Bigot

You can keep your tiny boxes
To yourself, my fundamental fool
Along with all the certainty
In which you have been schooled
For if I thought obnoxious doctrine
Was a relevant life tool
I’d’ve gladly walked the catechism
Of my own accord

So you can take your pious overreach
And shove it where imagination
Festers in your whimsy, flimsy,
Soul-refining mind and wind your neck in
Lest the reckoning
You beckon in is thine;
You mind your own soul, chum
And I’ll take care of mine.

I can do without your pity
And your precious little wisdoms
And your judgemental prescriptions –
You can stick ’em with
Your nonsense conscience
Where the sun don’t shine
Because, despite your crude reproof
I know I’m fine.

 

(Originally posted, August 2013)

Offence

Offence: a fuel
perpetual

mistaken
easy taken
freely sent

personalised
tribalised
trivialised
nationalised
lionised
‘spiritualised’

cathartic vent

weaponised
decentralised
mobilised

hell-bent

corporatised
and globalised

expense

Will Pit

Stop trying to save me!
Are your Will and conscience
Greater than are mine?
Are they more refined,
Correct, important,
Valuable or something?
Do you actually presume
To tell me your design for me
Is better than the one
My own Self does perceive?

For,
Is it not conceivable to you
That, as an adult, what I deem
Acceptable for me to do should
Be of no concern to you unless
My doing is a harm upon another?

And,
If that should be the case:
Aren’t you persuaded that the Law
Or ‘God’ would have more
Sanctionable right to punish me
Or stay my Will than you,
My would-be keeper?

Do you think my Soul is cheap?
That I could sell my rights
To my own path? That I’d be
Daft enough to offer shares in it
Or that I’d want to tread on yours?
I wouldn’t dare! I care about Free Will
Too much – yes, yours as well –
I wouldn’t dream to consciously
Manipulate a person’s state
For my own gain. Nor will I let you,
Through some misplaced fear
Or righteous indignation, win that game.

Condone or not – that’s up to you
But neither force your view or worse:
Make out you’re worried for my Soul!

I’ll check the causes and effects that
I collect as mine – for one alone, can
One atone – our karma is our own to
Own so you, pal: you should go, take
Care of thine.

Daily Mail – Junk Mail

It is because I love this land that I despise
Your dirty rag. It is because I love this planet
And humanity in all its hues that I have never
Purchased you. And yet your reputation,
So preceding is it, that I’ve never needed to,
For what you do and say is parroted from every
Right-wing quarter every day and poured into my
Eyes and ears by all your corporate, mainstream
Peers as though your narrow, xenophobic tract
Did constitute empirically known fact.

But you are everything you claim to hate –
So rabid in your enmity of citizens and State.
You make your living sieving any information
That ingratiates you to the racists, homophobes,
Misogynists, elitists and the nationalists who’d
Have us in our places. You are bigots with a
Passion for a petty use of microscopic focus;
You are locusts to the fields of understanding,
Tolerance, compassion and perspective; an
Invective to goodwill and unity and common
Decency.

You are the dumbest form of patriot, besotted
By false flags, nametags and high-horse myths
With which to moralise. It might be funny if your
Preaching wasn’t reaching the messiahs set on
Profitable power and the happy-to-be vacuous,
Enthralled and tooled up with perceived consent.
Yes, you’re a self-important vent to fundamental
Imprecision and pernicious propaganda for a
Willing and uncivil baying mob that sees a virtue in
The seizing of some value from your puritanic gob.

Bigot

You can keep your tiny boxes
To yourself, my fundamental fool
Along with all the certainty
In which you have been schooled
For if I thought obnoxious doctrine
Was a relevant life tool
I’d’ve gladly walked the catechism
Of my own accord

So you can take your pious overreach
And shove it where imagination
Festers in your whimsy, flimsy,
Soul-refining mind and wind your neck in
Lest the reckoning
You beckon in is thine;
You mind your own soul, chum
And I’ll take care of mine.

I can do without your pity
And your precious little wisdoms
And your judgemental prescriptions –
You can stick ’em with
Your nonsense conscience
Where the sun don’t shine
Because, despite your crude reproof
I know I’m fine.

Oh, Daily Mail

Oh Daily Mail, you never fail
To hurl your hateful bile.
The lengths you’ll go to,
Depths you’ll sink to,
To divide our British Isles.

You’re like a pack of dang’rous dogs,
Snarling, salivating, even,
As you choose your Dish du Jour,
Weaving bigotry galore –
Just to voice your crass assumptions
Irrespective of the facts –
Feeders seeking mass consumption
Of your mal-adjusted crap.

So up yourselves with indignations,
Planks form in your spiteful eyes.
You take a teeny speck of truth
And loosen with dictated lies,
Then, dolloping with ill-informed
Opinion, calmly generalise.

All you know is pettiness
And gross ambition for sensation,
Signifying nothing more than
Tawdry, superficial piffle
Based on wild extrapolations –
Never missing any chance to
Incite eejits with conflation.

Braying at the cellulite; the cup size
Of some poor old cow
Spread-eagled through your poisoned print
That judges what is “public interest”
By the mileage you can mint
In spite and groundless vitriol.

Discarding all integrity;
Forsaking grace
For prejudice and other nasty schisms,
As you waive away your intellect
For bloody awful journalism.

Oh Daily Mail! You parable!
You’re fecklessness perfected!
A pedlar of our new age ills;
Pervasiveness personified;
Exemplar of the modern shill;
A very paragon of everything
That’s so defective.