MAL's FACTORY - Poetry & Prose Poems

A companion to THE WORD OF SINNA LUVVA blog. An Outlet for new poems, drafts of poems and even rediscovered or reworked ones! For more poetry by Malcolm Evison see the Related Sites listing.

Friday, October 13, 2017

Towards An Autocratic State - a poem (impromptu response to a High Court ruling)

Towards An Autocratic State
(apropos the ruling against the CWU)

Greater love hath no judge
than to lay down the law
against the working man –

Thou shalt not interfere
with the profiteers
whom we have gifted with

these former assets
of the nation state

Malcolm Evison

12 October 2017

Thursday, September 14, 2017

Proprietary Rites


These aches, these cruel
crucifying pains
do not belong to me -

today they own me,
clamping my lower limbs
in their psychotic embrace.

Through throbbing knees
and tiresome aching hips
they pour out scorn

on all my hopes
of overcoming;
today, they overwhelm me.

Malcolm Evison

14 September 2017

(Draft V)

Friday, August 04, 2017

Thursday, July 20, 2017

For These Small Mercies (we proffer thanks)

For These Small Mercies (we proffer thanks)

Today, so far at least,
is one of gentle shattered-ness;
welcome relief

from yesterday’s griping
pain and aches.
An ever present undertow,

of generalized discomfort,

still leaves the space
for a richly varied range
of sensory attacks.

Will it be muscles,
joints, gastritis, or other
less easily defined

components of
the neurological kind.
Today at least

I have enjoyed a time
of gentle relaxation,
an ease of body

and a calmer mind.

                                          Malcolm Evison
                               20 July 2017

Saturday, June 10, 2017

Man For His Age - a poem


Care-worn he leads
his guilt free life,
turns fears
into a bar-room joke –

he never fails
though sometimes falls
a victim to
“the changing times”.

Suburban heroes never weep,
they share with celluloid
an inability to bleed.

He veils his sorrows in
a sentimental song
and never sins –

his standards are complete
and up to date.

A true son
of a dying race.

                Malcolm Evison

Tuesday, May 23, 2017



The pain of not to know
a words true meaning -
(a heartfelt paradox
so tautologically entwined)

brain travels inscapes
of the mind

the universe declaims
I AM - the exocentric
altar. Delving
through layers of time

exploring a fresh terrain -
we dream of worlds
where words were not yet

known. We fail to understand.

Seeking our solace
in links with primal man -
we feel the air vibrate

with all our fears,
and through the storm
we hear the voice that tears
at our discretion.

All is, and nought eludes
our sense, each particle
is new, and each the wholeness.

Then vision fades.

Unable to untie
our deepest fears,
from realms of theory,

we seek salvation
in vacuity -

unable to unite
the reasons for this life
with joy in living

we yearn for sunlight
to dissipate the gloom -
at each encounter
ache for renewed creation.

The phase explodes -

gone is all sense
and reason yields
to circumstance.

Our reminiscence magnifies
the mis-spent days -
heroic sacrifice
now reeks of self-abuse.

Our word-linked knowledge
looks to primal man -

speaking of worlds
where words were not yet known -

no matter how we squirm
we fail to understand

that words
are still the master
of the man.

                              Malcolm Evison