Shrinkflation

 It’s heady times we’re living in!

Full pelt, high tilt, heading for oblivion,

watching the numbers on labels go up and 

pounds in pockets go down.

See the same all over town;

Three pints and a game of pool is now

One pint nursed over an evening.

Only there ‘cause it’s cheaper than the heating.

Choice between bus fare and eating.

Fancy portmanteaus to hide reality of meaning.

They call it Shrinkflation.

I call it profit-motivated, cronyist complicity in mass starvation.

Theirs is catchier.

 Whatever.

Have you eaten jelly babies recently?

When I opened my packet last night, 

The fright! 

The horror! The drama! The scene!

Half the kids had been kidnapped! 

I reached for my phone,

I had to call the police!

But then I remembered - they’d already know.

It’s been happening for decades at least.

We can talk about Freddos, too,

or car parts, or diesel, or booze

but my first glimpse of this dastardly practice

was mightily unsavoury -

you’ll have to forgive me for this.

How do I put this without getting banned?

Do you know what an eight of an ounce is in grams?

It’s 3 and a bit.

An eighth of an ounce once cost twenty quid!

And pound for pound we’re weaker than ever,

Tenuously taking steps while the tensions tighten in our tethers.

More debt, more struggle, less hope,

no matter how you rearrange it.

Recognising failures in the system doesn’t change it.

Standing idly by, 

blithely buying into blindfolds

blinged beyond belief

Offering ornamental oblivious relief 

from all the 

actions and inactions and reactions

and rot.

What’s it all for anyway?

We are sinking in the mire of our own making.

Taking too long to make choices,

fry replaced the song in our voices

long ago. It’s starting to show.

The foundations of civil edifice begin to splinter.

Yet to arrive are the fuel privations in the midst of bitterest Winter.

Still Summer,

still sunshine and clammy.

No bees, no insect bites from midges this year.

Just pollen dusted lashes and cheeks streaked with allergic tears.

Instability of emotion, 

plankton massacres in oceans,

death cult levels of devotion

to illogical half baked notions

and the over saturation of fear.

One in 6 adults here are on medicines for depression. 

When will we admit there’s nothing wrong with us,

but this path is cobblers

and we’ve broken heels.

It’s time to fix it. 

Here’s the deal. 

Leave the drama to the actors.

Consider the possibility of favourable factors.

Candles give both warmth and light.

Emulate them. Stop this simulation 

of projected self and merely

hold your own.

Solidify you source of ignition,

find truth lies in your intuition.

Be forthright,

Try, try, try, try again.

Offer help to strangers and friends.

We’re going to need it.

Perseid Nights

The gift of a science celestial.

It’s the atmosphere’s firework festival.

The night is a warm one, breath-catchingly clear

with the galaxy’s profile an ethereal smear.

Cricked necks and curses at errant headlights

as space detritus burns up in the heights.

But,

beware, beware

adoringly gawping,

star-strickenly fawning

ignoring the floor

and where you’re walking

‘cause you’re outside, right?

And on these humid Summer nights

your every step is beset by

slugs.

These slithy gherkins

lurking; determinedly

mucously marking their paths

Those hobos hopefully hunting

sustenance

by the garden fence

are often tragically reduced

to a smear

less ethereal and more entrails.

When we noticed all our potential victims

of heavy footed murder, we picked, toe-tipping

across the pitch-dark path, therein

turning eyes to earth and star-sights missing.

It occurred to me the verse of learning is hidden in everyday things.

For if we live for the spectacular

we risk that sickening crack you hear

when crushing Sluggy’s cousin

to oblivious oblivion.

Similarly,

if we diligently

avoid this genocidal killing spree

we miss all the good stuff.

With eyes for the earth

and cricked necks and curses at the errant soles’ hurt.

There must be equilibrium.

At the hem of the horizon

the cleaving beam of the valiant beacon,

halfway between there and back again.

This suffocating compromise blinds us

to both wonder and loss.

When faced with this decision

I find I’d rather play

a game of sluggish hopscotch

and watch meteors when I may.

I’ll give you back your even keel,

your solid, dependable lighthouse deal

I’ll reel

with my nadirs and zeniths instead.

For as long as I’m feeling

I know I’m not dead.

Clown.

Just one more clown in his circus you are.
Such a public mockery.
You are a tool in his all-consuming self-love.
Unwilling to face the one way, blackhole nature of it all.
You stand in painted smile.
The audience watch clutching breath
for him to pull out the chair.
The ringmaster owns your eyes and time.
Are you so blinded by footlights
that you can truly call this
astounding self-degradation
love?

Just one more clown in his circus you are.
Watch the pretty girls lead the horses away.
The spectacle is leaving town.

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?

Affirmation

Even in the midst of night
the distant wail of T-Rex's cousins
reach me.
And even when I am not right
and fall and fail I let the lessons
teach me.
And in the hours I feel alone
I remind myself of the myriad network
around me.
And all the things as yet unknown;
Concerns of health and joy that lurk
astound me.                            [impound me]                           (glass is half...)

I refuse to forget who I am.
I refuse to forget who I am.
I refuse to forget.

A Good Talking To

Heed the prophet as she comes;
bitten nails, mascara runs.
What once entranced now nauseates.
Love once inspired, now apathates.
No balls for you, young Cinder-Zappa.
Weak and cowardly. Empty wrapper.
Betrayer of your youthly self,
Now 9 to 5 and on the shelf.
Uncreative, antisocial.
So far removed it's downright woeful.
The slip so far to what you are
can only treasured memories marr.
Reclaim yourself, take back the night.
Keep your goals within your sight.
Self-sabotage and confidence lack
have stolen years you'll never get back.
Forget the times you could have made it,
before your chance and youth have faded.
Focus now on what will be
as working truly sets you free.