Liquorice Footprints.

Yes. Capitalism is failing people!
Hungry Mouths. Fragile Bones.
Government’s sucking: IceCream Cones.
‘Categorisation’ to determine ‘Eligibility’.
Welcome to the Contested Invisibility.
Liquorice Language on: Thorny Crowns.
Democracy rises like Bread, in all towns.
Smokes my pockets, leaves me in slums.
Paints me in numbers, with filthy bums.
Spaghetti Junction, as we lose control.
Diced like meat, cubed into their hole.
I’m ejecting cookies, rolled up to throw.
Into your hands, as you chalk us; down low.
Self-Assessment Forms, in a pickled mess.
Under pressure, intense feelings of stress.
‘I Daniel Blake’ deserved better, a Fair Trial.
Unjust actions left me ‘Out Cold’, in Style.
I’ll just lick the gutter and die with a Disease.
Spit-Polish your shoes, bent down on my knees.
It’s time to get ‘Anarchic’ and fight back hard!
With ‘Punk Fashion Nails’; for many blow, scarred.
Let’s turn back in time, ‘Cher’ 50 years on the clock.
To relive those conditions, engulfed in: ‘Black Rock’.
Exploitative Banners, that’s where Demons; are used.
With glass shots that scorn the innocent, fully bruised.
Beggars can be choosers and sit drowning in blood.
Frying the hopes of the: ‘Deserving’, in sweaty mud.
Diamond tears in my mind, machete knife in my heart.
Drinking Red Liquid tears the flesh: “It’s dead smart”.
Dominelli States: “We need optimistic measures,
to end Marginalisation and calm, Stormy Weathers”.
Get on this train and look me, deep in the eyes:
“Don’t you dare tell me, you can’t hear, broken cries”.
A fine-tuned machine, ‘Turing’ with: Golden Clogs.
Wanna sing with the Elite? Or swim with the Frogs?
 Mr. Monopoly’s board continues, this brutal game.
Swaying with ‘Skin Heads’, injecting Stigmas and Shame.
It’s Paper to the Gods, we’re like ghosts of the night.
Enigmatic Strangers filling, ‘Common Benches’ to bite.
Controversial ideals stamp veins, to create a cold war.
Logged by a: ‘Callous Fascist’, whose thirsty for more.
‘Scatmen’ eat the cherries, freshly laced for tomorrow.
Square slates in the grass, ‘Whisper Careless’; in sorrow.
Corporate Dinosaurs lurking, the hall of Good Wealth.
“How’s it hanging Street Kidz? All Mental, in Health?”.
Lobotomized in a queue under, the: Rabbit Proof Fence.
Leather Brained, Chelsie Smiles; to keep up the pretence.
Left-Wing Functionalism ‘Marx’, envelopes at the seals.
Feminists dance to the beat, sexes’ back in slick heels!
Right-Wingers on the pitch, a poor match is played.
‘Thatcher’s’ pulling strings, dressed in Marmalade.
‘Guy’s’ plotting with ‘Marc’, behind ‘Almond’ Sun-glasses.
Privatisation on the Markets, dominating World Classes.
Lipstick on your collars or bags of sand? It’s your choice.
Those Yellow Helpers are swallowed, to needle your voice.
‘Billy, He Bragg’s’ sat on ‘Changeling’s Ward’, Psychiatric.
What’s the next move? A bloody clone? Get in: ‘Hat-trick’!
Lemon Zest spikes your platter with juices, bittersweet.
Bewildered Cattle, ruffle feathers; to stick to his feet.
 Smooth Russian Criminals, deep-throat in Orange Salt.
Angelina’s not here. Shit! Well, let’s ask… Usain Bolt.
Skeletons rock in the dust, as the clouds light up grey.
Concentration Camp’s out. It’s now Holocaust Day.
Penned with Illuminous Ink, for ‘Ian’s Dury’ it calls.
We’re just like Pink Floyd, dirty bricks in the walls.
Human Rights? In a skip! Dynamite bombs, the tank.
‘Michael’s got his Caine’. Can’t escape, a good spank!
Minsky told of a genetic weakness, unstable in tune.
Whilst Mr. Apples blows out, the candlelit room.
Unemployment high rise, drizzled; in puddles of Honey.
‘Voldemort’s’ on your back, boiling you like ‘Bugs Bunny’!
Pollution choking tongues, with glitter kisses of Silk.
As you sit sipping on wooden straws, curdled in Milk.
Fine Brown Sugar which Crystallises, ‘Political Winks’.
Normalisation on tap, like Pepper Whiskey, one drinks.
‘Power Rangers’ mogadon, by suede booting with a tick.
‘It’s a Rat Race’ fully stemmed, by a: ‘Colourful Prick’.
Copyright © 2017 by Bernadette O’Horo.
Published in my book entitled: Liquorice in 2017 available at:
Photograph imported from
Quote: “Tap. Tap. Tap. Our Hearts are their stomping ground, because they keep spinning us right round with Austerity. Where’s Prosperity?”. {The Bolt 2017}.



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