Writings by Thomas Radwick. Mostly poetry and lyrics. t_radwick@yahoo.com

Little Angel Glow

He laughs through a strained face
like wind from an underground train.

“I just boast over the beats, me!
Mix in some funky blips and
talk street and—here’s the key—

stir in girls who coo
like whores in a limosine
parked beside a big church!

You get that little angel
glow in the chorus and
ch-
CHING!
you got a fantasy

that lets you get rich
off the poor!”

And he winces that grin again
through a face like a map
of a war.



.

Give It Away

You wake up under a thick
Fog of dream
You tell yourself it’s not as
Bad as it seems

You rub two dim eyes
You sigh and rise

A rather battered-looking
Face faces you
In the mirror that you’re
Staring into

It starts to scare you
What can you do?

Time to go and give it away

Out there faces flash their
Gazes at you
Mostly looking either
Battered or cruel

They start to scare you
What can you do?

Each money-maker makes his
Way through the maze
Doing duties that screw
Twists in his face

It’s not a secret
The deal is real

Everybody gives it away

In the maze you meet a
Man on the street
He stinks and jabbers through some
Black broken teeth

He starts to scare you
What can you do?

He’s what happens when you
Crack up and crash
Who was this man before he
Fell through the cracks?

He looks right at you
You see him too

You know you’ve got to give it away

(They say it’s all a game in the maze
And your place in the game is to play)


A guy at work is looking
Desperate and blue
He groans and curses in the
Cube next to you

It starts to scare you
What can you do?

If you ask him ‘bout the
Trouble he’s in
He’ll never only be a
Colleague again

You rub two dim eyes
You sigh and rise

Time to really give it away



.

Memories of a Journey

The twisted hog’s face of the rude old border guard
who looked through the bags in your car.

Driving through the night in the fog and the rain
while the others slept until someone woke and relieved you.

Arriving at the sea at sunset in a town of smiling strangers
who seemed to want nothing from you.

Sleeping like a baby—with hectic intricate world-worried dreams.

The BRAAWK!
(ringing long pause) BRAAWK! of the birds
sailing over the roof when you woke.

The churn of the ferryboat through sun sea air
and islands like moon pyramids.

Swimming in a cool salt lake with big-eyed donkeys on the shore
beneath bleached stone hills full of olive trees.

Heavy dark home-made red wine strong as brandy at dusk.



.

Crack in the Ceiling

Poetry by Thomas Radwick

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