Here We Go Again

 And so here we go again,

Pitting flesh swollen with unshed tears.

You'd think after all these years we'd know

The earlier signs, the first parts to show

The strains. 

But no.

 Our ignorance remains

And where once there was shame

There is pride in the same.

I'm aware in the greater timeline

That this is merely a detour.

That everything anyone has ever fought and died for

Is just footnotes in the fossils.

Can you conceive it to be possible

That all your actions, however ignoble 

Don't mean anything?

Not really.

And we take everything so seriously 

Losing lifetimes to violent fantasy of justice 

But it's just this 

 bloodied blindfolds and broken bliss

Chasing leverets of honour through

Corn fields riddled with mines

And sometimes I think it's all worth it.

As once razed we could rebuild it perfect

And we'd know that we truly deserve it

Because we had suffered to earn it 

Present

We are here and now
but how
to get out of this mess
is the question.

Grotesquely gratefully undertaken guilt
in the lands that colonialism built.
Damocles democracy up to the hilt.
Kamikazi kakistocracy cashing in on milk long spilt.
Curdled cultures spreading spores.
Survival instinct the strongest force
on decreasingly distant shores
while we try to define "reliable source".
Fake news and State news and Corporate news, too;
they're all propaganda
an underhand way to push one agenda
it's demonstrably true.
We've gone from mock outrage, to sincere apathy, to militant bickering.
It's a revolting rhapsody
of society's disunification and collapse.

Here we are, and now.
Ploughing on,
disregarding rippling rumbles
as grumbling gods.

Tornadoes, volcanoes; hurricaine brutality;
gargantuan gyres and shifts of polarity.
Terra Firma trembles to Terra Fragility.
Rewarding ruination dressed as destructive capability.
Vulgar vultures, wagers of war
licking their lips while weapons stocks soar
and waste water rattles shake plates to the core
and toothless judiciary makes jokes of the law.
Free speech and Hate speech and Corporate speech too;
they're sophisticated-
in the Platonic sense-
manipulated.
None of it's true.
We've gone from communication, to control,
to Twitterati creedence gifts.
It's left a giant hole
where debate should be.
We've let civilisation lapse.

Are we here? And now?
Surround yourself with light
and fight
the frequencies of dischord.
Use courtesy. Firstly remember compassion
before embarking on any rash action.
Remember that romance is not being rationed
and amplifiers elevate the maxim of attraction.
Guttural grunts of headline hacks.
Persistant pop ups of click bait claptrap.
Love's language languishes solely through lack
of being spoken. Take speech back.
Home life and Work life and Corporate life, too.
They're all characters-
in facets of sense-
they're all you.
We went from idealist, to masochist,
to embracing practicality
and in the midst lost liberty.
We built our own traps.
Here
and Now
are we.

Tired

I’m tired.
I’m tired of hearing lies.
Refutations, clarifications, retractions and denials.
The rules of sophistry are easily learned
abuses of guided perception are Pulitzers earned.
As a self confessed sapiosexual
I find this twisted corruption of the intellectual
leaves me cold.
Shoulders hunched against the hurricane of unsure states,
of choices between hate and hate,
of divisiveness inevitable
among a population overwrought in apathy.
They didn’t seem to care about Operation Yewtree.
There is no outcry at the end of democracy.

The more salient among you will say
“But Georgia, It was always an illusion!”
Your silent acceptance betrays deafening collusion.

If populism is the enemy
we are elevating the judiciary
above the will of mass humanity
instead of innovating with prudency
and making the paradigm work for everybody.

Name-calling and
hundred-and-forty character sound-bites
have reduced debate
to bar-room fights.
One sneers
and the other reaches for a pool cue.
And it’s you, yes you
trafficking in this nonsense.
Demonizing both sides
occupying the mock-moral high ground peace-pretence.
The military complex is undeniable maths.
This crossroad of history only leads to mine-filled paths.

I’m tired.
I’m tired of insincerity dressed in emojis.
Of public mourning for countries
we didn’t want to bomb in the first place,
of choices between hate and hate.
I’m tired.
End time prophesies seem inaccurate.
They missed the flood of inverted facts
or turgid turmoil, social inertia,
interventions in justices by various churches.
Don’t we all want to live?
To have enough to survive and to give?
To be happy and share,
to give thanks and give care
to the weak?
The goals we seek are the same.

I’m tired.
I’m tired of seeing the same mistakes
the same choices between hate and hate
peddled as the only options.
Where has the future gone?
Huxley, Dick, Burgess and Brooker
Tellers, time-travellers, prophets and spooks are
following the echoes into the chamber.
Amplifying, demystifying, warning of the dangers.
I’ve come to value them more than the news
as shreds of my repaired fraying faith come unglued.
And differences between the actual and the absurd
become blurred.

I’m tired.

Bis Illustrated

The Other Man in the Photograph

I got to the scene and wouldn’t you know,

there were people about, watching the show.

Squinting eyes under clammy palm,

I can just about see it.

A swallow.

A circle clears around me,

tainted by people’s realization of the role I am to play.

Unclean.

A hush.

Mine are the legs of a broken man.

The first step on the sand is a half-trip.

Drill Sergeant Duty barks in my ear:

“Get on with it son!”

While Compassion is left dry-heaving,

haunted eyes on the shore.

When I reached him, he was

half floating

hair fanning, like

hopeful fingers reaching for a

honeyed future.

I squat.

My shoes sink in sympathy and sodden sand.

My hands reach

Uniform baptized

I cradle him.

Skin puffy with salt

my teeth grit as my throat is assaulted

by the sickly coating of stench.

For him, I stand.

Valkyries do not ride for children who drown at sea,

but I carried him with professionalism and dignity.

Later, I went home, kissed my wife,

put my uniform in the wash.

Kissed my kids good night.

I stood under the shower for an hour and a half

scrubbing and soaping, but still got a waft

of wasted life every now and then.

Went to bed and tried to sleep knowing

tomorrow

I’ll do it all over again

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

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. 

Reality TV

Let's have a little chat about reality TV.
Just whose are these realities they're choosing us to see?
To mock and martyr, revile and revere,
Emotion's perspective tweaked and turned to play on our fears.
We use these worlds to bury ourselves in things we know not to be true
because none of us can face the real reality show - The News.
Mountain-top mosquito-people, drinking blood to survive.
And we've started counting instead, how many Palestinians are left alive?
There are state sponsored murders based on Kinsey Scale scores
and of institutionalised putrefaction we've never known more.
We waste our votes on X Factor and don't register to vote.
We don't know our rights but do know theme tunes, off by rote.
They're closing the borders! Too Early! Too Late!
                  The timing is quite immaterial.
They're not doing it to avoid Ebola's fate.
                  It's the absolute opposite of ethereal.
By maintaining money in short supply and feeding us mental dripping,
Further from human and conscious and pure we are irretrievably slipping.
Unless we change our habits we are doomed to these repeats
of funerals and far-off wars and fighting in the streets.
Just whose are those realities they're choosing us to see?
Take another look at your reality TV.

Bis

Our Archduke's hard to pinpoint
But in rearview will come clear.
I'm watching repeats of the 20th
And foretelling the future in fear.
With the crash and the olympics
It's pricklingly familiar.
Persecution of strangers
Genocide and paedophilia.
We're making do and mending.
We're choosing heat or food.
There's a palpable discomfort
in the national mood.
We're policed and suspicious
with polarised media input.
The labour market's vicious
And available help's getting cut.
Can we collect Pandora's strays
before they run a-mock?
Or are the raptors swooping hard
and on this path we're locked?
We've forgotton the lessons we learned
And it's going to cost us dear.
I'm watching repeats of the 20th
And foretelling the future in fear.