• Two Pieces from Steve Hunt •

• Two Pieces from Steve Hunt •

 Steve Hunt is a Manchester based artist and writer.

 

• The Ballad of Pat Jones •

This is a story
Based on real life events
Only the names are fictitious
To protect the innocent
With the lowering
Of her coffin
Into her
Only son’s grave
The reader read
The closing line
Of the final dog-eared Page

Unlike the book
Pat Jones’ life
Would never be read
Again
This was probably
A good thing
As her story
Was one
Of pain
And sorrow
And no
Tomorrows
And a
Never-ending
Shame
And the secrets
And lies
And the whos
And whys
Of a life
Played
On the game
Though the faces
Were new
The story
Was old
And would be told again
For as long
As people
Long for love
Their lives
Remain the same
It’s
The
Same old story
A lust for glory
As old as
Her profession
A lifelong pursuit of approval
A never-ending lesson
In which
The only thing
Learned is that
Life Is for the living
And death
Is always earned
By those
Who simply
Can’t stand living
So here’s to you
Adele Martine
Or as I knew you
Pat Jones
Your life was hard
But you wore it well
And I love you to your bones
And as long
As people
Long for love
They will
Always be alone
So I’ll drink to you
Adele Martine
Or as I knew you
Pat Jones
Your book was new
The story was old
Your life
Was full of pain
And has been told
And will be told
Again
And again
And again
It’s just
The same
Old
Story
A need
For glory
As old as your profession
A lifelong pursuit
Of approval
A never-ending lesson
But the only lesson
To be learned
Is that love
Is for forgiving
And eternal rest
Is never earned
By those
Who can’t stand living
And with
The lowering
Of your coffin
Into
Your firstborn’s grave
Your daughter read the closing line
Of the final dog-eared page
To her
It was just a story
As old as your profession
A lifelong pursuit
Of approval
For twenty-five pounds
A session
And the only lesson
To be learned
Is that love
Is for forgiving
And eternal rest
Is sometimes burned
By those too fond
Of giving
And with
The lowering of
Pat’s coffin
Into my dear
Dead friend’s
Grave
The reader
Reads the closing line
Of the final Dog-eared Page

 

• The Ace of Diamonds •

All that’s left of the Ace of Diamonds
Is a mound of earth

Cleared in the middle
No bricks or slate
Nor shards of glass
No rubble

It reminds me
Of a Saxon fort
Or burial mound

And the walls of the SS cemetery
Secreted in a forest near Kleve
Its occupants denied marked graves
By their victors

Or the Gestapo headquarters in Berlin
That place of cruelty
Bombed
Or burned
And left
I assume
As a monument
To the conquest of evil

And the supremacy
Of one ideology above another

Now overgrown with lichen
And weeds
And dens of trees
Nature reigns supreme

Who said I may not agree with what you have to say
But I will defend to the death
Your right to say it?

Nothing will grow from the small fort
It will exist only as a fading memory
A victim of political differences
And the supremacy of one ideology
Above another

Its earth will be levelled
And used as the foundation
For a corporate coffee shop
Or apartment block
Complete with gymnasium
Named Voltaire Tower
Or some other ornamental bastardisation

A gated community
Of nameless strangers
Exuding nothing
Excluding everything

 

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