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.

What are we living longer for?

What are we “living longer” for?
A few years more of being poor
To reach an age of destitution,
Helpless in dependency?

To be neglected; disrespected?
Sitting in the same old chair
In mean and squalid institutions,
Half aware, not really there?

Or, horror! With a lucid mind,
Enduring time and yet more time
To witness co-invented wars;
To weep at wasted brain and brawn?

Our social fabric worn and torn
To mourn lost generations born
Onto a scrapheap, harshly built
By systematic, alternating turns
Of greed and guilt.

[From February, 2013]

 

She said:

“I’m glad I am the age I am,” she said.
“I’m grateful that the road behind
Is longer than my road ahead,
For all I see is war and fear
And grasping greed by grubby hands:
The dark night of the Soul of Man
Enveloping all creeds and lands.

“There’s poison in the hearts of men,” she said.
“An undiluted self-belief and blinding faith
Casts bloody shadows, hollows Hope
And spreads an everlasting hate
Which fashions cold and steals Life’s hallowed Grace.

“There is a madness in the minds of men,
Whose messianic propagations bend
The Golden Bough and fray the sacred threads,
Which then, in haste, they darn with fœtid patches
Lest the Light be glimpsed –
The Truth lies in the gaps,” she said.

[From January, 2013]

Don’t get old‘ – Gaby Hinsliff, Guardian, December 2016

rots from the head

Humans lose the plot
Hold on so tight
Their grip is lost

The World rots
From the head
And magma hearts
Burn every thread

But, stop?

Too late:
All scars
And binary stars oblige

Veils lift as curtains fall
In thrall to Will and Fate
And thresholds all
Capitulate.

 

The whole world wrought

What are we?
Who are we?
What have we become?
What have we done
But that we strut and curse
With Human ignorance
And hubris?

We sew pockets of hell on Earth
And fret when it’s too late
And still yet tell ourselves
That any fiction is infinitely better
Than to fess up; than to face our
Reaping

Wide,
The World weeps bloody tears
And suffocates under fractious clouds
That wreck and reek to retching

Sick, the planet heaves,
Clamouring for more glamour
And belief’s cold sweats

Adrenaline free-falling
Out of disconnect

Selective fear and fury
Horror
Paranoia
Stalks the Psyche
Trammels
Into frozen thought and feeling

The whole world is reeling
Dancing to discordant tunes

Tectonic Titans crunching
Crushing
Scraping scraps with blades

All is percussion
Gluttonous
And crashing

World made glass and straw
And poisoned shores
In hearts and thoughts
Polluting souls

The whole world wrought
To overwrought and overwhelm
And all for nought.

 

[From June, 2014]

Once upon a pattern clear

Once upon a pattern clear
A tessellation did appear
All History looming now and near
In shapes exacting airy fear

Here, every wretched thought and whim
All hate and spite invested in
And chaos wished and bigots’ sins
Came through the ethers, answering

And welcomed in, did bond in might
To relish in an appetite
For magnifying fight and flight
Attracted by their own limelight

And like for like to like all grew
As panic bade is wont to do
In particles, the Trickster moved
Into the Mind and counted coup

So too, the outer rim awoke
Prepared to share the cosmic joke
Respecting what the people spoke:
As humans will, so be it mote

Promoted of his network tools
The Trickster fixed another spool
Delighted with his wicked jewels
And the promiscuity of fools…

I could…

I could weep a cataract as would shame the Nile
And I could pound the wicked with a thousand mile-wide smile
Well, I could raise a thunder-clap with one hand tied behind my back
Could kill a beast at fifty feet with just a glint from one mad eye

Oh, I could draw my arm and hurl a mountain into space
And I could throw a fit to shift the planet from its course
Could charm the very lightning with synaptic force and torch this place
And I could shout an earthquake so profound the rotting dead would wake

Still, I could cry an ocean of lament and then seal up its source
And I could make a potion for a notion of the World’s remorse
And I could grow a garden for the hardened heart to ripen soft
And raise aloft a hoping over all the misery and dross

Well, I could try today to live all in and live it all the way
For I could die tomorrow on my own created cross

[Originally posted: July 2014]