Friday, 31 December 2021

New Years Eve 2021

 


The hyacinths, lopsided, listing to the light, 

In “this is all they had left” shades

Of sickly, pale pink, and lipstick hues, too bright,

In sea green bowl with lustre glaze, that never fades 

To softer greys and duller blues towards the coming night,

Emit a perfume, barely noticed on the kitchen air,

A pale hope left hanging, slightly sweeter than despair.

A New Year hope, a timid thing, perhaps a prayer,

A call to simply be allowed to do what’s to be done,

To live according to one’s will and simply bugger on. 



Friday, 26 November 2021

A New Deadly Strain of Covid 19 Emerges in Botswana

 At last, hooray, oh happy day,

We’ve got a scapegoat we can trust,

Just as the virus slipped away,

We found a new, old way to thrust

Our narrative back to the top,

Of news agendas, it won’t flop,

We’ll cause the maximum disgust,

We’ll bait the public, chase their clicks,

We’ll link new germs to filthy blicks. 


South Africa could go on new red travel list as early as TOMORROW



https://mol.im/a/10229159

Tuesday, 2 November 2021

Astroturf

  


Grass has no roots, these days, ‘cause ‘climate change’

We only have the plastic, fake sort now, 

Nicely edged and neat, no need to mow.

Ironically it’s made from fossil fuel,

It’s ‘green’ in that it could not feed a cow,

Yet flourishes in clouds of fresh, hot air,

You know it’s ‘real’, you see it everywhere

And hear it whispering its lies,

Tellin’ the sheep what aint so.


Grass has no roots these days,

It carpets floors in power’s corridors

But there are those

So taken in by this fake green, that they protest,

Convinced, they are themselves sincere,

They push rebelliously at open doors,

And tell the state to act on what it knows,

And what it knows is astroturf, 

Fertilised with bullshit, with the power to distort,

The deep fake movement that it grows

In order to convince itself it has support

For decisions it has made, which cost us dear.






Thursday, 21 October 2021

Antisocial

 I disagree with everyone I meet,

And feel uneasy when I'm lying,

I'm not cut out for nodding through deceit,

I was designed for arguing, defying.

I cannot socialise, therefore,

I don't like other people anymore,

I want to slap them round the chops

With cruel truth, then see them crying.

Sunday, 10 October 2021

Non Binary

 


I like, or do not like, but don’t define

Myself or any other by false choice.

Because the premises of others are not mine.

The ten commandments, even those give voice

To false assumptions which presume to know

Men’s hearts and motivations and reduce

Our complex lives to almost naught, and little show

The wondrous thing God made in man. What use

To say one did not break the law, yet live

As if in fear that one’s whole life

Is rightly shaped by the idea that one might. Why give

Such prominence to sin, though it is rife.

I am not now, nor have I ever been

Simply pro or anti this or that, nor in between. 

Friday, 10 September 2021

Am I Being Hypnotised To Be A Killer?

 https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-9975529/Was-innocent-man-framed-Bobby-Kennedys-murder-TOM-LEONARD-examines-case.html

Every time I read the latest lefty rubbish in the news,

I wonder if I’m being brainwashed, by agents of the state,

Not because I change my mind and start to confuse

Principles of right and wrong, or start to conflate

Truth with Marxist fiction and mindless gobbledygook,

But because when I’m reading

I cannot refrain

From imagining succeeding,

In putting a bullet through the head

Of whoever is writing the rubbish, or saying what’s being said.

And naturally I begin to wonder if some spook,

Isn’t manipulating me remotely, controlling my brain.




Thursday, 2 September 2021

Honest Lying

 


Everything is propaganda now,

The world adores Edward Bernays,

And who wants blunt truth, anyhow,

Unpalatable things aren’t in these days. 

So where to look for honesty and find

Something like it, close, perhaps akin?

Something that speaks plainly to the mind,

Does not attempt to get beneath the skin. 

Not the news, which is the left or right,

Dressed up as fact

Like some first try transvestite,

Unconvincing, yet so boldly mincing

Words one wishes to believe,

Out of good manners, training, tact.

But in the adverts in between,

That maybe packaged, wrapped

In all the clever lies, so clear and neat,

That we admire and then pretend to swallow,

Here is honest, clear deceit,

Genuinely worthless, empty, hollow.