FROM THE PLACE

FROM THE PLACE

I write
from the place where
dreams come

to be
extinguished

when space, no longer
finds itself available to
generate
     a rich tapestry

and all our ideas
what we were, what
we are
   comes to be recycled

and the energies that
command, take charge
are
    no longer our own.

THAT WE DO NOT HEAR

THAT WE DO NOT HEAR

we do not hear
the laughter off the gods any more

at our lovable quirks or
(too often) outright
stupidity

or as they jostle for supremacy
in their own hierarchies

at their own foibles and excesses
as we know
from Ovid and
Homer

these almost exclusively
of an amorous nature
as when
Aphrodite and Ares became
trapped and entangled
in a net woven by
Hephaestus, sinned against,
aggrieved cuckolded party,

so engrossed in each other
(and who dare blame them?)
that when the rest of
Olympus rushed
to take in this spectacle
they flatly continued,
as the gods
roared with
rough mirth and yet
were riveted with wonder
at such
a free, fabulous show

where the parties could not have
more consummately represented
their
respective sexualities and
gender polarities

if on this question of
beauty as we riff you

grab my gist and run with it wickedly

in your own imagination

of humans
laughing at gods there is
of this species
no practice, no
hope of
continuation
the mocking spirit of great Aristophanes
squashed at its first sign
dead
in its tracks

killed by those who
believe the gods, all gods
are beyond
any comedy, reflecting
their faith (ludicrous
beyond measure) that

they are
as gods themselves, our history

blighted by the rise of such
self-proclaimed deities, wondrously
inept
holy imperators
whose narcissism no
catalogue
of statues commissioned so that
the love of
the people can be felt
beyond death
continue as legacy through
all of posterity

Oh think, my friends, what the genius
of an Aristophanes, embodiment
of true
human comedy

could play before the stars, which
share our liberation, our
moment of ecstasy

and like all our
false structures are left
helpless to the humour

who knows! teetering
on the edge
veering this
way and that on the brink of collapse

SOUPER

SOUPER

it is the souper
souped-up cup

supermen ubermensch
teams of eleven Messis
eleven Cristiano Ronaldos
each managed
       by eleven Pep
Guardiolas

no offside law, infinite
omniscient VAR

four quarters, half-
time penalty shoot-outs
everyone wins but
survival of the fittest
massive
      reigns supreme
most gladiatorial of
all festivals of galactico
                     
those about to do
do salute
             load of their shoulders
now no stupid
qualifying
     the algorithm determines
and (above all) relegation free

giving the people
the fans

exactly what
they have been told to want
(who says you can’t get
     exactly what
                         we want?)

no boring overthink
of structures, formations,
systems, tactics

in fact no such thing
as tactics at all

      the numbers
determine

SEED TO STORM

SEED TO STORM

seed to
perfect storm

let us
consider
that dynamic

explosive this energy
in the million
volt zig-
    zag of its release

Nazaré
        Teahupoo

surf that water mountain
until it crashes into
a swirl
       of demented foam

when the world breaks for us
against us

              when storm
supercharges our
lives

         go with that flow
at ultra velocities

       plug yourself in
what
      else can you
                   are you

        supposed to do?

seed to
           perfect storm

storm to perfect seed

ULTIMATE ULTIMATION

ULTIMATE ULTIMATION

here they are
you raw meat
paid for
attack dogs

here
at the tribunal
to lay down
the law
ram down
our throats
your ultimate ultimation

not for the truth
not for humanity
but for the lobby, desperate
for survival, desperate
for salvation

shame your
weapon of mass coercion

you should yourselves
be ashamed of

if you had
an ounce of subtlety
of integrity, a gram

SOFTLY

SOFTLY
(for Emily
Maitlis)

speak softly
when talking
truth to
power

walk
circuitously
and carry a small
yet not
too insignificant stick

above all
addressing
the voice that
        must
never
be addressed

don’t go for it
call
    sign
    Maverick
like a
shrieking naval jet
on a strafing run

however much
after-action satisfaction
however
      much top dollar

sheer
        redemptive fun

THINK I MUST HAVE READ SOMETHING LIKE IT BY H G WELLS

THINK I MUST HAVE READ SOMETHING LIKE IT BY H G WELLS

I feel it now
something
    burrowing
into
my brain

know the strategy;
see the tactical plan

how they plot
to nuke that landscape,
shred
    my opinions

reduce me to a compliant
all-accepting wreck

crucial my contribution
to this war
      of the worlds
upcoming election.

CLEAN

CLEAN

Senator HIJKL
dawdles through the hearing

playing solitaire
fiddling
with the Tarot

I see
The Fool
The Falling Tower
The Hanged Man

I do not see
Death
or
The Devil

but I am not observing him
as clinically as I should
those cards may
have slipped by me
by sleight of hand

and now
  a pencil is produced
for doodling or
perhaps sketching
              whilst the video
runs he
      doodles away

sketches a future
I’m sure as works of art go
it is
    no Picasso
not Cubist or
blue period

        certainly no Guernica

Oh JKL doodles
      doodles away

        the walls of Republican Rome
once covered
in such graffiti
                  under Augustus
were given
a clampdown extreme
    right royal
and (most) imperial clean

never had
      to suffer a repeat of
the process

never
the call to go
  through such a scouring
                            again.

BURN

BURN

life is not
margarine

spread liberally itself
across crisp, crusty
oven-
    fresh bread
yellow golden

no
life is that
which sticks and
burns

rips off your charred skin
falling from Heaven
like napalm,
      white phosphorous
or those cluster
people killers
that break into toy-size
teeny-tiny

run like Cristiano
fast and zig-
zag as
    you can
across the entire Nou Camp
a bomblet
will find you

mind body problem
nothing in the body
the mind
   has not figured, over-
thought
   how to how to
horrendously kill

but the Sun continues
for millions of years
this avatar of hierarchy
will
    seem so god-
like, be
forever shining

until
    like us

it get old, fat and greedy
swallow
      the Earth entirely

desperate for survival;
new stuff to burn