Becalmed

Into vacuity pours every salivating nihilist
To vault bridges and dance the day invisible.

The disarmed pray
As hedonists look away
And the powerful wring their hands.

All prey, standing side-on;
Humanity, becalmed and haunted, waits
For spark and wind to wake the auditors.

Bleedin’ despots, comin’ over ‘ere…

When selecting which ‘Will of the People’ to thwart
Politicians give plenty expedient thought
And whatever Theresa believes she has bought
Big Bad John says the Don is unfitted to talk.

Speaker Bercow opposes the government ranks
Who with desperate haste in their Brexity tanks
Have so shamelessly pimped out the pomp of the Realm
To a monster addicted to taking the helm.

As expected the Brexits are all apoplectic
‘The Art of the Deal’ is their feel of the day
And the U. S. of A says they think we’re forgetting
They’ve just put that Churchill bust back on display.

Behold! Brexity Britain, integrity stripped
By a hopium Blighty with mob-handed grip,
Where to step out of line is the new imposition
And those who oppose brave uncommon position.

But John Bercow’s line is a dignified wall
Between Trumpet the sump pit and Westminster Hall
And as Donald is fickle and dumb and uncouth
He is favoured the better, forbidden of proof.

 

BBC News, February 7th, 2017: “A matter for Parliament

BBC ‘This Week’ April 2nd, 2015 – Big Johnhttps://youtu.be/x-XAOCHPXgs

First Light

Each human incarnation sees
The evolution of the Soul,
Whose manifestations are,
In and of each Self,
A form absorbing
All that has been and all that is
And a force propelling
That which is to be,
In constant elevation of the Cosmos
And unto Eternity;
Each Soul, the Chariot of God.

 
Bright hope of Imbolc be with you 🕯 xXx

asymmetric power licks its lusty lips

Brexit is all smitten
With the label ‘Global Britain’
Reminiscent of the time the Sun
Was always in position;

Gonna give EU a kicking
If it doesn’t get its way.

[Every self-entitled bulldog has its day]

Gonna threaten, preach and overreach,
Cajole and whine and then beseech,
As self-inflicted victims,
Sudden keen on Foreign Aid.

Gonna get an awful shocking
At the mocking they engage,
When the only offers knocking
Are from profiteers and souvenir
Collectors making hay.

Having doubled down on doublespeak,
Perfidious Blighty’s gonna reap
Some karma as alarming sway
of asymmetric power licks its lusty lips
And squeezes dry
A desperate pipsqueak’s isolated
Pips.

Inaugurating Trump. Sad!

There once was a bully called Trump
Who had views on perpetual pump
He was easily triggered
And bigly on twitter
Persisted in taking his dumps

He used the best words that he had
To rant like a babyman nursing his Jack the Lad
Character thin
As his orangey skin
Punctuating his nap time… Sad!

No body is safe from his whims
He is scary when challenged and worse when he wins
From his sore, swollen glands
To his teeny wee hands
Sex and money and war are just Business to him

The cartoon for this POTUS in place
Has the world beady-eyed on the space
Will The Real Donald last?
Is this narcissist’s farce
Gonna blow up the planet or piss on its face?

flows from

History is a mirror where streams of consciousness converge and recycled feeling swells; shake loose the ghostly sediments to mete their rhymes. History is a river. At the banks, with pipe and drum, the enemy within keeps time with scry and knell. History is a wishing well.