Friday, 16 June 2017

The Road To Hell On Earth (Grenfell Tower Disaster)

The road to Hell on earth was paved with good intentions
The pavers were a cladding made from plastic
One of many, silly, ill thought out inventions,
Scientific, engineered, 'green', fantastic.
And Hell was just as dreadful as described,
Yet those who suffered were not those who'd sinned,
Those whose sins led to this vile ending, 
Those who had prescribed the cure
For the disease they said existed,
Just carried on pretending
Insisted, continued whistling in the wind,
And went on calling it 'improving' and 'upgrading' 
And 'a way to tackle climate change'.

And those who put their faith and trust in science,
Because science being reason did not require faith, 
Never thought it strange.
They believed, yet couldn't understand it,
And relied on others to explain it, 
In ways that were dogmatic, not persuasive.
The new priests spoke in complicated language,
And preached the gospels of computer models,
They drew up and then they solved their own equations,
They'd  pontificate, insist and wax bombastic,
And no alarm bells rang in people's minds.

And the BBC pumped out the same excuses,
They said science can be scrutinised 
It never blinds, 
There may be misconceptions, 
Not abuses, 
For fact is fact and rigid, not elastic.

So: the pavers on the road to Hell on earth were plastic,
They blazed with all the zeal of good intentions,
And the poor came still in hordes and they were numbered
In their millions and so we felt encumbered,
And we couldn't really love them as our neighbour,
But felt we ought to signal our virtue,
In lieu of what was right, which might be drastic,
And cause further 'damage to the earth.'
And we crammed them in and piled them high
And sold them cheap.
Although we knew their treatment was degrading,
And still we didn't really care.
We let them labour under small misapprehensions,
Such as that we were one people, not divided,
And we turned a blind eye to rising tensions,
And when challenged, stalled, became evasive
If basic need was met, we had decided
That was all that really mattered,
Once the ash and dust were scattered
We must forget the ones who'd burned
For remembrance can give birth to questions
And having raised them we might well then take the leap
To unwanted and yet obvious conclusions:
And we mustn't ever shatter our illusions:
Lessons must never be learned.

Monday, 12 June 2017

How It Really Is. (Sonnet)

To 'love one's neighbour as oneself', requires
One first to love oneself, so one might know
What sort of thing love is, yet it transpires
One is not lovable. One cannot show
One's neighbour love therefore, and so instead
One settles for a paltry substitute -
One stops just short of wishing he were dead.
Since, if he were, one could not institute
One's little squabbles over trivia
And breathe them into fiery campaigns 
And elevate them to quadrivia -
Important subjects, which he then disdains,
Refuses to address, but out of spite,
Pretends that at some future time he might.