A turning spring tide touches all

The outgoing Age of crony hubris
Meets upon the battlefield of Contempt
For its inevitable death
And, vainglorious to the end,
With its last breath,
Fights ferocious with bombardments, bitter
Against an incoming Age of practical wisdom,
Armed by critical mass of hope and fury,
Bearing inner torches of enlightenment,
For outward burning…

And, no matter the size of your boat
Or the height and the strength of your walls
Denial and neutrality grow remote, now,
As a turning spring tide touches all.

Animal Wisdom

The Isha Upanishad says:
“Of a certainty,
the man who can see
all creatures in himself;
himself in all creatures,
knows no sorrow.”

A lesson humans still resist
but so profound a truth is this,
I thought it fit to feature and
thus borrowed it.

Dear Call-me-Dave

It’s not you;
It’s me.
We want different things
In Life
And mine is complicated
And, truly,
I just don’t deserve you
So it’s better if you
Let me go.
Friends?
I don’t think so
But you’ll thank me
In the end
Because, actually,
It isn’t me;
It’s you –
It’s who you are
And what you stand for
You can change?
How, if it’s every single thing
You say and everything you do?
It’s quite bizarre
To see how far removed
From all reality
You try to be;
How seriously pained
You act
At the merest whiff
Of counter-claim
As if sound contradictions
Were waaay too ‘radical’
And facts some kind of
Insurgent terror.
And I know
That all I see in you
Are low, unnecessary errors
And I can’t afford to be
In your in this together
As, without a doubt,
I do deserve much better.

Economic Trickle Tickle

Having tried the Great Lie of
“Trickle down” prosperity
And, even as their molesting digits
Stroked and squeezed and broke
Their crystal flutes and coupes
And their brass necks choked
On the last bubbles
Of Temerity’s tulip’d champagne,
They slithered, with that easy
Disdain of self-entitled delusion,
Right past the Commons’
“Trickle up” refrain but, knowing
That some placatory gesture to
Inclusion, would be necessary,
Crossed their fattened fingers
For a fabricated rectitude and
Announced a change in
Circumstantial attitude:
That little, still, would trickle
But is now re-qualified as ‘through’

Age of outrage

This is the age
Of outrage
From the futile
And puerile
In frothing fever waged
To the overdue
And justified
By restless righteous gauge

This is the age
Of outrage
From perceived hurt
Vicarious or not occurred
In the keenly sensitive
To the chilled bones
Of those who choose
Live and let live

This is the age
Of outrage
From confused followers
And blind swallowers
Of empty words
To the shocked
And taking stock
Of witnesses
To the absurd

This is the age
Of outrage
Based on any excuse
From valid to screw loose
Invigorated
For profiteering prophets
And the common sage
On a synthesised
And desiccated stage.

Are you better off..?

Are you better off, today
Than you were before
The Lords of Moar
Divined a world of people
Easy prey when poorer?
Feeling any more secure
Now the Lords of War,
Increase supply
Defending Peace to pieces
Expeditiously to hoard?
No, nor am I.