Friday, 16 March 2018

“We are fast approaching the stage of the ultimate inversion: the stage where the government is free to do anything it pleases, while the citizens may act only by permission; which is the stage of the darkest periods of human history, the stage of rule by brute force.“

On A Quotation From Ayn Rand

We’re almost living in that age,
Approaching now the final stage
Of ultimate inversion, when
Permission is required by men,
From government, who’ve placed a cage
About them.  How will they assuage
Their guilt, speak out and thus engage
In bolst’ring freedom’s cause, again?
Almost living,
Caged, can we measure, gauge
The distance left, can any sage
Predict the time, when in the pen
The bolt will drop?  And God, what then?
Too late to cry and scream and rage:

Almost living.

Let England Not Forget Her Precedence Of Teaching Nations How To Live”. (John Milton)

It seems as if we did forget
Our precedence, it seems so, yet
There’s time ahead, to make amends
To show true freedom to our friends.
Our politicians, soaking wet,
And weak as water might still bet
On licence winning, but the threat
To free men, free speech, always ends
It seems
In greater liberty.  The debt
We owe the past, the blood and sweat
Of men who died for freedom tends
To drive us, and pays dividends:
This fight’s not one we e’er regret,

It seems.

Three conservative journalists were barred from entering the country and imprisoned for 3 days last week.  One, ironically, was intending to give a talk on the importance of freedom of speech, at Speakers’ Corner.  One was held under the terrorism act, section 7.

The silence from the left has been deafening. 

Tigger Warning

I must not make the miserable babies, 
frightened or alarmed,
I must issue a Tigger warning,
as I bounce into class in the morning.
So students might be armed
against a sea of bubbles,
and by opposing, burst them.
So that they might live
in the depths of Eeyorishness,
rejecting every positive thing and yawning
at old philosophies , while fawning
over half baked gloom 
and indulging in patronising mawkishness,
towards those they secretly, jealously,
imagine are blessed,
by being dreadfully oppressed. 

Friday, 9 March 2018

Brexit Vote

“In a revolutionary epoch, sometimes men taste every novelty, sicken of them all, and return to ancient principles so long disused that they seem refreshingly hearty when they are rediscovered.” 

We have taken every novelty
and sickened of them all,
the big ideas, of revolution
now seem shrunk and small. 
And so we have returned once more
to ancient rules and ways
and principles we knew before
the childish, changing days.
We have tasted every novelty
and sickened of them all,
returned to habits, long disused
in answer to the call
for nourishment and sustenance
and order, after the craze.
And there’s something refreshingly hearty
and something worthy of praise
in the principles and rituals
which brought harmony, after the fall.
We have taken every novelty
and sickened of them all
and we do not seek utopia
every diamond has its flaw.
We have taken every novelty
and they’re rotten to the core
we’ll make do with plain old sovereignty
and earthly common law. 

On The Rights Of Mankind

“The sacred rights of mankind are not to be rummaged for among old parchments or musty records.  They are written, as with a sunbeam, in the whole volume of human nature, by the hand of divinity itself; and can never be erased or obscured by mortal power”.   Alexander Hamilton.

Let us not rifle through musty records,
Nor rummage through parchments, dusty and old
For the rights of mankind: they’re not fixed words,
Scratched by a scribe, nor carved in stone, but gold.
For they are drawn with light, as a sunbeam, 
Within the whole and glorious volume 
Of human nature.  Dancing their bright gleam
And shedding warmth and light within the gloom
Of long confusion.  Why make the attempt
To capture and pin down elusiveness
Divine?  They will pertain, no one’s exempt.
Their truth will stand, there’s no exclusiveness
For mankind’s rights, arise from light, like flowers,
And cannot be erased by mortal powers. 

Thursday, 22 February 2018

On Listening To An Old Vinyl Record Of My Father Playing Gigges And Dompes Which Someone Had Uploaded To Youtube

I suppose it must have been 
The music that I used to hear in utero.
It reaches those parts other players can’t -
Heineken harpsichord harmony. 
Yet it doesn’t merely bathe my ears,
I’m not washed with some nostalgic flow
Of sentimental sadness, there are no tears.
The playing, crisp and clean,
Does not intermingle with ideas,
Does not influence my way of seeing.
Hearing him play Debussy on the piano,
That brings yearning for those carefree years,
But this is different, 
It’s as if my response is purely cellular,
As if this were the sound by which I came to grow,
The formation of my person,
From zygote to maturation,
And that now, as I hear,
I am re-formed, one crystal clear
Chord, drops into the saturated solution
Of my soul,
And chaos becomes order, in my entire being. 

“Every Revolution Evaporates, Leaving Only Bureaucratic Slime”. Franz Kafka

Brexit lies here,
The biggest, democratic
Revolution of our time,
We can just observe her outline, still,
Grecian beauty - the people’s will, 
But she’s about to disappear,
Coated, subsumed, consumed,

By bureaucratic slime.