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 Monsters maraud causing pressurised pauses and coursing these hares of attrition to force us

 to face what we bought with the souls of the daughters 

whose freedoms are phantoms resigned to a fortress.

Without remorse the hawks proudly purport 

to distort the discourse, to control and contort storylines and reports til the truth's lined in chalk 

and the demons extolled for their will to extort.

 Hideous hordes haul their horrible orifice-

s through the streets and then off to their offices -

coffee and cowardice; cancelling policies

killing off folk for the cents in the sofa seats.

Feign fascination from false adulation 

Or face cancellation by fickle crustaceans

Their claws and their carapace wilful conflation

Of facts and emotions with false accusations

Sophistry’s slavers paint rivals as raving,

ordering us to ignore what they're saying

scripted unwill into games they’re playing.

Injustice tsunami; we're drowning not waving.

Sufferings strata hierarchical hate

ID parade to provoke not placate

Spotlights division distract from the state's 

Poisonous policy serves to stagnate.

Senselessly scrolling through cats ads and clothing 

While troops are patrolling the lands that were stolen 

From under the noses of folk still unbroken 

By drones in the darkness and mine mouths up blowing.

Sixty years since

Turn on, tune in, drop out.

This year's mince;

Turn on, log in, tune out. 

Self-referential #6

 I am so sick of all of it.

The corruption,  the lies, the statistics. 

I once was able to warn allegorically 

but now I state baldly, in fact; categorically 

That dystopian nightmare has crossed to our waking.

We're inside a hellscape of our own creation.

Cassandra I, scribed. The Mistress of Mince.

High on a hill girt by oceans of ink.

Foretelling it all in bouquets of verse

presented with the flourish of the under-rehearsed.

For now the flourishes will wait.

I'm overwhelmed and overweight 

and spending all my energy 

on the one who means the most to me. 

Hermitage and happiness go hand in hand. 

Watch my tail feather shake as I stick my ostrich head in the ground

It's more important to make memories.

Too late to warn of the future. 

Dear World

Look, we need to have a chat.

I’m getting a bit fed up

with dealing with the fall out

of your drama.

And it’s not only that,

my son keeps waking up

crying, calling my name out.

I’m trying to teach him about karma.

You see, he’s noticed (as have I)

that the bad guys keep winning.

Every time I leave the house

without him he cries.

I don’t want to raise a fearful child.

and his awareness is just beginning

but with news of more killings day in, day out

he’s convinced I’m going to die.

Not helped when I say

“Well, one day, I will”

through desire to tell him the truth.

So he says “But not today?”

And I’m swept over ill

tempting fate to give me liar’s proof.

So look, World I’m asking

you to buck your ideas up.

I love to share in positives

and I’m sick of masking

cracked ideals in cover ups.

Show them you get back what you give.

Sincerely,

Georgia. Xxxx