New cans; old worms

Global or local, big or small picture, humans are politically riven with both justifiable and manufactured agendas. Whether as bolsters to old conflicts or newly perceived correlations, contemporary symptoms become the causes of tomorrow, especially when they are misunderstood and mishandled. There and here brews a god almighty convergence of violent complaint. New cans; old worms. History’s harvest.

Some people are still actively relishing the disturbing fragility of our times; they have waited so long, worked so hard for the potential of such days as these. They are the nihilists and the dispossessed, seeking retribution for the state of their lives, real, imagined and relative.

So they pour scorn and claim betrayal as a means to myriad, dissonant ends and invest in the cathartic revenge pictures and nebulous promises of restitution painted by charlatans and incompetents who take the righteous, justifiable indignation of the Commons and genetically modify it with conspiracies, ideological wishes and expedient scapegoats. Free-market patriotism.

Their default strategy is blanket blame by demographic whack-a-mole. They lump together all the characters, functions and effects of establishment, class and information in much the same paranoid, misinformed way as people who think that all drugs are all the same – just BAD, man. Their solution, the Brexit/Trump effect, is no better reasoned than cutting off your right arm because it might make the left one stronger. They turn creative destruction into throwing out, not just the proverbial baby, along with the scummy recycled bath water but also the actual bath.

They became those for whom no proof was either possible or necessary, even in the face of indisputable facts. Until, suddenly, it is. All that certainty was merely prologue to their next sense of betrayal, delivered, wholly predictably, by the capriciousness and ineptitude of their own brokers. And Hell on Earth hath no fury like a co-saboteur scorned.

The sane world watches, nervously, holding its breath.

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.

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.

 

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…

Time and tide (Everybody out!)

Everybody out!
There’s a reckoning to come
Punch out; time’s ticking

Britons to the quick
There’s a kicking to be done
And con men to rout

We shall overcome
Grab your pitchforks, everyone
Tide is turning fast

One collective push
And the tower tumbles down
And the crown is passed

Time and tide are now
All together we are in
No doubt we can win

Democratic clout
Bring social justice in with
Everybody out!

The Cons are done

The Tories are imploding
The con is really showing

Your spin has spun
You’ve come undone

The Tories are in turmoil
See their party mind boil

The time has come
You’re overdone

The Con men are exploding
With outbursts of unloading

Your Treasured One
Can’t do his sums

The spectacle they’re making
Is self-perpetuating

You’ve had your fun
Your time is done

For six long years you faked it
And now we see you naked

You should be gone
So just do one

Vote Clump

Vote Clump.
In the room with the stuffed elephant,
Pin the tail on the wonky donkey.

Vote Clinton
Vote Trump

Free lunch and free passes
To narcissist arses
Her claim
His catharsis

Both lead to disaster
Just same pace or faster

World brace as the States
Choose which end of the clump
Will deliver their Rapture
And capture the sucker punch.