I always believed that with great responsibility came humility. I am so naive. I thought that to serve in public office was both noble and an honour; that to be in the Government, bestowed with making laws and policies that determine the quality of life of the millions of one’s country’s people, was such an enormous privilege that one would be devoted to justifying it. I thought it required integrity and reasonable measures of wisdom and competence. Even more naively, I actually assumed that, simply by mere virtue of achieving and holding such a privileged position, on a personal level – the generous income, the security of an ample pension, the opportunity of network – it meant that they would have a persistent, collective sense of “there but for the grace of…” and act on it.
Light isn’t all soft love and fluff.
It also pierces, sears and blinds,
To better find the darkest stuff,
The sharper to define.
When fear and hope and wrong and right
Turn inside out, it brokers bright
And what is stirred is why it fights
To air that which it brings to Light.
It shines with omnifarious gaze
That doesn’t favour where it bides
And draws reflection to its rays
From what begins inside.
Light isn’t only safe and kind.
Its ruthless microscopic eye
Is fixed to game the heart and mind
Of what it seeks to purify.
Structured play, its grey delight.
Teaser, tempter, teacher, faker:
Doubt and faith give way to sight.
Silver linings; golden threads;
Black light; white night, sharp and hazy.
Tricksy slick to honest wed:
It’s madness but it isn’t crazy.
When is enough enough?
When will it give?
When ornamental plans
And the dead hand of hubris
Berate the precipice?
When is too much?
When the State is who hates?
When fake is the real news
And theocracy an economic startup?
When the individual and collective
Are mutually exclusive?
When is enough enough?
When Overton is the squeaky wheel
And emotion is its grease?
When it takes police with guns
to protect Democracy? And Gina
To remind us who and what it is for?
When the greater mass has barest weight
Yet bears it all
And snake-oil is imposed as fate?
When the coiled springs
Of claustrophobic souls take leap?
The would-be queen of Blighty land
Straddles UKIP and Miliband.
She has kiplits predicting her upcoming plans
While from Red Ed’s campaign shtick
Is busily nicking as fast as she can
With a flat for the earthing
She’s birthing a sham;
With a kitten she’s fishing
to reel in the JAMs.
There’s no substance;
Is controlling the trust
As she grand-tours the Kingdom
She means to command.
She’s the coalesced boss of
The chaos at hand
And many have wondered:
How is it May stands?
But the Press and electorate,
Absent of light,
Keep on playing her song
And cementing her right
And a scaffold so strong
Keeps a weeble so long
As the pump and the heel
Are the deal in demand.
wash, rinse, repeat
time and rhyme
our story beats
got rote right down
the past unlearned
returns to reach
the earworms burn our dancing feet
We’ve got ourselves a good old-fashioned revival, folks.
[punctuate as you will]
I accept that Brexit won
But I choose Remain
And Democracy is dynamic
As I accept the rain
But still have an umbrella
And I still bring the cushions in from the garden
As I accept mozzarella
But I also want diversity
And cheese is a beautiful plural