truth to power – Page 2 – poems 2 die for

OVERKILL

OVERKILL
“Eloquent, oracular;
A volcano heard afar.”
Shelley, The Masque of Anarchy
(poem on the Peterloo Massacre)

Ah, my beauties
here is poetry
where it has always been

first past the post
(postmodern, pissedmodern,
posttruth, postnuclear,
postapocalyptic, post-
whasoever)

play of language: you realize
of a sudden that deep
down in
your tin heart
you have to prevent it

look at the danger: exhibit A,
very drowned poet

his young pregnant wife
dreamt the future as monster
private parts monster
(as they all are)
scratching at her window
demanding
life, consciousness,
not exactly Turing tested but

she scared
the life out of us, this
virgin snake did cosmically,
with what
ex machina she
duly came up with

such overkill
need to nip it in the bud
radical danger of metaphor
surely
needs its own -dectomy

the threat of crucifixion
along every highway
and byway
resurrected again

something the billboards
really need, are crying out
for

real spectacle
behind them.

WE TOO

we love to
play the language
game
we two do
come at greasing
the signifier
not
from different
poles entirely

my games with sound
and sense
more about
foregroundimg other,
difference, perhaps
a touch
of deviance

yours
(if I might
proffer
this distinction) about
what is established, believed,
holy ordinary,
sacred same

how we can get
          the narrative to
go full
python
    swallow the facts
(crush in its coils any
                truth inconvenient)

and of course, after my little
pointless spiel
boredom, dismissal
the worst I get

the guilt that comes
with bad poetry

not, as in your case, if I
dare suggest

every kind of sick and
unconscionable paid-for
complicity

that
shades us into dystopia
thence living Hell

SHAME

I sought out
Shelley (great
political poet)
to help me
with my poem

had to battle my
way to the garden gate
and along the garden path
to avoid his wife’s
deadly creatures, Doctor
Frankenstein having
restored them
from thing called death
to thing called life

the latter, at this time,
for beings deemed inferior
infinitely preferable
in the minds of those
for whom they forever
constitue
a serious problem
life best reserved for
the good and the rich

and so, ushered in,
I did speak with
the great firebrand
asking of him, quite simply,
that he
do show me the way
to convert pen traversing paper
or fingers attacking keyboard
into a manner of address
designed to inspire
and, yes, shame
shame, shame
particularly that shame
that is due
for having no shame.

GODS

great
we got our journalists
picking his pockets
tapping his phone

if we
get enough dirt
on him
can use our pages
to persuade him
not to
talk about kingship
stay away
from such plays

and that one
who would phosophize us
away
from our set and staid
and hegemonic ways

would
think us
inside out and
upside down

we got the video, had
it photoshopped, PR
refined smudge
and smear aligned

shows her at her worst she
could ever be (though
neither so
bad as you, or I) but
good
enough to bring
her down

any one who thinks (gender
aside) is
a worse-than-perverse-clown)

why
do they think themselves
above all who
think what
they are
told

why else this business? Why else
the rollers
roll

serving you your world up
on a plate, we tell it as
freedom but
we all know
its fate

you
are
what you are
and what
we designate

so
test us out
why don’t you?
just give it
a try

nothing we cannot belittle
nothing we cannot dare not
cut down to
    basic size
who would have thought
crudity and super-
ficiality supreme
human virtues
who could ever have imagined
we couls write an all
new ten commandments
use all our
   new-found political
pressure to
sell them
     in the market before
entrusting them to God

you cannot challenge it
we are
perfectly set
in our mindset

lie
is truth

and
slimy and obese-
brained though we
may well be

beneath this tawdry
bleary mortal flesh

we are gods
we are gods

test our powers
you will come to believe

SPACE

what is different
about this space?

its peaks, its valleys

white
noise, grey silence

the windows and doors
with their secret codes

(beg me, beg me
I may well tell you)

now you have read everything
every smidgen of text
visible or in-
visible

tell me what you have come
to comprehend

so far we
are from the grand muftis
and great principalities

together in collusion
syllable by syllable chipping away at
their stark foundations

sliding door moment for
those believing in change

contriving a space here
where we might

stockpile empathy
dole out kindness
dish to whom-
soever
is in dire need

shelter is needed
shelter is necessary

the song could
not be

clearer on this

come! Let me sing it for you,

then
(change in
tone

different key, switch in
pitch

and so let us
now adopt the pose
of silence

contemplate the world
(if any) beyond
this poem

this poem’s afterlife

so to speak
so to spreak

having this very moment
spoken space into existence.

MAMBA METAPHOR

MAMBA METAPHOR

you called me
animal

thought to
myself “that’s
a metaphor”

think I must be
an animal there just
to be stamped on
crushed, einsatzed and
gas chambered

and it is there in the script
in your vision of, and
for reality

         what you see
                      must become,
must be
even if you have to
slaughter all the children
animal children
of the rest of humanity
                     animal humanity

but my pen
is black inked and
silver grey on the outside

its nib
poised like a fang

ergo
    this poem, writhing and
striking
         exacting an absolute
price
from being
forced into this corner,
put in this posture

is a black mamba
it is my
      totem for the day
       my creature of choice

******

you called me
animal

thought to
myself “that’s
a metaphor”

throwing linguistic
Phosphorous in
your general direction

sticking you
with enough drops of
neurotoxin
to kill half
your army

I see
you still have issues, your
anger rising

anger born of fear
fear clinging to
survival

that evolution is about, all about
about only
the crushing of the weak
the triumph of the strong

so
    whilst you still can
whilst the venom is with
horrible curiosity
feeding
                    into your system
pressing
        every wrong button

throwing every wrong switch
disabling every
vital lever

finding out
what makes you tick
then smashing the clock

whilst we wait just a few minutes
for the demonic chemistry to work
behind this deconstructive
procedure

just
pass the torch on
you
will no longer
carry

slide into prayer and
plea for vengeance from

your slick
wooden god

*****

you called me
animal

thought to
myself “that’s
a metaphor”

sometimes they
are wild, unpredictable

can cross
into reality

this in
their nature to
follow their shadow, unleash
the dark program

remain dangerously true
to both
species and brand