Posts Tagged ‘social justice’

These steel wings under my direction,
This flying fortress,
Styled in camouflage sheen,
They once meant freedom to me,
Symbols of our fight against fascism,

But after that night,
That mission,

When I saw those fiery roses emerge,
Streets erupting in hellfire,
Becoming flowerbeds of sulphur and rubble,
I could almost hear screams over the turbines,
Hundreds of little ants amidst the blaze,

I felt that we became world-enders that night,
Warmongers rather than liberators,

We won that war,
But when those souls look up,
They will see us in the clouds,
And feel fear,
Not freedom.

Some of us escape society,
Canines of every shade and shape,
Runaway hounds and beasts,
Shredding our way out of vanilla cages,
Longing to run with more wild packs,
Individuals with no collars,

We’re bad dogs,
Authority wants us on a leash,
Normality reaches out with nets,
But we tore off those fingers,
And ran free,
Slavering and howling,

Daily life becoming wildlife,
Dodging slings and dog whistles,
Animal control in public form,
We follow sweet scents of unrestraint,
Tonight we are not docile pets,
But wolves on the run.

We each have something we’re searching for,
All of us,
Across the seas and tectonics,
Through the years,
It is out there somewhere,
A lost treasure,
A jewelled cache of dreams,
Hiding just out of reach,

Not an object,
No relic or chalice,
Not really,
Nothing so droll,

But something grander,
Peace or family or happiness,
Your own hearth,
Or perhaps recognition of your sweat,
An immaterial nest egg,
Something to be cherished,
Not stuffed in a museum or vault,
A true everlasting treasure,

Never stop searching my friend.

In a red and arid land far away,
An attack is mounting,
An assault on feminine autonomy,
A patriarchal drake,
Calling itself a law,
Summoned in a circle marked with quills,

Stand firm sisters and mothers,
This beast can be fought,
Nothing can burn your choice,
You are might,
You are freedom,
The summoners of this creature know this,

Jeeringly they call themselves a supreme court,
These men think themselves puppeteers,
Longing to travel back in time,
To more ignorant years,
When fiction ruled lives,
Theocracy slivering out of the cracks,

You can not back down from this,
Your bodies are your own,
Ginsburg is behind you,
Stand firm ladies,
They will not take your strength,
Your sovereignty.

Under this phosphorus curtain,
In these blood-strewn streets,
I do not believe this war will end,
Which war you ask?
The forever war,
Humanity versus humanity,
Presided over by those arms dealer divines,
Lauded by sycophants of the political class,
Soldiers are mere cents,
Towns are legal tender,

Nations become naught more than stockpiles,
Fuel for the napalm fires,
Iron and uranium and young blood,
Progeny sent into a grinder en masse,
Front lines along the bottom line,
Eradication becomes a profit all its own,
Both decades and darlings have already rotted,
There can be no ceasefire,
When populations are just another currency,
To these hollow men.


For better or worse,
We are all connected,
Tied together by coarse rope,
As a species,
As a bacterium,

A global paradigm of togetherness,
We are bound like synapses,
We shuffle to and fro,
Working together and against,
A dice roll in every interaction,

We are our own greatest friends and foes both,
Embracing warmly while readying our knives,
But at least we have together,
Sharing this scrap of the galaxy,
For better or worse.

My father told me to watch the skies,
A crestfallen voice nursing a missing leg,
He said there were eagles up there,
They’d taken his locomotion in flashes of patriotism,
Ironclad falcons,
Armed to the beak,
Hunting through dead metal eyes,
A video game played malms away,
These vulturine creatures brought death and gunpowder,
Bestowing firestorms at a moments notice,
Butchering villain and victim both,

Father said they were here to remove obstacles two,
Deplorables and witnesses,
To feast upon the black gold we dare live upon,
To eat and answer to nobody.

The day at the salt mines ends,
I flee home broken,
To my plasterboard burrow of a bedsit,
I lay counting cracks in the wallpaper,
Watching the roaches play kiss-chase,
And the rust painting scores on the piping,
These four walls are my only companions,
And my only entertainment,
This dreary ceiling is my penny cinema,

Under these flickering lamps doing their dance,
I’m daydreaming about the corned beef,
That is my daily bread,
That is my ration,
I’m down on my luck,
Down and out,
Finance has thrown me out,
But at least I have those tins,
At least I have corned beef.

I heard the shots,
The cracks in the wind,
Approaching thuds and slugs,
Sounds of manmade thunder,

I felt the shrapnel pierce my lungs,
Iron colliding with rib and flesh,
White-hot and dire,
Exit-wound pending,

I felt the pavement on my face,
With my body bag colleagues,
Overseen by a man of ill intent,
Frigid eyes behind a pump action,

But I did not feel any fear,
Because it was on a silver screen,
A report of another tragedy,
On the world’s own streets,
On Plymouth’s own streets.

I see you,
Day by day,
You look down your nose,
Crooked in its self-absorption,
Content in your internal ivory tower,
You’re not as tall as you think,
Are we all roaches to you?
Mere peons before you?
That downcast gaze decrees so,

The world was made all for you,
Your needs rising on lofty pedestals,
Entitled to your own happy superiority,
All rules made to break just for you,
Though you forget an amusing truth,
The void still waits,
There’s only a single plot waiting,
A coffin is just a pine box all the same,
Even princes rot.