What Britons want is anybody’s guess

What Britons want
is anybody’s guess.
Do not ask me, for
I am only one;
I did not seek this mess:
not for my gain
not in my name,
was Brexit’s pain begun.

I did not seek this source of stress
that stalks my country,
walks her backwards,
makes her people less
with less.

I did not seek a council of
emboldened third-rate jesters
nor the laissez-disconnect
from fact and intellect that festers;
sends attacks across
my patriotic bows and, even now,
undaunted by reality, does will
a march of muddled expectations.

No, nobody knows
what Britons want,
beyond humiliation
as a glaring guarantee
while glowing Pride
befalls a nation.

let the light pour through

Progress ~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Let there be many windows in your soul
That all the glory of the universe
May beautify it. Not the narrow pane
Of one poor creed can catch the radiant rays
That shine from countless sources. Tear away
The blinds of superstition; let the light
Pour through fair windows broad as truth itself
And high as God.

Why should the spirit peer
Through some priest-curtained orifice, and grope
Along dim corridors of doubt, when all
The splendour from unfathomed seas of space
Might bathe it with their golden waves of love?
Sweep up the debris of decaying faiths,
Sweep down the cobwebs of worn-out beliefs,
And throw your soul wide open to the light
Of reason and of knowledge. Tune your ear
To all the wordless music of the stars,
And to the voice of nature, and your heart
Shall turn to truth and goodness, as the plant
Turns to the sun. A thousand unseen hands
Reach down to help you from their peace-crowned heights,
And all the forces of the firmament
Shall fortify your strength. Be not afraid
To thrust aside half-truths and grasp the whole.

                                        *

Merry Solstice xXx 🌻

this brand of Conservatism

Why on earth would anyone still vote for this brand of Conservatism?

Demonstrably they are false economists. Look around at the ‘strong economy’ they say they are building: it is borne by an insecure, impoverished, paranoid and divided population. They have belittled society by dividing and stripping it of resources and by acting too much on the behalf of those who need the least support but often the tightest regulation.

They show little respect for Democracy and Justice, act as though history were a blueprint and have no reverence for constitutional complexity. They are hollow and shallow. They are feudal, cynical, selfish, short-sighted opportunists who undermine the sensible and wonderful to promote the insidious and entropic. Their worldview is neither ethical nor sustainable.

Voting for this brand of Conservatism is actively choosing a trickle-down cap on aspiration and cohesion that will take out those who believe it will preserve them as surely as it is busily taking out those who already know it won’t. It is actively choosing the most unnecessarily precarious future.

If seven years of manifest incompetence and arrogance have not made this clear, then the Tories’ stubborn la la la fingers in their ears response to the consequences of impending Brexit and the utter vulgarity and horror that is Trump should have made it so, by now.

If Theresa May can keep calm and carry on selling weapons to Saudi Arabia, now, how ethical will she be when our well-being is outsourced? When it is determined by our fear and another’s favour?

If she can hide behind robotic refrains and dispatch pre-programmed proxies because she is too busy micro-mismanaging our affairs – affairs that she treats as though we were a ‘bloody difficult’ inconvenience – how available and accountable will she be when Humanity and the very Planet requires our express solidarity and cooperation?

Perhaps she is so robotic because she is still trying to convince herself. Maybe the only way she can get through this hell she is making is to keep going, pretending that she knows what she is doing. Perhaps this whole can of conservative Brexit-election worms is making her ill and too panicked to risk the exposure; to endure the scrutiny. Perhaps…

However, if she can set her political compass to obeying Paul Dacre’s twisted mind and petty soul, how strong and stable are her principles? If her policies are to be founded on values with such missionary zeal, which is her true north: her parochial Christian devotion or the rabid Daily Mail?

May is an algorithmic marionette, bid to outsource and she asks that we come unto her through flawed notions of patriotism, kippered fairy tales and a blind but absolute trust in her and her team of strings.

If she can so readily and consistently outsource Maybots to represent the interminable vagaries of her puppet mind while she scurries about, micro-managing everything into socio-economic straitjackets, will she not also outsource and shrink our prosperity, our sovereignty and our dignity to Luck and the good or bad grace of others? Of course she will. It’s the Will of her People.

 

Nuance of a hinge

Muse:
The hallowed husk
Of platitudes
The crucible
Of old disquieting views

Political androids
Source of Good News
Pop-ups
Say one; mean two
Speak
Easy nothing

She is emptiness
A husk of blue
Playing truthiness
He is too full of know-it red
A work of doubt
In progress

Choose your equivocating quicksand:
Badly programmed robot
Human hologram

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.

Weeble

The would-be queen of Blighty land
Straddles UKIP and Miliband.
She has kiplits predicting her upcoming plans
While from Red Ed’s campaign shtick
Is busily nicking as fast as she can

With a flat for the earthing
She’s birthing a sham;
With a kitten she’s fishing
to reel in the JAMs.

There’s no substance;
No matter:
This one-woman-band
Is controlling the trust
As she grand-tours the Kingdom
She means to command.

She’s the coalesced boss of
The chaos at hand
And many have wondered:
How is it May stands?
But the Press and electorate,
Absent of light,
Keep on playing her song
And cementing her right
And a scaffold so strong
Keeps a weeble so long
As the pump and the heel
Are the deal in demand.