needs must

”The Poor”
How easily the classification slips
Through mind to lips, definitive,
Beyond regret and sorrow
Resignation
For ye have the poor with you always
Here endeth the lesson:
Today’s fact of life; tomorrow’s imperative
Yesterday was inevitable
And needs must when
Whole industries have been created to sustain
A spectator sport. Entry fee: hand-wringing
As the meek shall inherit
It was written

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]

Do you remember?

Do you remember when you were young:
When they sold us a future in which everyone
Would have more time for leisure and
Life’s simple pleasures?

I do.

I remember how ‘progress’ was sold as the shift
Toward treasured Modernity’s time-saving gifts.
I remember when ‘free time’ were not dirty words,
But the envy of those who knew it was absurd
To work hard for The Man, at the cost of your Soul;
To neglect your own senses to fit in a mould;
To conform to consensus and stick to the path
Laid out in perpetuity – however daft…

And yet,

Where does the time go and how is it spent,
But by serving The Man just to pay him more rent?
And while faster goes quicker and more becomes less
Of a joy than a measure of burden and stress,
We regress to Draconia’s cold, hostile age
As a new class of servants with masters who wage
On us their aspirations for their perfect nation.

Obnoxious concoctions and new imitations
Of outdated thinking, consigned long ago
To the scrapyard of ignorant, privileged foes.
Resurrected prescribers and makers of woe
Who would keep us distracted and chained by the nose
To a grindstone which cripples and overly loads
On our bodies and minds and the whole of our time
Is spent rushing and pushing and fleeing and fighting
To be the first one to the end of the line.

 

[First posted: March 2013]

Overkill

They built the stage and you came.
[By any other name you’d will it.]

Wish your fill.
Mine salt for your visionary tears.
Let them spill in the trenches
And build banks of rage. They will come.

And you have to go over the top.
And you had to go over the top.

A world at your fingertips;
Hell on the tip of your tongue.