poem – Page 159 – poems 2 die for

CATCH UP

your lies
are going to catch up with you

all those untruths
fantasy fabrications
coming home to roost

returning
with a vengeance
karma
(that boomerang
principle)

it is a
theoretical, theological
necessity,
an empirical fact

switched
to remote targeting
hunting you down
.
no use screaming
crying
swearing innocence
denying everything
plausibly
implausibly

pleading with your lirs
flattering them
as tp their sheer
beauty, supreme
inventiveness

telling them that they are
your frankenstein
creations
monsters steeped
in the secrets of power

havibg sown
such much death, damage
and disillusionment

killed so many they
should be
to you
as children to
a Father
worshippers
to.a god

no, my friend, my lying friend,

what
goes around
comes around
they have not a shred
of belief in you

sad sad to say
they are here for us all
to rip you apart

ICE

the rich people
playing, partying
on their sleek ship

findimg their icy
wonderworld
as advertised

pampered, noy
wanting for anuthing
in this
inhospitable place

every crag every floe
a blue-white diamonf

fevellinv in the thrill
of this place, their
Antarctica

the luxury, the excess
of this crisp, cold Summer

the explorer-enterpreneur
archetype so clinical
clear in this
palace of
reflection

so much
at home

NO MORE

no more poems, paintings
three act strucures,
somgs

nothing to transport, nothing
to inspire
the visions of
the precious decades
all
thrown out

simple economics really:
supply and demand

city after bankrupt city
cutting, killing
every
creative grant

and now
its all
gon

the books have gone
the libraries have gone
the theatres seem
to be
closing down

the groves
have been ploughed up
statues have been
toppled
their stone recycled
(where other than those
of current corporate
executives
or business tycoons

or the current political class
who make
so much money for them

and good! I say
best
thing out

for words and pictures
that do not commuicate
straight
(as per
cybernetic model) are a
waste of profit
waste
of tax

are as
self-
indulgent, narcisstic a luxury
as they come

above all, that demonic genre,
satire,

which refuses to know
its place

should receive
the kiss
of death
accept

short
shrift

accept
that we
people of
grandeur
pinnacle
summit
polish and

yes,
class

need not
apologize if
we do not
prioritize

in our best intetests
for what
could be
in the national interest
possibly
that does not
first favour us

we
elected to this power
by popular will

and divine
comnand

that the best
must rule

and the
rest

hang

ON SHOW

rolled the dice
looked at
the sky

couldn’t figure out
if there was any synchrony
any meaningful signs

or were there
no connections, not
even mere
coincidences

the leagues of shapeless
forever mutating cloud
clearly insisting
it was all a hoax

nothing in the box
nothing behind the door

if there were
they should know

if there
were
they should know

not
to protest
too much

but there is nothing
there to hope for
nothing there to show

USED TO

we used to have a better
kind of godhead
better
kind of self-
appointed god

pontificating papally
on every TV
across all social media

shadow deities they
may have been
eventual disasters
in the making

but dalling short
of the epic
idiocy
of this new breed

these crash car snake
pol plugging used vehicle
salespersons

for whom
logic, truth,
moral
being

are
problems of the mind
that needs to be fixed

in order for us to live
with their collisions
within
collisions

contradictions within
contradictions

Mad Hatter re-definition of
everything by
simple act
of spray-psinting

OBJECTIVE

SERVED

BUST

heard the good goog news
that they cut
the arts in
th-re-will-always
be an-England

big cities did it
because they are bankrupt now
and who wants
poems and plays about
terminal
austerity

why should the State
or anyone subsidise
anything so irrelevant
trivial, spurious
as performance pièces
exposing this very hypocrisy
when money
is desperately needed
for jets and bombs

preserving the hegemony,
no time for idle hands,
wicked pens and
wasting
all that is precious on
such self-indulgent luxury

nothing there worth
watching, listening to, reading

this is our absolute truth
to you
there is no longer space
or capacity
they are
no longer part of
our identity
do not fit in
our economy

we
are the final arbiters

we decide the colours, tastes,
feelings, shapes

this
the realisation of our
special, almost sacred mission

to tell our culture like it is
close down all else for all

GIST

STALWART

one day
not upon a time
the plants
elected
to row straight

electrifying with joy
stalwarts everywhere
every
treacle-thick politico
in
wotlds known
and worlds
unkown

fairy tale
and the political
racing
to conclusion
running in parallel

Oh happy day
exclusion of the middle
extermination
of the extremities:
it’s so
axiomatic, lowest-
common-denominator
raised to the heavens
square
root of zero
dutifully delivered

and in the woods so
much smoke
the trees so
covered in soot you
cannot see the leaves

but
Pan’s man, fabulous
Guillermo has
set a fantastic trap
they are
bound
to fall into

surrounded by thorn bushes
in the light of their shadow

you could not
do anything to look
more enchanted
surpass the mystery

conjuring up
a string of images

burrowimg in
wormknv deeo

teaching us how
to align, accept
the imperfect, rough
and smmoth

how to accept what is
for what it is
become part of
the picture

native to this place