Posts Tagged ‘social justice’

The politicos must be ambidextrous,
Full control of robotic limbs,
Both starboard and port,
Built of steel comprised of voter ballots,
These men are performers to be sure,
Paragons of dexterity,
Through rarely of intent,

They take the stage,

These cold iron jugglers,
Able to aptly spin so many plates,
Receptacles holding human welfares,
The lives of constituents,
Or underlings,
Depending on whom you ask,
Critic or sycophant,

Some plates will be laid low,

These robots wear human suits,
Manufactured for one purpose,
Powerful hands of stately cunning,
Only one plate is truly a priority though,
Both hands indeed focus on that,
That plate that holds their own fortunes and positions,
No chance of that plate slipping,

It is the reason for this show to begin with.

A counterpart of sorts to ‘Construction‘.

Today we earn our keep,
With sire and sibling,
We work through the day,
Sunrise to sundown,
Sweat becomes crowbars,
While effort becomes splinters,
Strain begets demolition,
Humanity begets ruins,

New homes become debris,
To a strangely upbeat radio soundtrack,
With the nails and detritus,
Plasterboard and nail hammers,
Lead and fragments,
We’re demolishing an old world,
Making way for a new one,
Or perhaps among a current utopia.

I heard of a lordly fool,
A fool with a fetish for wealth,
Born to indifferent affluence,
From cot to silver spoon,
From bosom to executive guise,
This life produced a man to whom position is all,
It bred a cold soul,
Akin to an elite android,
Bereft of accountability,

The numbers must rise,
Damn the consequences,
Our fool runs down pedestrians,
Blue collars broken and bruised by drudge,
Jobs lost by his charges,
Workers perish in an industrial accident,
Who cares?
He feels the protective privilege of bounty inherited,
And the numbers must rise.

We speak in different fonts,
Even without our knowledge,
You and I,
Him and her,
They highlight myriad elements of our words,
And translate the meanings behind them,
We speak documents to one another,

Typeface to face,
Times new roman to stores and syndicates,
Calibri in your social circles,
Wingdings after a few sherbets,
Your interests pointedly underlined,
Capitals for ones agitation,
Honeyed words handily italicized,

The human mind is a word processor,
And can handle any font,
So be certain to utilize it wisely,
Train your tongue to push the correct keys,
As you type out your speech,
Lest you never speak,
And never be understood.

So our council of folly,
The hollow authority of our isle,
Open their mouths wide again for our daily rice,
Drenched in the sweat of labourers and nurses,
Taken as if it is their sacred right,
Our gratitude for their incompetence,

This old island is sick,
A blue scourge holds dominion,
Riddled with deaf worm-like things in suits,
With brown envelopes enveloped into their forms,
Finances put to foolish and wanton projects,
Folks held to ransom by foul ferrymen,

We weep at the tax office and county hall,
But those councilmen run out the back door cackling,
If the white cliffs begin to crumble,
And the foundations of our island splinter,
Will they still accept our sweat as thanks?

I do wonder to myself,
Is being nice such a strain?
All humans struggle with it,
Even this wretched clown,
Humanity is programmed to choose himself,
Niceness and generosity are akin to naivete,

But why not be a strangers sun?
Even during a stormy day,
Be a reason for someone to smile,
Give your loose change to a vagrant,
Hold the door for anybody,
Donate that stray dog a blanket,

Being nice is not a sign of weakness,
It is the strength to overlook mankind’s faults,
It could be a tiny gesture of in-consequence,
But maybe the only light someone will see,
Be the sun,
Be kind.

Who needs society?
Who needs normalcy?
We are not sheep,
No woolen coats here,
We are greater sapients,

Let’s be misfits,

Wear clown makeup and bright shades,
Dance unrestrained in paint,
Sing your favourite song off-key,
Whichever madness makes your little soul breath,
Live for yourself,

Live as a misfit,

Give mundanity an aneurysm,
Make that cruel pulse flat,
Let it die off,
Our souls wish to be unconfined,
They wish to dance among stars and zephyrs,

Become a misfit.

I found a new nation on my excursions,
This place of good feelings,
Rainbows and all,
All are welcome,
This land of love has open borders,
Manned by open arms,

Do not fear being yourself here,
We are all consenting adults,
Love any man,
And love any woman,
Or any shade betwixt,
Our flag says freedom of expression,

Souls have marched to create this nation,
Against status quo foes,
Stonewalls that stand for any soul in amour,
This is no mundane country,
Its borders span to every heart,
That has felt adoration for another,

Lets sing a swansong for division,
For judgement,
For homophobia,
That is this nations anthem,
Love for all,
However you identify,

Love is its own sovereignty.

We bow to icons,
All of us,
They control us without our knowledge,
Symbols and portraits and likenesses,
Permeating influence over our cortices,

They’re shapeshifters you know,
They change to suit our ideals,
Or our vices,
Not necessarily malignant,
But still all-consuming,

To one man it could be a godful symbol,
Words from an invisible man,
Commanding words from the past,

The lady over there sees a dollar sign,
The path to prosperity,
The religion of finances and using,

This boy idolises his favourite star,
Tentatively forming a blueprint he wishes to follow,
An icon dictating his lifes path,

Another man looks up to the statue of his leader,
His eyes well with respect,
Even while his taxes rise,

These things are everywhere,
Inanimate perhaps,
But nevertheless powerful,
Billboards and cenotaphs and celebrities,
Icons hold an influence over us,
That rivals even deities.

I am not a jealous soul,
But I stare green-eyed at birds,
Those avian aviators,
Artists of the blue,
I envy them their wings,
I write you true,

Soaring the skies,
It must be such release,
Such catharsis,
They are not bound to one another,
Why do they stay in throngs?
Are they not individuals?

Do they not know they are free?
My envy screams up at them,
Predation should be no deterrent,
When the flock flies west,
Why not fly east?
Don’t waste those wings,

Coveting their feathery prom dresses,
I call out to them,
Please take me away,
Imitating their freedom,
I reach skyward,
Yet they flee in flocks.