to get high
The bloodiest high of her life
She wants to also be grand
Silk sheets instead of tin foil
And her ambitions are coming to the boil
There’s a mother cradling a babe in between her thighs
She wants his education she wants him to fly
The bloodiest high of his life
Or so she says lighting another joint
She wants him to be a man
Or else man just what is the point?
There’s a piece of transport and its riding by
We’ll take you home give you a sense of pride
A place where you won’t need to run and hide
We want to help you with your plan
Take you place you in your own soil
Escape from all of this turmoil
There’s a man on the corner
Surveying his life
The bloodiest high of this night
He wants to make a stand
He wants to make a point
For once dear God let me strike oil
There’s a man who’s been hard bit
He’s just walked on by
Just finished work looking at the sky
He wants his himself and
He wants to make a point
You’ll never again need to turn back in recoil
Last update : 26-03-2007 19:22
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Lit Circus 
Sean
By: Frank Reardon (Guest) on 26-03-2007 05:10