Lockdown Shopping

Lockdown Shopping

With an empty bag and a nearly empty stomach,

I traversed the less than gentle slope to the shops,

With letter in my hand and a bit of money after bills,

I delivered the envelope at the top of the hill,

To the shop I then walked just a cross of a road,

I put on my black foam mask so inside I could go,

The sign said please wait for a customer to leave,

So right there I stood calmly waiting patiently,

A woman walked up behind and said are you queing,

Yes I said to her that is what I am doing,

I am waiting for a customer to leave,

And I pointed to the sign that instructed me,

Another woman arrived and said can’t we just go in?

She went in the door and started her shopping,

The other woman followed just pushing past me,

So I picked up a basket and entered reluctantly,

I slowly observed the shelves and found things to buy,

Kept my distance from shoppers as they swaggered the isles,

Once I’d done my chores and was on my way home,

Tears began falling for no reason that I know,

Another woman walked past and I wondered if she saw,

I had no idea what the tears were for,

It was only when I got home and checked what I had bought,

A carton of milk was broken and had spilt all over the floor.

Rowan Tree Poetry

#LockdownPoetry

Digital Art by Rowan Blair Colver

Full Stretch

Full Stretch

I am the confused socialist,

Demanding equality,

And opportunity for all,

Yet I hate the government,

And regard them as thieves,

When human nature is barbaric,

I know that we have all seen it,

We don’t need taxation, schools, and police,

I am an anarcho-socialist,

I want fairness and order among all,

But I will not tolerate power,

Authority is the enemy of all,

In my view we’d all get along,

If only we had the chance,

So I keep my ad blocker turned on,

And in designer music clothes I prance,

I’m not part of the system,

It’s just me and my favourite bands,

The organic produce subsided for me,

And housing benefit I don’t see,

They pay my rent and enough for food,

Those bastards in the ruling elite,

How dare they make the rules that I use,

Leading the way for a nation I’m in,

We don’t need people to make us play fair,

Force me out of my electricity arrears,

There’s plenty of money and plenty of heart,

Let me be myself and make half-baked art,

No contribution not really you see,

Just some puerile and immature poetry,

Yes, I’m a confused socialist,

I have no need for masters,

I want everything to be equal,

With no-body to force us.

Rowan Tree Poetry

Art by Rowan Blair Colver

Into The Woods

Into The Woods

By Rowan Tree Poetry

Within this bewitchment of trees,
In which forest glimmer decanters keys,
Of shimmering sound in harmony,
And betrothed enchantment sings,


How can these spriteful dances play,
In structured helter-skelters of game,
Here-in reason here-in the rain,
Creaking of branches each have a name,


Taken in firelight toward impassioned allure,
Spellbound and hand-held by opening doors,
Which way is no matter they are for all,
Spindles of creation all that you are,


Sit calmly in lightcraft by windows and books,
Watch the shadows from crannies and nooks,
See how they stretch out and shift as you look,
The world is a metaphor for the time that it took.

Rowan Tree Poetry

All A Glisten by Rowan Blair Colver

Badge of Dishonour

Badge of Dishonour

Don’t pin that badge on my chest, I don’t deserve it not like the rest, I didn’t earn through disrespect, Double standards and no retrospect, Don’t pin that medal on me, I don’t destroy anyone’s country, Just to prove a moral objective, From a singular perspective, From an infinite scope out there, I refuse to plant seeds of despair, Not for you or me or anyone, We are children of the same sun, I won’t point at a difference, And suggest it should be relevant, In fact I will push the opposite way, If you pin this badge on me today, You’re no better than they, Who assume and accuse, Beat, batter, and bruise, For unrelated crimes.

Scott Free

#StandUpToRacism #OnePlanetManyFaces #GetUsedToIt

The End Of An Age

The End Of An Age

The age of the Anti-Christ,

Is crawling to a close,

Flogged and bleeding,

The weight of generations,

Strapped to its back,

The age of the self,

Is fading into black,

Where me is a by-word,

For God and the first number,

Shudder and quake,

As mountains give way,

Their boulders building a temple,

Around your cavernous tomb,

In days of final thrashings,

The reanimated id of humanity,

Functioning in the dream,

Hating behind the scenes,

And breathing all over me,

Fallen is the scarlet city,

Bedraggled and haggard,

Clinging on to vanity,

Afforded by profanity and woe,

It is time for them all to go,

The curtain call is neigh,

In these final days of the Anti-Christ,

Where the world outpours in grief,

In these days of closing stories,

The lucifer we all see.

Scott Free

visit my blog: alternativefruit.com