Posts Tagged ‘Political’

There was such hope for us,
Such aspirations,
Such ideas of potential,
A plan and design from our Mother,
To be caretakers and stewards,
Philosophers and artists,

But some unknown corruption has set in,
We’ve slowly become this,
The Illogicensia,
Devoid of forethought,
Apes bashing rocks together for peanuts,
Bacterium playing at godhood,

There is no logic here,
Only the most mad of mind,
Agents of chaos,
Choking the world like an abused pup,
Best laid plans indeed died at first contact,
Logical planning can’t account for illogical action.

The people can be pushed too far,
Through injustice or lies,
Then the riots start,
A rondo of burned cars and shattered glass,
A masquerade ball of balaclavas,
The bubble always bursts,

Insidiously sometimes,
Tension building bit by bit,
Like a clot travelling betwixt organs,
Other times all at once,
A human tidal wave in the throes of rancor,
A tsunami of Molotov’s and stones,

There may be a just reason,
A motive of rebellion,
Or there may not,
Chaos for its own sake,
The streets feel the wrath regardless,
The ruin is the same.

Some souls are possessed by a green devil,
The spectre of avarice,
That glitch in human nature,
An eye for gain at others expense,
Be it famine or war or natural disaster,
There is always profit to be made,
Greed will find a way,
Cataclysms for the many,
Are opportunities for the few,
To hell with the consequences,
As well as everybody else,
When the sky gleams crimson,
Nine of ten of us will suffer,
And one will be making a mint.

There are foes abound,
Demons in yellow and blue,
It is them in the wrong,
So we absolutely must muscle in on our peers,
Brother leader wouldn’t lie to us,
He is defending us from democracy,

I’m a sycophant they decree,
Beholden to a tyrant in a rusty crown,
But I’m a patriotic Russian,
I have blood on my hands they say,
That we’re populating orphanages,
But I quite like the colour red,

One man chose this war,
And he tells us it is for us,
So we are the rightful aggressor,
State media wouldn’t lie to us,
So we’ll be cheering and raving,
Even as the mushroom clouds sprout,


I’m an ordinary British bloke,
Just trying to scrape by in my four-bed,
Back in my day,
I bought a hovel at eighteen,
Suffered little debt for my degree,
Why should the young have an easier time?
They clearly don’t work hard enough,
We never used to have mental illness,
Why not just cheer up?
Go and get some fresh air,

We’re being invaded by the displaced,
I see them on their dinghy warships,
They’re coming for the jobs we’ve retired from,
It’s true because the rag says so,
They said it on the front page,
It’s my opinion,
You can’t criticise me,
That would make you a leftie,
Full of woke,
Hating our country.

Atop a statue once depicting liberty,
Perches a foul creature,
An avian actor,
Decaying piece by ruinous piece,
A scavenger feigning regality,
A vulture wearing the feathers of an eagle,
Mould and droppings falling upon a flag,

Nonetheless this animal is loved and reviled both,
Regarded in both sycophantic and tyrannical aviaries,
It wants not for fodder,
The carcass of a republic lies below,
So it rends at putrid meat no longer protected,
Picking at the scraps of the citizenry,
The flesh of a populace with potential,

Each wing of this beast is dyed an opposing shade,
One crimson,
The other a dull blue,
Battling over which part to gnaw at,
Even as they rot and fester,
But make no mistake,
Both factions are wings of the same rotten vulture.

We are all data,
Little binary toys,
A horde of zeroes,
Leashed to digital space,

Simply prey to a carnivorous system,
Swimming like salmon through databases,
Pushing all of the opulence upstream,
While being picked off by bears in taxman gown,

We are just numbers to be counted,
A sticker book collection,
For some child in a highborn office,
A creature with a taste for silver spoons.

I find myself too close to the frontline,
A contest between two flags,
I see flames encroaching on the horizon,
The heat grins upon my cheeks,
Scalding like impending doom,
These highlands are a no-go zone,
A board game too close to a fireplace,
The stage of a ruinous romp,
The two flags converse here in mushroom clouds,
Talking points at destructive decibels,
Airstrike arguments,
And howitzer handshakes,

I dare not linger,
These men in high castles care not for the little guy,
They propel uranium darts at this wasteland board,
Collateral damage upon their tongues,
Before kissing above the carnage they wrought.

There’s a house on a river,
Tan and gothic in aesthetic,
Accompanied by a grand clock,
It’s a house of relics,
And I don’t mean antiques,
Red and blue in blood,

Sat along benches feigning opposition,
Breathing naught but dust and hot air,
They pass edicts destroying millions,
Guffawing and cheering like children,
Starvation and poverty are the gifts they offer,
The serfs shall be happy with crumbs,

They’re despicable little men,
Fat cats in silly wigs,
A deceitful gentleman’s club,
Just out for their chums,
It seems they’ve packed this flophouse out,
The house now only holds whispers of fraud,

You may ask,
Has honesty ever graced its halls?
Well there was this one Guy called Fawkes.

I remember seeing that wasteland,
A desert spied through weary eyes,
A corpse of an environment,
Rotten and cracked,
Populated by the spectre of an ecosystem,
A dead land,
Auburn and drab in its last throes,
And it brought a tear to my eye,

Then that ash sapling grew,
And as this green warden germinated,
It was like time had been reversed,
The land came alive once more,
Greenery and vines returned to the loam,
Viridian spread through the veins of the dirt,
This magic came about from a single ash,
And it brought a tear to my eye.