Showing posts with label modern. Show all posts
Showing posts with label modern. Show all posts

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. 

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.


Freshers Love

You tongue your way to my pleasure.

Fist claws cotton.

Breath escapes.

The film plays on -

Unwatched.

Sunlight plays on your spine.

Life continues below.

Our world is now.

If only I could remember your name.

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.

Life as a Legal Drug Dealer

Daily I hunch as a pensive Paolo
Upon the stool of derailed dreams.
Bathing in burning garlic fumes
and the stench of chip fat
long since past its best.
Squinting at the scores on miracle cures
purporting to prolong a painful life.
Apothecary's emanuensis.
Tightrope ballerina between
The Junky
and
The Medicated.
I paddle in their suffering,
bailing out water where I can.
These dosette boats only float for so long.
When they finally drown
I step out.
And carefully dry the skin between my toes.

Return from Sonar

The signs above my head read thusly:
It is 18 degrees C.
It is 4:42 AM
It is prohibited to smoke.
I must wear a seat-belt.
To my right, Americans who are in a pissed off mood with each other.
To my left, the speedy retreat of the Spanish countryside and the lights of Barcelona.
It is now 17 degrees C.
It is now 4:44 AM.
I still can't smoke.
I've taking my seat-belt off.
I am listening to E talking and contemplating my joyful life.
My arse is getting numb.
Bloody rock hard coach seats.
And me with no padding.
My mouth is as dry as a badger and twice as furry.
It is 17 degrees C.
It is 4:47 AM
I really want a fag now.
Fiddling with seat-belt instead.

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.

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

Assorted Notable Texts

Hey Gorgeous! How's it going? I had a word with Pepe Le Pious this eve as he was up to his usual tricks. needless to say he took it like the petulant little tit he is. Do I care? Ha! Do I fuck! X
Ed. 24/8/07

I've had an idea: let's go to Japan by train. London to Cologne is the easy part, sleeper carriage, but Cologne to Moscow is different, difficult. Travelling via Belarus will always be difficult, esp. after the MinskMag expose. Moscow to Vladivostock, the main event is easy! 7 days of North Asian tundra and wilderness and rattling rails! The ferry from the East Russian coast to Japan will be a jape too - chai, seafood, Scrabble. You busy next week?
Robbie. 25/1/07

If the party is finished by then I'll be:
a) Surprised
b) Unhappy and
c) Arrested.
Seumas 27/8/07

I'm happy! My hands are dirty again, my nails with the black inside and I smell badly! Yahoo!
Claudio. 11/02/08

I've typed and then discarded at least 3 variations on the frustrated, emotional, lonely, bored theme & for all the fancy word play and poetic license not one conveyed exactly what I wanted to say, which is, for fuck's sake, someone kidnap me with care and dump me in the unpredictable so my day can start.
Robbie. 14/4/07

So why am I telling you all this? Cause you remind me of Dave. And it fucking scares the fucking shit out of me. And I want you to know that if you just want a joke and a laugh, or a shoulder to cry on, or someone to go dancing with, I'm always here, and you're never alone. I really hope you're laughing at me 'cause I sound like a drunken fool. see you soon.
Dan. 21/01/07

The situation: I'm sitting in an end-up shopping trolley @ a flat party above the Halt Bar, Woodlands Road. 60-70 people thru the door. New LPO organised seated dancing to Manu Chao. Guth, Matt, Louise, been & gone. Stranded, sea of steamers. now simply just in that trolley.
Robbie. 18/2/7

AQA estimates that you could live for around 6 months if all you had was an infinite supply of bluebottles. You'd need to eat a lot of them, though.
AQA (63336) 10/08/07

Glasgow... Saturday morning... people walking to nowhere with proper mind deep in other million places but not here. Glasgow Saturday morning people walking wasted looking for reality. Glasgow Saturday morning... I'm fucking tired.
Claudio. 15/03/08

Did you get a birthing pool? you desreved a short labour. I'm out tonight but you can totally phone me tomorrow, anytime. Glad there were no stiches. Please use birth control for now on. Seriously. my love to you all. Pervert.
Lorraine. 07/03/09

The point being, of course, that the beautiful messages that mean so much to us in these times are only as memorable as the life of your mobile. We don't send cards, love letters, telegrams even. It's such a tragedy.

To all of the above contributors: I love you all.


Basilesque Basilisk

Oh basilesque basilisk, you've captured me again!
No golden fleece of gain to reach, just smoky sublimation.
Fossilised and randomised, enraptured and endangered.
With bloodshot eyes and twitching sighs

And an often.. rather... strange...
 head.

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.

Pig Ignorant


Once upon a Summertime there lived a golden prince
In a palace built from beans that grew from kitchen sinks.
He went outside when midday came and in the midday sun,
For he knew nothing of the tales of dogs nor Englishmen.
He lived to sip his smoke divine upon a throne of stars
And fed his harem apple wine but kept their souls in jars.
This winsome whimsical young Prince ruled with a fist of floss,
With his subjects it was rare if he was ever cross.
And while this prince felt so well loved, he had a fatal flaw;
His face and form were perfect but he was a perfect bore
And all across his kingdom as far the eye could see
Existed none honest or curt with whom he could take tea.
For the prince preferred such topics as his hair, his skin, his bones
And ignored the joys that could be found in ancient dusty tomes.
Not for him were stories, myths or poetry,
Nor were facts, heroic deeds or relativity.
He turned away the callers who tried to feed his mind
But kept the ones obsequious and two faced and unkind.
He never seemed to realise that all his friends were foes
But trusted them implicitly – naivety I suppose.
The ignorant prince was much abused by those reputed wise,
Invisible their evil deeds, before his open eyes.
And then one night The Lady came, (as she is wont to do,
She is never on the guest list of the most discourteous fools),
Arriving lone entombed in night
She was sodden, foreign sight
She carried a world in a ring on her hand, enigma in her eyes
Nary a smile nor giggle nor grin, just th’illegible lines of the wise.
When the courtiers brought her in they all seemed quite unwell,
Mesmerised and stupefied they were under some kind of a spell.
The Prince was most surprised at this; his footmen knew the rules;
His other guests had written in, to say they liked his shoes.
“This isn’t fair, this isn’t right, you can’t just waltz in here,
And interrupt the grave debate of ‘Which is my better ear?’”
The Lady did not answer him but gazed from ‘neath her hood,
She radiated something that was neither bad nor good,
The first plumes of her power had tickled her nose; the Prince tried a different tack
“We will welcome you madam, we’ve plenty to share. Is there something you need that you lack?”
The Lady just stood there, rain dripped from her wrists
As in smouldering silence she dared to persist.
The Prince was intrigued now, his charm on high beam,
This Lady was like no one else that he’d seen.
He clapped his hands, “Assist our guest! I will not have it said
The someone in my house was cold and wet and underfed!”
The courtiers stepped forth as one to help remove her cloak
But as she drew it from her face out billowed turquoise smoke.
She raised her hands entrancing all, “Enough of gentile games!
I’ve come here on a mission. I have far nobler aims!”
The Prince submitted to her power
(It was by far his humblest hour)
The courtiers couldn’t help but cower
The ladies were inspired.
The Lady’s eyes in violet glowed
And all at once Prince was bestowed
With information overload;
Too much at once acquired
Light beamed from the Prince’s agape skyward mouth,
Lightning bolts shot from his ears
As all in one moment he experienced facts
And the wisdom one gains over years.
It filled him with horror, with hope and with fright
It made his a cynic, a poet, a knight.
The Lady was shining, had narrowed her eyes
Had forgotten all of her flimsy disguise
The mutually breathless admirers spectated, no one was stopping for wine.
They knew what they witnessed would carry them years, on this they could endlessly dine.
The lightning bolts flickered and faded to rain
The Prince closed his mouth, his composure regained
And once more the Lady controlled his attention
Eyeing him sagely, He was under inspection.
Said she;
“Weary Prince I bestow thee
With a somewhat questionable gift
I do hope it will find pleasure from thee,
But if not, let it cause not a rift
For this is an offer, you might not accept
And all I have given you yet is the concept.
The problem you see, is it’s like a tattoo,
And therefore once done is the devil to undo.
I know that for some this would just tantalise
I’d be run over by them in their rush to subscribe
But for you, feckless prince, it may be the other
You’d amble off home, say, ‘It’s too much like bother”
And what if you changed your mind half way through?
What if you realised it’s just not for you?
This taster you’ve had will fade when you sleep
But if you want more you will have it for keeps”
The courtiers exchanged some looks, most unprofessionally,
They realised their lives could swerve away from milk and honey.
The vizier removed his hat and squeegeed off his head.
The silken cloche was soaked in sweat, his eyes were filled with dread
The ladies’ fans were all aflutter – was this the longed-for day?
To stop feigning stupidity and the end of all things fey?
Prince raised one hand in punctuation
“Dear Lady you fill me with much consternation
You have given me the fruity brambly bit,
But before I reached cedar you forced me to spit
And now you inform me of your heavy game
A choice between different or more of the same,
Between fear and vanity, humility and bliss,
Creed and hedonism and so forth like this.
I require contemplation, a pool to reflect
Without others’ input to urge or reject
And so we will gather here one hour hence
And I shall dismount from this perilous fence.”
He nodded quite stiffly and smiled with a grim
Little glint in his eye and a granite hard chin.
No more just the narcissist, so fauxly coy
No more just the whimsical “why not?” boy.
This was now a man with courage, strength and gravity
But heavy shoulders burdened with responsibility.
The next 60 minutes performed, as they must
With Time’s cruellest trick and they stretched into dust.
The chairs in the hall disarrayed to a skelter
As the guests hurried off to the smoking shelter.
The Lady said nothing but sat on the floor
Surrounded by trifle, potatoes and more:
Platters of sweetmeats and slices of tongue
Some with delicate perfume and some with true pong.
All went untouched as the Lady just waited
For she had a hunger that could not be sated
By titbits or tasters or flavours galore.
Her eyes were now glowing the purest azure
She shuddered and shimmered, then froze statuesque.
The Vizier fancied himself basilisk
Then slumped rather glumly to consider his fate
And whether it was wise for him to await
The Prince’s decision. If Princey awoke
To the fact that His leadership was a joke
The first thing He’d say would be “Off with your head!”
Quite right after all of the lies He’d been fed.
With this echo in mind the Vizier resolved
To empty the treasure pod of all of its gold
Before the Princely announcement was made.
That way his streaky old bacon he’d save.
He slithered away inside a breath
A mucilaginous sweat trail was all that he left.
Oblivious he to Her observation,
She would find time to reward this shrewd auto-salvation.
With five minutes left the crowd reassembled,
Refilled their glasses, excitedly trembled
Their singular focus was a scarlet curtain
Behind which their future was being made certain.
The courtiers, the ladies, the laymen all gasped
As their Prince re-emerged seeming breathing his last
His golden hair ashen, his skin was the same
He huffled and shunched his once elegant frame
And finding his throne gripped its arms for support
A little bit more than for his age he ought.
Called the Lady most firmly, “Well then, we’re all waiting.
What did you learn from your deep cogitating?
Have you made a decision? If not flip a coin,
I have other appointments and gifts to deploy.”
The Prince stroked the space where his beard should be
And let loose a sigh to the power of three.
“Officious visitor, what have you done?
You have made me aware of my own bumbledom.
Now self-aware sociopath, unfulfilled hero
Without a believable stroke of the ego.
And my court! Such sycophants! Self serving subjects!
Not one word of truth or kindness or respect.
How did this happen? And yet, this I know.
Apolaustic life. Avoidance of woe.
Omphaloskepsis and self aggrandising
Were pastimes delightful and quite hypnotising.
My blinkers of nescience now ripped from my face
And the bright lights of truth burn my eyes in their place.
Do none of you care what the future will be?
Or do you delight in epicaricacy?
Flippertigibbets advice I have heeded
But responsible leadership was what was needed.
This gift of enlightenment is wrongly named
For it burdens my soul and my conscience with shame.
A mockery of this land’s honour and grace
Kakistocracy with it my deeds did replace.
How can I ever recover from this?
Will I ever again experience bliss?
Ever consumed by improvement’s endeavour,
So many poisonous drip-feeds to sever.”
The Lady now tutted and tossed back her hair:
Pretty interruption with much practised flair:
“Come come, now! Indulgence of speeches aside
Have you chosen knowledge or the boetian side?”
“I was coming to that, will you please have some patience?
I need to explain my hour long machinations.
Now where was I? Oh yes. It’s coming back now.
The question of what I would give up and how.
To know what I was and the work it will take
To restore some dignity, corruption to break
Is most overwhelming and a life long campaign.
From parties and pleasure I’d have to refrain.
Get my hands dirty, permit age’s wrinkles
To sully this face. Tired eyes do not twinkle.
I would have to confront and debate and condemn
Set an example, be a man amongst men.
I would lose all my gusto and vivacity
With no time for laughing or cakes and cream tea.
I wouldn’t have people to tell me I’m gorgeous
Or be woken by the “We Love You” chorus.
No hours ruminating on trousers or shoes
At board games I might even once or twice lose.
And replacing these joys, what‘s the exchange?
Effortful living and stress induced mange.
I would miss all the costumes and much of the mirth
I ask you; is knowledge truly of this worth?”
“Answering me is your deep-set conceit
You‘re an unchanged poltroon, Princey my sweet.”
Her eyes were glittering, but the Prince took no notice,
So absorbed was he in atrabilious morosis.
“My answer is this: take it all away.
Nay. I say. Nay - I say. Once again, nay!
I can’t face dealing with each cockalorum
Or policy debates or learning decorum.
I don’t want to know about poverty or pain,
I would prefer each day of my life was the same;
A sweet carousel of earthly pleasures,
Time consumed with chores of leisure.
I fail my people for my people failed me.
If this is so bad, install democracy!
Puppet Prince I was and choose to always be.
This narcissistic life is warm. Wisdom is lonely.
I hope you understand, my dears. I hope you do not mind.
I just want to forget all this and return to being blind.
Lady, your instructions included nepenthe sleep.
This is my one salvation and so, to it I weep.”
He turned away, eyes to the floor
The Lady grinned most undemure
She reached her feet, he reached the door
No subject said one word.
Crackling light from fingertips,
Vowelless sound from bloodless lips,
The Prince was lifted from the hips
Etiquette seemed absurd.
A cloud of violet shimmering lights
Surrounded the gyrating Prince in the heights
The Lady seemed larger and slightly demonic
The ladies had run out of gin for their tonic.
This bringer of wisdom cackled and turned
Each one of the laymen her eyes rightly burned.
Her voice had changed from reasonable to ringing with disdain
“Now face what you have made, you fools, and what you must maintain.
For reign he must and in the manner that you all have chosen,
In a form befitting character this choice has outright proven
And now you shall receive the present that you all deserve:
This is my gift to your kingdom, perfidious herd.”
The sleeping prince amongst the clouds let out a little sigh
As ghostly fingers played on him and measured up his size
His outline seemed to stretch and twist, his tresses all fell out
His clothes dissolved, his achingly beautiful face became a snout
His arms foreshortened, legs the same and fingers now hooves cloven.
The court were certain that for a Prince this form was unbehoven.
Then with a little popping sound denoting the final detail
His new figure was completed with a tufted curly tail.
Like Rodda’s swine force 10 he soared - a most majestic sight.
Missing only earthbound string he could be a Flyodian kite.
Smiling now, his eyes awake he drifted slowly floorward.
And landing with a little grunt his first steps seemed quite awkward.
After two or three missteps he seemed to find his trotters
And spontaneous applause spilled from the half closed kitchen shutters.
The Lady took a half step back to assess her handiwork
It seemed to be acceptable - she wore a little smirk.
“He will not know how things have changed, or of the choice he made.
He still thinks he is human. You will uphold this sweet charade.
When you had a choice you chose the path unscrupulous
To set a good example this imbalance I redress.
The country now will worship him, this Prince in Piggyform
And he will live 100 years. Your duty is foresworn.
All this world will know of you and all of you they’ll mock.
With all the disrespect you’ve shown this shouldn’t be a shock.
My mission done, I’m leaving you to deal with your new lives.
Killing me will do no good, so put away your knives.
Oh yes, there was one more little thing…”
She opened her mouth as if to sing
But instead loudly vomited a purple thing.
It was a slimy toad.
She laid it on the Prince’s back
The courtiers spied its tiny silk hat
“and that’ the Lady said, “is that.
It’s time to hit the road.”