Showing posts with label anger. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anger. Show all posts

After The Storm

 


I never thought the I would side with an aggressor.

“Never let the means unjustify the ends"

But it's hard to have honour suffocating under pressure 

When the enemy of the enemy's temporarily your friend.


12 step. Goose step. Misstep. Fall.


Fatalistic, impotent. 

Flailing fetid firmament. 

Perpetually panic-perched

In fight or flight frozen.

But the show's on.

So it goes on.


Mask in metaphor,  mask in reality.

Putting  on the face of a sunny personality. 

Scars in metaphor, scars in reality.

No more question of my strength or my sanity.

Crossfire massacre of crazed masculinity;

No Man's Land is my permanent vicinity;

With extra helpings of aggression at Christmas,

“for old times’ sake" it's a sentimental sickness.


Threat-making, bear-baiting sarcastic cowardice.

Rage-churning, bridge-burning emotional terrorist. 


Promises vomited into pits of lies, bilious

dismissive, supercilious 

and sneering in your bitterness,  you're hideous.

My defence is the simplest;

nullifying narcissistic assaults on my peacefulness 

by finding you ridiculous.

You're piteous and less than this.


I am the carapace that weathers every storm.

I'm the arrow-struck, 4ft thick, besieged fortress wall.

I am Horatio standing on the bridge.

I'm a nanny-goat protecting her kid.


You are a buzzing gnat,

A toxic stinking sewer r*t,

A remnant of an era that

is over and I won't go back.


I've lost count of the times you've tried to inspire suicide 

But my success is measured in the things I have survived

and every time I smile I know I'm breaking free of your control.

My laughter is the fanfare at the rebirth of my soul.


I am stronger now that I'm free.

I am seizing liberty 

My choices are my own (inside constraints of living)

My future is unwritten.

It's only just beginning 

And my life's my own, 

My life's MY OWN. 





(In case anyone was wondering,  we don't use the word R A T in this country. It brings terrible misfortune.)


Winter Solstice

History's hurts burst gracelessly and blur
the polished edges of responses
sponsored by maturity.
Blurting half-burped mutterings of
defensive small-talk offerings
in place of confident honesty.
The maw of malicious memories yawns
and looses vapours venomous,
vines around voice until it leaves a croak.
Crone-dry and bladder-wracked,
hoarse retorts crack
thoughtless reports across the
hectares of unspoken battles fought.

Token offerings to false idols prove the dedication to deceit.
Conceit conceals tears long since congealed
into crevasses carved by rictus grin.
Spinning stories cobweb thin
from which a larder fully stocked with
melancholy memories of mockeries suspends,
an endless supply of abuse.

Cogitations crank and the wheel, it turns.
Burn the lights on the longest night,
for tonight we learn and sacrifice
a sorrow
in exchange for wisdom.
Flames devour, smoke billows,
sour tongue converted to
icing sugar ash,
cinnamon cynicism
and not-in-my-name nutmeg.

Feast upon your fears and you will never feel them again.


Rant

Fear
steers
our ideals.
I like to pretend
my intentions
are guided by pride
in my liberty
but honestly,
it’s obvious
that them and us
mentality
has still in some way
stuck to me.
Headlines. Lies. Wage discrepancies.
Turmoil. Spilled oil. Unwanted pregnancies.
Terror. Hate. Islamic State.
Ukraine. Fascist Spain. Corrective rape.

We are all in the throes of compassion fatigue.

Our syndrome’s symptoms are nationally glaring;
nonchalance not-so-much as simply not caring.
Heads in phones, wearing headphones.
Drown the sound of the world.
Limit your vision to screens
that only show scenes
 you enjoy.

But ignoring a problem doesn’t make it go away.

Borders are force fields that only bureaucrats and Ultra-Nats believe in.
Between here and there
the air is barely blown,
just breathed across the seas
and when it reaches from them to me
it still carries discordant disharmony,
tasting of wasted life,
of sighs and suffering.
 It howls in the night.
Insomniacal  I howl back
attacking the geminid specters of
Worry
and
Guilt
with mindfulness.

Breathe in.  Breathe out.

Leery beasts grow bored of fangs
and inconclusive forms.
As aurora creeps forward
reluctantly they resolve to return
appropriately costumed.
Donning masks of questions asked uncomfortably.
Of bills and will,
sobriety, propriety,
duty, judgments…
I thought once I was free of these.
It turned out I had nurtured alternative anxieties.

If 2014 was the year of mock outrage,
is 2015 the year of sincere apathy?

Disempowered, disenfranchised. disinterested and diseased.
This stiff upper lip is slippery with sweat
and yet, and yet…
we plough on.
Heads bowed.
Backs bent.
Begging bowls deflecting heat.

Al l the better to beat you with, my dear.

From this disadvantage point we focus
on dropped litter
unscooped poop
and the life-changing necessity
of gadgets built with slavery.
When did we lose sight of reality?
We’re the quiet kid in class.
We gave them our lunch money when they asked.
Right now we’re being left alone but we know they’ll be back.
Attacks on disability, on obesity,
on smokers, on pensioners…
all in the pipeline.
And in time
even you.

Spurious statistics trick citizens into soul sickness.
Scared of what strangers might say
they toe the line.
Seeking only to be allowed to survive.
Never even dreaming of the freedom to live.

Times are hard for dreamers.

But is this really the time to be dreaming?

Massacres masquerade as aid resulting in mass graves and raids
and despite all this we still maintain
that we’ve done nothing wrong.
As long as we ignore Mrs Doasyouwouldbedoneby
We are living and
they are dying
by the bad mistakes we are making.
Simple moral codes forsaken.
Deserted water babies we are,
gasping, gulping in the arid air.
Mrs Bedonebyasyoudid
blows the lid on thoughtless theories.

Preposterous postulations applied to human populations,
pushing politics, suffocating nations.
Freedman economics makes
slaves of man to profits.
It galls me to know that both bullets and blossoms
are patented
with pocket linings in mind.
We click, click, click on little links,
as if it makes a difference.
We: raise awareness.
They: raze cities to the ground
in our name.
As a life-long, tie-dyed, self-sufficient Dove
I’ve always had faith in the power of peace and love
but I’m beginning to see the
necessity of action.

Funding and fueling feuding factions
is certainly not a diplomatic tactic learned at charm school.
Such cruelty only stokes the hate,
chokes the hope,
halts the growth
and seals the fate
of recipients of its offensive.

And it is offensive
to tell you that out of 287 plane crash victims,
8 were British.
As if that’s the only reason it’s a tragedy.
Assume the air of supremacy.
Motherland knows best.
These modern-day quests
to slay behemoths of our own creation
are an exercise in the power of misinformation.
Cnut now I stand ,thigh-deep in blood
and rage at the rising tide.
Sweetness swept away in the flood.
Read the bones that remain.

We are all in the throes of compassion fatigue.
Ignoring a problem doesn’t make it go away.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Resolve to return
empowered, enfranchised, interested and enraged.
The life-changing necessity of
attacks on spurious statistics
seek the freedom to live.
The choices are simple moral codes.
Make a difference.
Stoke the hope.
It’s a tragedy to assume the air of supremacy.

This world is our creation.



This (long!) poem was inspired by conversations with a few dear friends. We all feel something in the air at the moment. It feels like change. We hope we're right. 

Garnering Respect

Iconoclasts
have come, at last
to save us from this drudgery.
This too-easy, this clear to see
hegemony.
But icons as they are say what
They want and not
the truths we seek;
brutally bleak, more earnest than just
freakishly banal.
Their hype and zeitgeist distort the swarm
redefine the form of normality.
Crudely mis-marketing misogyny and misandry
as pride.
Another cardboard enemy
a Goldstein drawn among us to deride.

A different one allows themselves to be
unformed; unsure; walks clumsily.
This unvarnished personality
without polished paid publicity is kept
as curiosity, held up as sideline eccentric
to reject
at will.

And they will.

Using nebulous concepts like
Standards, or
Breeding, or
Culture
as excuses to slaughter to the screeching of vultures
or whatever altar serves best the purpose being pushed.
And the person being crushed by such faltering disservice
does not stop being a person when you’re hungry for their blush.

Objects made of people will ultimately fail.
“Neither use nor ornament”; it’s the old wives’ sliding scale.
Old wives, old knives, old scores to settle.
Metal measures mettle but the meter always morphs.

Intangible out-fluences – diluting stimulations
Reactionary conflation of the story you would tell
Intrinsic expectation of how disgracefully you fell
from the pedestal they put you on, the one you didn’t build.
It grew beneath your feet in the instant you stood still.

Starlet in the spotlights, frozen, blind, wide-eyed.
Demanding penance for your daring to have a private life.
Sordid little details now publicly discussed.
Using terms like “unladylike” and “ashamed” and “disgust”.

Hold your head up high, dear; fear is something they’ve not earned.
Their weak attempt to dampen your flame that brightly burns
Is just a pissing contest. You’re treading on their toes.

The days of rule by bully-force are coming to a close.

Malcontented Walrus Man

Somehow he oozes free
from a car designed for a being
a fraction of his mass.
Ego-swollen, he appears to have made
an inescapable life jacket of his self importance.
His tiny, malice-filled head and disproportionately scrawny neck
are the knot on his body's balloon.
He patronises women
while imagining them naked.
Leering at their turned backs.
Sycophantic to their faces.
Bullying and deceitful
he counts tears and anguish as conquests.
I wonder, will he ever taste his own medicine?
Chaos and finger-pointing, gossip and harrasssment.
He does not deserve compassion.

Call To Arms



Every day I read the news with growing trepidation.
It’s regression on a massive scale. The end of civilisation.
We’re not punishing those that caused this mess with lies, with greed, with ego.
But blaming folk who’ve nothing done and warring with nations we don’t know.
What year is this? Who’s in control? Where is Lady Justice?
She’s bound and gagged in a divan bed. Ransomed for the fame of her captress.
Of equal weight (or so we’re told) to celebrities, diets and twerking.
The blood on her sword is only her own so clearly, this system’s not working.
The children that need us the most,
Tragically fall through the ‘net
And children are taken when good parents seek help and hysterical healthcare objects.
Open your eyes and ignore the damned press! They have profits to make, don’t you see?
Horrors that happen go unreported and affect us – that’s you - and it’s me.
I do not believe it is really so hard to lay aside neighbourly spite
And just keep an eye out, get involved and speak up if something just doesn’t seem right.
Notice the pensioned! They are people too and their stories are going untold.
As we focus on disposable incomes of youth and deny our own growing old.
I don’t have the answers. I’m not the Messiah (or even a naughty boy),
I am just one person, sick of the nonsense and sick of acting coy.
I’m not asking for money, or a signed petition, or change in far flung lands.
I’m saying your community needs you before it ends up in God-knows-whose hands.

Get involved. Take an interest. Speak up! Go out!

Disenfranchisement is dead.

Earnestness is the future!

And without it?

Total extinction instead.


Christmas 2002

Once there were three:
The magic number-
3 witches; 3 wishes; 3 wise men.
Maiden runs away; goes to see a crone.
The witch of the East
My, my - how she's grown.
They smile and compare notes
but will scars tell the whole story?

Then there were four.
Ugly; clunky; boxed.
4 sides. 4 corners. 4 angles.
Parallels everywhere.

There are no witches in mathematics.
Only mother's apples pi.

Dispensary Blues

I am sick of helping the sick
And getting nothing in return.
No sick pay, no thanks.
Just above minimum wage I earn.
I am sick of hearing how things will improve
As another friend's hours get cut or removed.
I am sick of the blame and the lawsuits I risk
Because of mis-prescribed medicines that do not exist.
The lack of support and unbearable pressure
When every day things just get worse and not better.
Vocations unvalued and talents deterred
instead of encouraged. Profits preferred.
Insomnia's nightmares curse all those that care.
Long term dispensers in this firm are rare.

Speaker Celebrity

Three years of ridding myself of my rage
left me bellaputrescent and old for my age.
I appear to you now as a mere wizened spectre;
A wrinkled and cynical regret collector.
My most squalid and heartbroken version of self.
Insurmountable walls built on negative wealth.
Don't judge me on all of my confident bluster.
The truth is so human, severely lacklustre.
The best metaphor is that I am a pearl;
A wist-wasteful woman in guise of a girl.
Layers of glamour, a heart made of sh**;
My place in this world an uncomfortable fit.
Now hollow of eye, of cheek and of heart
I fantasise daily of ways to depart
and romanticise leaving no remnant behind;
Of wiping all memories of me from all minds.
Don't get me wrong, it's not my own demise
that's driving me now - I'm no suicide.
I want retrospectively not to exist.
I would never have chosen a life such as this,
knowing now what I know. If I knew then
that my life would be guided by follies of men
so selfish and cold they can't even admit
when they've lied. Would I want it? Not in a fit!
They tell me that if I pretend long enough
-at happiness, love and all of that stuff-
that one day I'll wake up and I'll feel content
walking this finite and f***** firmament.
They tell me that life isn't really so bad,
that I am environmentally sad,
that all will improve, given hope, given time.
"It's just circumstantial. Try going outside."
So I straighten my face and strengthen my defense
And once more construct my perfected pretence -
That I'm choosing to live, I've the world on a plate.
That I'm not just a selfish and boring ingrate.
And who knows what will be in the days still to come?
Not me, if I freak, chicken out and just run.
Now I bid you good day, tip my hat, flash a smile
and invite you to wander this path for a while
and keep walking until we emerge in the sun.
For my life in the shadows is near enough done.

Surely?


Mindless Burblings

It's too late to leave
We're all here now
Why don't we make the best of it?
We could stay and chill, maybe take some pills.
Mutilation? I don't like the scent of it.
You saw me fall, you aren't so tall
and now we've facts to face again.
"Crush your head 'til you feel dead"
That's the motto of this nation.
Love of hate, let's make a date
for the ultimate destruction
It's over now,
well anyhow,
it's not gonna go much further
There is a word for what we sell,
I think you say it "murder"
Why do we live when we should die?
It's not the natural order
You say you hate us all - You lie!
Remember Eve? You adored her!
You laugh and smile and paint and tile,
It's an expected rejected cover
I know you've been betrayed before,
The wounds must still be bleeding
Your body's cold,
it's much too old
to deal with this feeling
Flowers and hearts and poison darts
aren't enough for space exploration
Churches and pubs and new born bubs
will be the downfall of civilisation
Italics and sporadic reasoning skills
are pointless until resurrection
Bimbos and life skills and alcohol and many pills
will be the cure for this temptation
Theology and belief are no relief for this terrible
self-deprecation

Love: All

To err is human, to forgive divine
What course of action will be thine?
Heroic vengeance, stoic acceptance.
How sincere if any repentance?
A tree does not know it is wretched
But wretched is all that I am.
For I know I know nothing and inside that nothing
is the knowledge that all that he was was a sham.
And the fear of losing my unknowing had
Who was there when I called on my way to being mad.
The only one I called when it all went to shit
Who knew of my tears and my chemical habit.
The others passed 7 long years in the dark
As I wandered wasted our common-themed park.
Now this new attraction, so shiny and slick!
But is it honey or venom that drips from each click?
"I've seen love from both sides now" and other songs like such
And honestly for me the emotion gets too much.
I always retreat to the space in my head which opens to stardust and perceptional shift.
Not induced by drugs or anything more than a headache as felt by young Alice.
but I'm losing the point now; my reason is this:
I'm teetering on a lfe precipice
And it's not up to me on which way I will slide.
All engines are dead now, I nothing but glide.
How heady this high blood pressure!
How heavy the weight of the world!
In this humidity, no wonder my hair is starting to curl.
And I can do nothing but pass back and forth
Like a tennis ball, final, Wimbeldon court
And it's Love: All

No Apologies

My heart belongs to another,
My body another still.
Some things I cannot explain to you dear
And other things I never will.
My life is my life and
Your wants are your wants:
The pair will rarely agree.
So please stop trying to take me to bed,
Pure sex is just not for me.
I require a further connection of minds,
Of rhythms, of values, of life.
I’m not just another ridiculous girl,
I’m the woman all men want as wife.
How dare you think me so accessible?
I’m shrouded in love and surrounded by walls
And all your attempts with be no good at all.
I’ll gift you with nothing but memory’s recall
Of a want unfulfilled
And a woman strong willed
And beautiful, gifted and tall.

Bitterly Cold

How dare the Sunshine show his face,
When with illusory Autumn Summer’s replaced
And offers only cold embrace
To those who crave his warmth the most?
But cradles the cruel and wantonly idle
Whose joys are temperate and tidal;
Who never do a thing but sidle
Out of work and blithely boast.