satire – Page 12 – poems 2 die for

TRANCE

I love this trance
feel it tingling
presence
in my bones

beyond belief
that we are
all stand so
mesmerized
together

except we
are never here
ever
allowed
to stand

always
carefully positioned
to
lie down.

STREAM

livestream
bloodstream

that dam
has burst

but
when it comes
to what is in those brains
best I can say
is it
thick as porridge

thick
as muck

definitive it be
nothing flowing
from
point A
to point B

much backed up
at point D for
devoid
D for
diabolical
stupidity

where whirpool-churned
it just
congeals as

brutal distortion, doling
out of
death

all in the name of compulsion
and voice
from above necessity

BEN

Ben is
in his bunker

thr missiles cruising in
with sirens to greet them

seems hard to believe
it has come to this
and yet its author
is now the nation’s hero

king of its deepest
darkest fantasies

best at
divining
his people’s purpose

see him in the swirling
smoke and other
miasma upon
this
fiery pinnacle

speaking with God, or
perhaps we should say,
speaking to
him
or even at him

returning in triumph with
the hot word
they dance in rapture
force-
feed each other

beyond which shores
no one no
way insane
can bend their brain
to believe a single word of.

RIGID

when British satire
became
(Oh, what’s the kerfuffle?)
self-
satire
(losing its old
job description)

and British comedy got
its priorities straight
putting its foot
right up its
mouth

when Goon and Python hilarity
cowed in the shadows
onset
of Orwell reality

the laughter of the gods
truly
deserted this place

left it to sink with
traditional flawed false graciousness
under the waves, get
swallowed by
ocean, reign of
old stuck-
up unconscious

spirit
of dead gravity much
bemoaned by Pope

in his assault on all things
vapid, and without
substance yet
weighed-
down by Dunce
rigidity

most righteous of true
rigidities such kingdom
could ever
know

JIGSAW

Oh its
a fucked up jumbled
jigsaw puzzle

so many pieces lying around

broken

dead

badly mutilated
so much so

impossible to put back
together

never going to get
that slick sick
picture

that had you
sold on the box

BETTER

you want
Peace

here
is your

piece

its
a bit seriously small

too
small
for anything

is bombed-
out; barricaded

but its the most
we are
prepared
to give

most we
dare spare

we openly defy you
to summon
Heaven and Earth

see
if you might do any better

ENDGAME

playing chess

whilst our liar leaders
think about war
at the summit
of their lives

you don’t have
to be Bobby Fischer to
win

a nuclear match
           just a matter of economy
and who makes
the
    signature
      sacrifice

        puts it all out
there
      tempts into an atomic
      no-holds
barred
         pawn gambit

SUGAR MINERS

sugar miners

not for
minors

candy
finders

old joke going back
to the goldrush of 1849

the sweetness they
find down there
a seam so treaty

litigation and issues
of property rights
following
everywhere

but
I bought this face
from a robber baron
could not be
happier
at the game
history played

the dice loaded, the hired help
packing

alternate narrative notwithstanding

this is the way
it has always been

RATTLER

they kill
the ones that rattle
louder they rattle
more sure
their death
a fact

Oh, the rapturous ones,
you who do
murder all
these creatures

as soon as you say lord
I am your ambush preditor
whipping up
a juicy cocktail
I am determined to instill

and strike I will without warning
for you have sorted me
by selection

no doubt
you see
me as your devil
think
I could well just be
pure devil

this my utter evil nefarious plan
not thing
delivered unto yourself

STRIKE ONE

if the poem (this poem,
any poem,

freaks you, takes
you out

feel reassured
be happy that all
can call
it
collateral damage

for my part
condolence and
commiseration
that it
strikes you
out of the blue

as it is
meant to exactly

getting the retaliation
in early, serving
your revenge up
first