Trick of the Light

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.

Shadow-shaker, mischief-maker:
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?

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?
Too late.

got rote right down

wash, rinse, repeat
time and rhyme
our story beats

got rote right down
in lines
in rounds

the past unlearned
returns to reach

tomorrow bound
the earworms burn our dancing feet

 

 

We’ve got ourselves a good old-fashioned revival, folks.

Creeping Charisma

When a ‘populist’ looks more like the creep you try hard not to find yourself alone with at parties and, because few in your circle seem to be willing or able to properly stand up to them, makes you feel uneasy, even when they’re absent, because you now can’t help but question your peers’ judgements and boundaries on a whole host of other things.

Attack of the Vapours

Human Nature loves a vacuum
See how quickly it is filled
With all noisome indiscretions
And as hastily distilled

People breathing in the moonshine
They’re producing at the glug
Willing workers in the factory
Where the atmosphere’s a drug

All tottery and swivel-eyed
Hysteria has found its place
Rebranded as the stuff of life
That fumes and ripens off its face

How long before this tolerance
For clumsy, loud and noxious gas
That permeates to radiate
Achieves its critical mass?

How long before resistance freaks
And turns to intervene
And closes down production
Of the poison in the steam?