What a mess

What a mess
that we must
second guess
at best
or blindly trust
some whimsy gist
of ideological rust
dressed up
as finest acumen
by flimsy men
of mist and lust.

A Few of Callme’s Unsavoury Things

Call me a mirror man
Call me myopic
Call me a PR con
Call me entropic
Call me a faker
Of them and us plots
Call me a taker
Of piss and pot shots

Call me a hypocrite
Call me a bully
Call me a woolly clot
Dancing by pulleys
Call me an arrogant
Carrion tool
Call me Establishment’s
Second-rate fool

Call me intransigent
Call me a logjam
Call me a yesteryear
Reforming yes man
Call me adept at
Inept leadership
Call me a servant
Who’s badly equipped

Call me incompetent
Call me a classist
Call me a jumped-up
Aspiring fascist
Call me too big for
Mahogany boots
Call me elitist right
Down to my roots

Call me compassionate
Call me an actor
Call me a coward
Behind the Max Factor
Call me a status quo
Preserving man
But call me
Please Callme Dave
So that I can.


Paxo Stuffing

Last night Channel 4 and Sky News co-hosted the first ‘Battle For No 10’


Paxo, gung-ho
But still, not that important
Shook Callme’s comportment
With countering facts
About Comeback’s mad data
And cuts with big buts that
The hedging created.
And I was elated
When Paxo related those
Zero-hours contracts to ineptitude
Quizzing Dave “could you live on one?”
“That’s not the question,” shot back the reply
(Except that it clearly was – quite a few times)
And so Dave was well got as the answer,
Once prised, was a “no”
(Of course not)
And as Jeremy smiled, so did I
As I pictured lame Lynton’s team
Dying inside – they forgot to rehearse
The Electorate’s side!

And then Ed said New Labour
Had made some mistakes and apologised
For some loose numbers and regs
But then, fully determined to set his
Own stride, showed his not-gloomy self
And berated the myth that to be socialist
Meant you didn’t do wealth and, Hell yes!
He was tough and no, David (the brother
One) didn’t do left enough, making it clear
To all those who would hear how a hair
Rests between David, David and Blair.

With the head-to-head separate
Questioning done, the debate was begun in which
Virtually everyone who had a care, declared
Their chap had won, having been best prepared.

And the ones who would dare to vote other, 
Shared wittily, Paxo would fit into Number Ten prettily.

Too much here

Be in the world but not of it
As matter fixed
Though spirit be not bound to here.

But, what, then, of the days
When you feel so much
Of the world and yet not in it,
That the spirit follows limit
Into hollowed ground to disappear?

Poetic Life

Today is World Poetry Day – “Poetry reaffirms our common humanity by revealing to us that individuals, everywhere in the world, share the same questions and feelings.”

It is also Persian New Year – “Often in Iranian families it is traditional to open Hafiz, see which page of poetry one has opened and read it aloud and try to feel whether it has any omen for the coming year.”


‘The great religions are the ships, Poets the life boats. Every sane person I know has jumped overboard.’ – Hafiz of Persia


‘We are People who need to love, because Love is the soul’s life, Love is simply creation’s greatest joy.’ – Hafiz of Persia


I can identify with this divination practice, having done it many times over the years with various books. Of course, it is only as effective and relevant as one’s inner self allows – it can be taken lightly or seriously – and does not, obviously, remove one’s personal responsibility but it can bring a simple jolt to stale thought, exercise the imagination, caution Will, and inspire direction.

Kahlil Gibran is one of my favourite poets. Today, I opened ‘The Prophet’ with World Poetry Day in mind and this was offered:

‘Say not, I have found the truth,” but rather, “I have found a truth.”
Say not, “I have found the path of the soul.”
Say rather, “I have met the soul walking upon my path.”
For the soul walks upon all paths.
The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed.
The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.’


Life is poetry. And how wonderful is that!

Light and Love
Be all withal
A call in every One
For by our hearts
We are the parts
Of Beauty’s greater sum.

[hex à triptych]


Another Fudge-it Budget

Bulging with indulgence came
The Chance Seller, with silken
Purse and pork pie puns, for yet
Another Fudge-it Budget in the
Name of long-term economic con.

And so, quid promo comeback kid
Dished guesstimated sums to wish
Conserve yourself priorities upon
A cursed majority, submerged by
Preservation of his power-driven

And to that end, he further nursed
The fortunate already Ones,
Pretending he was nurturing
Recovery for all by spending only
What a showman would and cleverly
Consolidating vulnerable people
Where he dared to think he could.

And every time an ‘expert’ crooned
About a magic hat attuned to sly
Electioneering tat supplied to Party
Wriggle room, a naked M&M danced
Into my imagination’s view as like to
Affirmation’s clue: that ethics and
A Common Good, ignored or just
Misunderstood, George Osborne
Simply could not, would not do.

Love 4×10

Kabir, at Everyday Zen nominated me to participate in a poetic ‘spread the love’ exercise. His lovely contribution can be seen here. The rules were: write a love poem with 10 lines. Each line must consist of 4 words and must include the word ‘love’. At the end of the poem, attach a favourite love quote. I invite/nominate anyone who wants to, to join in.

Herein is Love’s secret:
Love is the Light
Of the Whole. Love
Tests. Advances Souls. Love
Begets. Love forgets; regrets,
Yet Love forgives. Is
Doubly blessed. Love is
A gift that Loves
Through us for Love,
Love is a verb.

‘True love is stronger than a thousand deaths; for, though one die a thousand times, a single love may yet perpetuate itself past every death from birth to birth, growing and culminating in intensity and might.’ ~ Anna (Bonus) Kingsford, Clothed With The Sun

Grant Shapps. Perhaps.

Grant Shapps, perhaps
Sebaceous Fox,
Obscure of fact,
More often than was not,
In times gone back, did jot
Obscenely under pen of
Michael Green on how to
Make a ton of cash
Fantastically quick
By selling Stinking Rich
Until the day, by public pay,
Was seen and heard in deed
And word, his alter-ego(s)
Did dispatch.

Except for that by overlap,
Did slip the shifty triptych chap
Who, dipstick keen on witticism,
Hastily deployed his bluest cryptic
Euphemism on diluting accusations
He had proper lied to “over firmly”
Had denied.

Fans said he wasn’t cheating or
Deceiving anyone but merely
Honing skills required as a member
Of the Cons. And anyway, the Party
Claimed, a pseudonym’s a long
Established vehicle in the Arts and
How to Corp is where we find the
Talent part within our I’m a Tory
AmDram market glorifying heart.

And thusly, Call-me-Dave, by name,
Expressed his fullest confidence
– again –
In yet another Jackanory.


“End of Story.”

Of and For and By

Once upon a time
It was agreed that in
The absence of a visible,
Hands-on god and in the
Face of feudal despots,
Better polity of Peoples be
Democracy in service to
The highest aspirations of
A free and Just Society.

Of the People
For the People
By the People,
Once it was conceived,
Was manifestly brief
As rapidly the novelty
Induced complacent sleep
And rendered exploitation
Easy, powerful and cheap.

Some said it was relieved by
The persistent cronyism and
Its propaganda meeting with
An apathy and disconnect; that
The effect was cynicism in a
Feed-back loop, reducing down
The future to rebranded fruits
Of stale imagination.

And this was true, in all
Through Of
And For
And By
The cowardice of artifice
Successive generations
Of collusion had supplied
Until contempt on every side
Could be perceived as
Contributing to Democracy’s