David Whittingham Poems

The sun is shining,
The skies are clear,
Everything is close,
That I hold dear,
...

I swim the majestic depths,
I eat what I need,
But I am Angry,
I hate the pray that is not my
...

I love this life,
Sworn to serve the poor,
My body honed to perfection,
With the life style,
...

You must finish,
Ten poems,
By the end of the day,
And only then,
...

I hate you all,
After all I've done,
Not a single second taken from you’re day,
A pound for an internet connection,
...

The look of contempt in my friend’s eye,
My love, now turned to hate,
That patronising, faked smile,
So afraid to even acknowledge me,
...

I am the White, the minority, all alone. My life is poor, knocked about, bashed around, hit painfully, by uncaring hands. Beaten with sticks, bleeding blue blood.

So I strike out at others, it doesn’t matter what colour. It’s their fault. If they weren’t there, I wouldn’t need to be hit; over and over by uncaring hands. I could rest. Happy. But those in charge don’t care. Do I want to? What choice do I have?
...

Some would call me wrong, or call me evil, demon, black hearted or merciless.
Perhaps they are right.
I don’t mind objection
Everyone has an opinion.
...

A diner for the rich,
Eating the worst part,
Of the finest animals,
For the most money,
...

I sit watching evolution,
Turned into a game,
For everyone,
To bring there creature from a lava,
...