Rush Hour on Christmas Eve


ζ Poetry by Matthew Duggan ∫ Art by Tamara Stephas ζintersection

Through the window on the bus


Harvey Nicols

golden shapes of the letter H admired from a paupers look;

My fellow commuters

stare occasionally at the yellow raindrops

that bounce on the window –  yet most mainly gaze

into personal

squares small, medium, and oblong!


We all sit in praise positions

Shapeless and not moving, only when

the blink of circling blue sirens shoot by;

awakes the voiceless from their silence.


While outside

the credit fury has launched

bargain hunter’s eyes

painted with a tinsel red,

the consumers wild animal

unleashed and dangerous

when not fed.


The foaming roar of the shopping ruck

shoulder charging the one path shopper with glittery bags of throw away tack,

All for that one special day

in late December.

 right-of-way (1)



Try and convert me – Radicalize me

feed me those Fairy tales

Brotherhood and God,

I can and will analyse

switching on my moral compass

for I walk no path for master or prophet,


Dangling gardens of delight – Promises of deathly rewards,

in heavens of white light


blood thirsty sins

will be ignored, I ask you one question

‘How many more eyes on both sides of this war must it take?’


All for a battle of spiritual dominance

for a God that may or may not exist,

I think I will resist


work towards having one day

when the world is at peace,       Instead

Bombs      Sharpnel      Death     Oil        Revenge


I ask you one question


‘How many more eyes on both sides of this war


must it take?’


                      Back to the Future


One day man noticed that he wasn’t at war

with himself no velvet entrails of blood washed up on the shore,

no rolling news bulletins

showing reels of warring propaganda,

just clips of new holiday destinations with the latest

updates from the APPLE store.

One day man noticed he was at peace with himself

having been at war ordered

to rape, murder, conquer, enslave,

Now there are NO bullets

with emblems inscribed

with cross and crescent moon.

yet man was really missing

The sound of swirling bullets

That inner-will to survive and control others,

The greed and want to have more than his neighbour

So on this day where NO bombs were dropped

Man got bored

and it lasted for just one day…

ventilation shaft

See more art from Tamara Stephas at © All images copyright 2010-2015 Tamara Stephas




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