New Year’s Resolution

As another year
Of choreographed fear,
Institutional rust
And mutual mistrust
Comes to its close
But, yet, projects, without repose,
The TINA thrust,
May we resolve, as seems, we must
To let our righteous cosmic dust
Get right on up the noses
Of all wicked, crony power-lust
In doses Just and just enough,
That greedy gasbags self-combust.


Dave duly whips his COBRA out

Amid his festive revels,
Cameron rolled his devilled porky pies,
put down his glass, reluctantly,
to heave his unbecomingly
chillaxรจd arse and rosy snout,
and demonstrate his sympathy,
Dave duly whipped his COBRA out
[well, ’tis the Season for repeats]
and chaired a dial-up meet…

‘Now look:
the Northern Poorhouse really pumps me up!
and Oik says it’s no time to go all soft about distress;
that we must fix this mess without reversing
any of his cuts and he suggests I pop a team
aloft my chopper, just to mop the recent flood
of this unprecedented, hostile-growing Press.

‘Pretend to care; to share concern.
Claim we’re doing all we can;
praise our Big Society for learning
to do more with less; blame
extremist weather, coming over here
and cheer, again, the wisdom of
our long-term economic plan.

‘Right, Roger that?’
‘For TINA!’ urged the staff, straight back.

Thus, Dave, to save his bacon,
[not the people he’s forsaking
by the resource droughts he’s making]
stiff’d his British value sinews;
donned his Everyman dry wellies
and a posture for some telly clout;
flew to cock a bold blue snook
and wave his cold, damp squib about.

No room at the inn

Outcast; silenced ones:
Society’s sacrifice
wished invisible.

[“It is because they face danger that we have peace.” ~ David Cameron]

๐ŸŽ„ ๐ŸŽ† ย ๐ŸŽ„

[December 2014]

May you be bathed in light and love
May you be where you are at home
And not feel lonely if alone.

May you feel warm and dry and full
May you find inner strength and joy
And take time to enjoy it all.

May you laugh loud and longer than you row
May you be blessed with gifts of kindness
May you know the wealth and health
Of a peace of mind within our Now
And please you, have a Merry Christmas! ๐Ÿ’ซ


Christmas is coming

Christmas is coming, the golden geese are splat
Please to spare a thought for the last fat cats;
If you haven’t got the message, the medium is you,
If you haven’t got the medium then God bless you!

Christmas is coming, the golden geese are tat
Another year the government took care of that;
If you haven’t got a nest egg, your servitude will do,
If you haven’t got a pot to piss in, God help you!

Christmas is coming, the golden geese are crap
Please to spend a penny in The Man’s old hat;
If you haven’t got a sprinkling, a tinkle in will do,
If you haven’t got an inkling, well: then God bless poo!

Hark! the herald agents spin

Hark! The herald agents spin,
“Glory to the new norm’s Bling!
piece the earth and purchase wild,
gods and monsters reconciled!”
Fearful, all ye nations rise,
feel the terror, land and sky;
with all ancient ghosts, now fight
faith as all, without insight.
Hark! the herald agents spin,
“Glory to the new norm’s Bling!”

Prophets laugh and sigh and yawn
every time a cult is born:
when, again, some men, assured,
by their holiness applaud;
snake oil from the Godhead squeezed
into earthen deities;
pleased for our Free Will to quell;
their utopias to swell.
Hark! the herald agents spin,
“Glory to the new norm’s Bling!”

Mark! usurpers of the Peace,
Mark to market, fallacies.
Light and Life from which they shrink;
Artifice and Rapture drink.
Trumpets wearing banners ply;
slaves consume, resisters die
by the neo-fascist scourge
evil-bound for all it’s worth.
Hark! the herald agents spin,
“Glory to the new norm’s Bling!”

Cause: lost and found

In every party there are nasties
Tribal mirrors, every one
Pots and kettles in fine fettle
Bang their polarising drums


I feel a little odd. Detached from narratives but tethered by consciousness. Like everything is just next door.

There’s a mountain of injustice to level but I can’t bring myself to fully join in with any political organisation. I don’t feel as though I will fit into any of the groupthink box-rooms. I don’t think I want to, either. They come across as so stifling; so distorting. So small. And the minute you step into one, it looks as if you are expected to become the property of its ethos and objectified vessel of its mission.

And I just can’t pick one cause above another. They’re all connected and nearly all vital and devotion to any one part seems selfish; almost irresponsible. That sounds counter-intuitive, I suppose. Ungracious, even. After all, throughout human history there are people who devote their whole lives to a single focus. And there’s strength in numbers, right? And, anyway, you have to start somewhere, yes? But the grass is always drier and patchier on the other side of the fence and, if I sincerely believed that I might be able to save the nursery by rescuing a baby, which baby do I choose? Maybe I should admire those who want to and think that they can. Perhaps, deep down, I do.

As yet, though, I see no causal group to which I am enough attracted and in which I have sufficient confidence, to wear its badge. Albeit that I’m interested in most topics and quite captivated by many of their issues, I can’t reconcile the sentiments I share with those that make me recoil. I don’t want to be swallowed up by a tribe that will only reflect fragments of my values and whose ideas, approach and methods are, too often, not at all matched to mine. Neither can I bear the thought of being infected; weighed down and distracted by the trolls of ignorant misdirection and oversimplification. (Actually, I’d as likely be turned out on my ear for regular and persistent dissent. I think I’m one of those there’s always one people…) I can’t help it. It’s not that I’m not a team player. I know I am. Just I need to respect the team, be able to clearly see its integrity and properly understand and agree with its purpose and actions.

I don’t know how much this attitude is down to my own psyche or the damage of media spin and the extremely off-putting actions of the rabids in both the physical and etheric echo chambers who go, keenly, from impotent passion to explosive pettiness on the turn of a meme. Is my character flawed that I am so resistant to being pigeon-holed and herded; that I would rather journey separately than become moulded and shredded by a factional collective and its vicious opponents? How much of this is down to the wisdom of instinct – for instinct, it is – and how much is it a consequence of the country’s increasing polarisation by knee jerk outrage? Am I too full of nuance to commit to transitional fashions or a terribly flakey, thrice-denying Peter?

The world is in shadow. It is tempting to see the missionaries as pockets of Light’s hope but such movements are quickly made insular. They create cultish obstacles to sympathy and practical wisdom, ending up as distractions that inhibit rational debate and understanding, obscuring and delaying effective solutions. The suppressed very easily become self-righteous suppressors; those that fight polarisation in bubbles too readily create new-level binaries. The consciousness and perspective of the Public is in a fragile state; common emotion and reason are popularly out of sync. Every shift in consciousness is one tiptoe forward; two leaps back. What should be healthy, progressive friction is static in an airtight cage. That’s what I see.

I am irrevocably and willingly plugged in to the collective consciousness. I exist in solidarity with the highest and noblest of all human potential. I love my beautiful planet and all its teeming, wondrous life and mystery. I want to help to heal it; to heal us; to heal me. Is this better done by me lengthening the shadows next door or by concentrating on shortening my own? I feel pathetic in the face of the mountain. And yet, I think and feel that I do more good – and certainly less harm – by attending to the friction of inner light in my own house. Intuitively; experientially, I feel the more whole for it. That is use and cause, enough, both to me and to mine.


Phfft… What?
Mild and fair?
Within Reason?


No great shakes
Middling (to diddly squat)
Controlled (for hire)
Decent (liar)


I ain’t

I ain’t no ‘Corbynista’
I ain’t no lefty loon
I ain’t your stick to beat him with
I ain’t deduced by parrot tunes

I ain’t no ‘Blairite’, neither
I ain’t that black and white
I ain’t your dream of what’s extreme
I ain’t the mirror you should fight

I ain’t your scapegoat matey
I ain’t your proxy fool
I ain’t got grace to save your face
I ain’t your weaponising tool

I ain’t your enemy within
I ain’t your threat without
I ain’t your bet; you ain’t my debt
I ain’t the reason you’re about

I ain’t your cause of irritation
I ain’t shaped by tribal lines
I ain’t got space for put-in-place
Oh, wait: I found some time. ๐Ÿ˜‰