Thought Police
Why are they always men,
these blue-clad figures
who wear our dreams like badges
and stare into our eyes,
bright lights behind them,
as they check our numbers
and make us count from one to ten
and up and down again.
Be warned:
you can’t walk in the street
without seeing a curtain
flicker at a window;
unseen lips repeat your words
as they wander,
stray cats and dogs,
from house to house.
Walls have watchful eyes
and lusting ears
that clutch each wayward thought
reporting it to people
who have our best interests at heart,
or so they say.
Don’t look up
but there’s someone
leaning over you,
reading these words right now.
rogermoorepoet 
Paranoia paranoia somebody is out to get me…and they are. We have given up our privacy for convenience and a false sense of security. People always say well of you haven’t done anything wrong then you don’t have anything to fear, but you do. Look at the Stasi. Great poem Roger now I am off in a paranoid fugue.
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It was the skeleton from the closet looking over your shoulder! Scares everyone, that does.
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With good reason
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Couldn’t help remembering Thought Police from George Orwell’s 1984.
Well, anyways, nice writing!!
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Probably comes from there. It’s one of those phrases that stick in the mind. Some writers use it for the policeman who keeps correcting our grammar when we write. So: multiple origins. Thanks for visiting and commenting.
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Oh…spooky. Be careful what you say…Lol
Loved it, Roger.
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Restructured it today. Now I’ll have to redo Iberian Interludes one more time. Never mind. We all seek perfection: so few of us ever find it.
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Good thing or we would have nothing left to do…Lol
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Retirement: I know that feeling. “Oh solitude, where are thy charms, that sages have seen in they face. I would rather dwell in the midst of alarms than reign in this horrible place.”
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Love that!
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Well this is a disturbing idea… Although, considering the vast amounts of data mining that goes on these days, it’s almost as if our thoughts are policed. And at this point there’s no unringing that bell….
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There: did you see that shadow? I think they got the garbage cans again and before the security cameras were put in … Oh Maya … Oh Brad … Hey, Meg: look behind you!
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Ahaha! That’s great! At this point my girl Maya should be paranoid!
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Corrie Street calls. I’ll be back later to see what they’ve been up to.
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Alright, very good! Enjoy!
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Their cliff hangers aren’t as good as yours. Too abrupt and not well-worked.
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Thank you Roger! I imagine all my stories as films playing in my head. Cue the dramatic music!
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I too see the scenes and describe what I am seeing (when writing prose). Poetry is slightly different and the words take on different shapes and double meanings. They also parallel and echo each other. Then there is the dialogue with other times and poets.
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I see poetry as a painting, sometimes with subtle yet complex details and other times I hear it as a song handed down from above or pulled from the depths…
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Ut pictura poesis (Horace) / poetry from painting (with words). The musicality can come from numbered syllables, counted carefully on tapped fingers, or it can well up from our own inner words songs.
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