Live Encounters Poetry & Writing 16th Anniversary Volume One
November- December 2025
Some Total, poems by Les Wicks.
Some Total
Justice occasionally prevails. Once I was counting the votes
until I forgot the names of the candidates. Everyone won.
Dropped so many hates
that my friends thought me clumsy.
Music is food for the soul?
Last week it was just noisy.
Travelled to the glares of a red light district
then flicked the switches. Come Dark.
Marched against a war
discovered it was the wrong one.
Patience is rewarded
as even Satan becomes a shoelace.
Theft isn’t redistribution
but maybe…
Roll with the punches
better yet avoid them altogether.
The best exercise is touch
trivial as a hope.
We are all in the river
wish it was cleaner.
The Flight from Permanence
Before I fall
close my eyes.
As the dead pile up around me
I only think I’ve chosen a side.
Even falling needs a peak.
Close my eyes.
We have artificial intelligence
but still not got intelligence right.
Means so much to me
shadow (though my car runs on colour-wheels)
& breeze is breath.
There’s mortality touch.
Count to three then run…
pointless, but we’ll be together.
This planet is inexplicably both depressed & hyper
but there’s still another song.
Common cause. Economy class.
There will be fires tomorrow.
Juggle mice long enough
then your whiskers will twitch but
cabarets are tired of the act.
They misspelt my tattoo
but no one reads anymore. This hazmat suit
is both practical & a liberation from fashion.
Summer was a habit — like all habits
it had more fun than we did.
Would anyone die for these principles?
Have You Heard?
Everyone’s talking infiltrators.
There’s arson in factories
& truths leaking out about aliens…
they’ve got paperwork. & vote!
If infiltrators are like imposters
regularly thought I was one.
My poems were no passkeys
maybe a few people thought me clever
if somedays the tricks worked to plan.
Having previously edged my way inside love
I knew the plot would be uncovered
because everything is uncovered.
Across a life I’ve snuck past the barriers,
done some damage.
The cause is hopeless
but alternatives were never offered.
A cough insinuates
& I am accused.
Spies like me receive no medals,
a discreet death
garland of dirt.
Deniability grows like an errant vine by the grave
three mourners dance among fallen leaves.
© Les Wicks
Les Wicks — His “career” in poetry has seen him strolling through a minefield, performing at a festival financed by a mob boss & to a one person audience in remote country town. He’s read in a gold mine, a Roman Empire cistern & a madrasah. 15th book of poetry is Time Taken – New & Selected (Puncher & Wattmann, 2022).