Richard Macwilliam

Madman

admin — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 14:15:39 +0000

On drugs to scald the heavens,
Bully-necked and the arms of a rower,
To the maddened moon he makes his cries,
From the chatter-gape of his hole
Spew muddled lies:

In the dark street, at night time, surprise -
An empty clatter of cold, bare glass
Rummaging the still air,
His new signature:

Caught in a life he never expected,
From the nursery toys to this.
He parades his dementia and loose, full hope
To the calling moon
As the swirling tides of his madness
Knock and beckon on the locked black doors
Of his consciousness;
No woman would touch him.

A wonder, then, to see him at work,
If work is what it is,
Surrounded by the black-backed leather-clad
Who ooze from the pores of the world
To swim with him through his destruction.

November 2001

A drug-crazed young man gibbering rubbish and out on a personal mission of destruction, surrounded by the usual no-hoper thugs

Short Sad Poems

admin — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 14:13:23 +0000

Sparrow

No perfection in struggled death,
Just the pellet tearing lungs, limbs, sinews
On an earth unforgiving
And the gaping jaw -

Each shiver a reminder of the frailty of life
And death’s dark hunger
That will eat out raw each last breath.

Who could deliver the bullet who saw that private war ?
Death is no victory, but a bloodied mess.

November 2001

To my eternal shame, I once shot a sparrow.

Alan Harris has written of feeling the same thing in his short story A Sorry Quarry

Cider Song

In the black night
In the overgrown houses
Old men sing their cider songs,
Too tired to know that death sits by.

In the black night
In the overgrown houses
The old men sleep fitfully in freezing isolation
As a full moon sucks their breath
Then prods them to hard stone.

Down and outs, oblivious on cider, freezing to death on a winter’s night in derelict ruins.

Hospital Nightmare

Once you talked of dying, and my heart gave a heavy thump
As the blood drained momentarily from my face.

Death, yes, I can bear,
But not the thought of your eyes lonely in the white hell of hospital
As they bludgeon you with superficiality
And strip you of your essence -
Which is warmth, complaining, loving, needing and being needed.

I look down at your sleeping face, feel the heat of your body,
See your eyelids flicker, hear your deep breathing,
And know this is the way I want you to go.

Looking at my girlfriend sleeping years ago and not wanting her to ever die in hospital. I’ve worked in a hospital and patients are stripped down to a dehumanised number.

Some hours we sing, and must make merry there

admin — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 13:50:30 +0000

Some hours we sing, and must make merry there:
Some hours we stare the tides and bones of man
And chase off fevered feelings to dark air:
Some hours we do the best, and best is all we can:

But who are you to judge me on my dallied tune,
Who are you to shape me to your vision’s world ? -
I’ll die – and when I do it’ll not be soon! -
But only when the pot is fin’lly hurled.

For then the hours will play out their dim light,
Then God’s hand will reach and touch what’s true;
Then will reck’ning be made of my fight,
And all the hours I lived be counted through:

For I am nothing, but nothings live and die -
And though a nothing, I’ll shriek out MY own cry!

2/3/99

We all have ups and downs in our lives, and do the best we can. Who are you to judge me on how I live, and the speed at which I progress through my problems? I’ll die when I die – and then God will judge me.

Short Inspirational Poems

admin — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 13:43:30 +0000

You were just hit by a vortex of uncertainty

A swirl of chaos spins across the room -
Doors open, a phone rings, a drink is spilt on the carpet:
And as suddenly is gone, leaving us breathless,
Irritated, flabbergasted.

As crazy as those times when – driving through town -
For a quarter of a mile cars career about,
Overtake, don’t signal, sound their horns -

God’s hand spinning a finger lazily
Through the liquid of our lives,
Sending mini-vortices of confusion
Across the planet’s surface,

Even through my front room.

October 2001

Life is more than we imagine

A short prayer

Dear God,
Thank you for looking after me.
Please help me to listen to you and obey you.

Amen.

A general, all-purpose prayer that covers all bases

Short Silly Poems

admin — Sun, 27 Dec 2009 14:38:31 +0000

Words

He’s not in, ‘cos he’s out;
She’s not out, ‘cos she’s in -
Shouldn’t somebody make tautology
A sin ?

Tautology

Wallflower

Ah well, sweet peas
Let us tremble at the knees,
No one knows my name -
Now isn’t that a shame?

Ever been the scared little wallflower at a party?

This is this

This is this
And that is as it should be;
Who knows
There’s no telling
And in the end
It will be -
Because
All over the place
Things aren’t what they seem,
Never are
Since it’s all in the eye of the beholder
And what do you know ?

I know prose that says nothing
In a rhyme
Saying lots of things, really.

Put a load of nonsense together in a vaguely poetic form – in this case cliches and often used snippets of conversation – and somehow it gains a meaning. And yes, I know it doesn’t rhyme, but I’m using rhyme in its loosest sense to mean a ‘poem’.

T.V. thoughts

That the flickering owl in the corner
Eats my spirit
No one can deny:
But beat me with bananas,
Splash my face with water,
Chase me with your hoop la -
I’m not gonna die.

That the flickering owl with the wide eye
Is good for me
No one can deny:
But feed me with your opium,
Spear me with magic uranium,
Don’t bust my head with your learningum -
I don’t wanna fly.

First verse – watching crap T.V. isn’t going to kill me

Second verse – you can feed me all the documentaries you want but I don’t want to know.

We Banished Nature

admin — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 20:23:35 +0000

We banished Nature, made it bleed
(As if Nature ever had the need for us).

Clouds shine bright beneath cold stars
As a moon’s strange light falls onto rocks,
And out of all our fevered minds
Blows the stench of a terrible pox.

We banished Nature, sowed dark seeds
(As if Nature’s mightiest deeds can’t kill us).

Wild waves fling broad across the breeze
As birds on the wing so blithely sing
And all our spreading cities bring
A creeping dread disease.

We banished Nature, smashed its creed
(As if Nature ever had to heed fool us).

Mountains rise, sweet waters spring,
There’s beauty found in everything -
But we keep chasing bitter dust
In crazy, grasping, gasping lust.

We banished Nature in our greed
(As if Nature can’t one day be freed of us).

Dreams fly soft across the air,
Silence gathers everywhere -
We really haven’t any care
About the damage that we’ve done.

We banished Nature with all speed
(As if Nature won’t one day feed off us).

There’s nothing now that’s left to die -
The smoke is rising in the sky -
And if you listen there’s this one cry
To signal that we’ve gone.

4/00

The Stairs

admin — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 20:02:00 +0000

The Stairs …

Came alive.

Slipped
Into that puddle of darkness at the bottom
Emerging
Glistening and unexpected -
A trap to be sprung,
A naked snarl in a well of walls

Best at night time

When the rooms have opened their ears
The doors have eyes
Silence is listening and
The hands are OUT,
Monsters await,
Ghosts are invisible,
The back tingles,
Fear emerges,
Thoughts are taken
Hijacked
Corrupted

The spirit wilts

And the brain screams -
‘Die! Die!’

And the brain screams -
‘Die!’

And the brain screams -

Evil looms,
Film replays,
Stories shout
OUT !

Stories shout
OUT !

Stories shout -
Memories half-remembered
Half-suppressed
Crowd into dreams
Half-forgotten
Half-thought
Dead
As the night presses in
Ears hum like electric cables
Eyes see nothing
Eyes see nothing -
Eyes see -
Eyes -

- body feels
STRANGE!
All around

Body feels
STRANGE!
All around

Body feels
STRANGE!

All around………..

Body feels

STRANGE

STRNGE

STRNEAG

6/4/00

Short Cynical Poems

admin — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 19:58:24 +0000

Anytime, Everywhere

Baa, baa, safe sheep,
I am not a fool -
Conform, conform’s
Def’nitely best of all:
Once for my culture,
Just to be the same,
And once ‘cos there’s nothing
Going on in my brain.

Cultural conformity is an extremely powerful force.

Book

Their Book was truth,
Their book was Told -
Not only that
Their book was Old.

Every religious book in the world is The Truth, and every religious book in the world is also very old

Poet

A right-wing poet ? – God, forsooth
There can’t be much in there of truth:
Just a little harmless lie,
The battered poet’s inner cry.

Can right-wing poets have anything to say? Selfishness and greed – how can you write poetry about that?

Us And Them

We don’t mind possessing you
But you’re not possessing US -
We still think they’re OUR property
And we’ll kick up quite a fuss……!

Cross-cultural marriages are often one-way, with one race refusing to allow its women to be married to the men of another race.

Tickets, please!

No one with brains uses trains;
Far easier to hop there,
And cheaper still if you hire a Roller for the day.
Bring back British Rail!
Privatisation, the fast buck for the fat cat,
The delusion of market forces,
Has been shown to fail.

Don’t travel on the railways!
Buy a camel-train,
Or maybe rent an aeroplane,
Or jab yourself with a hat pin -
A more easily understandable pain.

22/05/2006

We don’t have a railway system in the UK. To get from A to B costs approximately 6 months wages and has to be booked 2 years in advance*. If you can’t reserve a seat then you and your kids can expect to sit on the floor for the six hour journey to wherever.

There’s a window of opportunity in which to purchase tickets that only cost 1 weeks wages. This window of opportunity is written on rice paper in small print in a safe hidden in a vault in the mansion of one of the moronic Fat Cat railway owners and is never knowingly divulged*.

I can remember the days when you fancied going somewhere and simply turned up at the station to buy a cheap ticket. You then found a seat and sat on it.

Simple, happy days before the ideology of ‘market forces’ was embraced.

*May not be 100% accurate.

Work

Work -
Sucks out breath,
Mocks,
Builds lies,
Drains,
Tires,
Squeezes,
Narrows eyes agains the world,
Builds barriers between species -
Sharp Boss
And Stolid Worker -
Work makes us a prisoner,
Turns the vibrant dull-eyed,
And the dullard into a ‘leader’:
Work is a deceiver.

What work can do to the spirit.

Here’s an excellent poem by Alan Harris, Farmer Karma all about growing up on a farm but not wanting to be a farmer.

Milk

Mummy cows have baby cows,
Their babies are taken away;
The Mummy’s milk is fed to you
So your bones will break one day

Milk leads to osteoporosis. Short-term you get strong bones; long-term your bones are knackered.

In the jungle drums will roll

In the jungle drums will roll,
Daddy’s boy’s elected -
His brother bent the voting
(Entirely expected).

In the jungle drums will roll,
It’s Big Chief Pay-Back time -
Line up with your hands outstretched
If you gave a dime.

In the jungle drums will roll,
The Empire’s got a Chief -
No one wants to point out
The man is just a thief!

GWB and the Banana Republic election – dodgy brother, dodgy state officials, dodgy voting system, biased judges, corporate bank-rolling.

On every face

On every face across the world
A little smily doth unfold
On hearing that the price of air
Has dropped – and once again is fair.

Whilst every after-dinner drink
Leads grasping City minds to think
That though the Earth slides down the drain
The price of air will soon rise again.

And when the price is high there’s glee,
(And in the City drinks are free),
And once again the world spins fast -
And everyone forgets the past.

4/00

Imagining that we had to pay to breathe. Who would profit?

Variety

We’re so blind we cannot see
The beauty in variety:
It has to be explained away
As something that will one day pay.

Oh! If only we had brains
Not trapped in narrow, winding lanes,
And spirits that could touch the sky -
Oh! If only we could fly!

The only way we can conceive of the beauty inherent in Nature’s variety is rationalising that variety might one day be of use to us e.g. rainforests = useful medicines

Trophy Wife

The trophy wife is hunted,
By every little Snark -
She bends herself to their sad dreams
Until she finds the mark.

The trophy wife is acquired by rather unpleasant men. Little do they realise that the trophy wife wants to be hunted.

A mark, by the way, is not only an accurate target but also a victim of trickery.

Aberration of morality

‘Stuff happens.’ as a bomb falls,
‘Stuff happens,’ as the wind blows,
Stuff your ’stuff.’

Minds fold,
Brains close,
The world reduced to a power-mad
Aberration of morality.

I imagine, one day, a race of humans with

Insight
Wisdom
Morality
Compassion
Vision
Imagination
Creativity.

Until then we live by the Old School’s Rules

Oil
Wealth
Power
Greed
Cunning

Death glinting off cold spectacles,
Clean, mean, clear-cut simple minds
And their simple certainties.

‘Stuff happens.’

Death happens.

9/05

Dedicated to Donald, who’s contributed so much to the world and who continues to inspire.

Doggy

For every dog upon the road,
Doggy leaves a little load:
Yet every manic doggy owner
Claims a perfect little Rover.

Seems every doggy turd I step in
Is figment of my ‘magination;
And every mess upon my carpet
Is some other little doggy’s shit.

So give us DNA testing,
Microchip the dog’s intestine!
Give us decent doggy owners -
Or better still, shoot England’s Rovers.

But nothing ever will be done,
Since no government wants the fun
Of being voted out of office
For sake of Rover’s unstopped orifice.

Things are getting better now – doggy owners are more responsible (at last) – but at the time of writing this ditty stepping in dog poo was par for the course when walking near here.

This is a call to all our colleagues

This is a call to all our colleagues.

Please note : you are now required to work an 80-hour week:
Your pay will be docked, and all rights and privileges taken away.

Our most senior colleague is grateful for your assistance,
And pleased to ascertain that HIS pay goes the full distance.

We have no divisions here – all’s fair:
All work – but some must take the lion’s share.
(Please note, we allow a little dissent
To please the government,
But really in our Master Plan
It’s up to us to take all we can.)
Sorry – we forgot, it’s not your lot
To play the fat cat game, that’s such a shame …

Dear colleagues – thank you for your effort:
In this store we praise you more,
But please – Dear Colleagues – don’t forget
Your place

Or you’ll be tret

Like ex-
Colleagues.

6/4/00

The nonsense of the big corporate Stores calling their drone-workers ‘colleagues’ over the tannoy, whilst you can guarantee the fat-cats at the top ensure there’s no dissent and cream off as much money for themselves as they can

Concept Poetry

I commissioned her
To write a poem.

She wrote it,
I sold it:

Concept Poetry.

Just like concept art – the talentless get the talented to do all the work for them.

I have a little trophy wife

I have a little trophy-wife,
The latest in a line:
She’s only just turned 20,
I’m sure she’ll do just fine.

I have a little trophy wife,
She sold her soul for gold:
We’re mercenaries, hearts of ice,
A deal between the cold.

I have a little trophy wife,
Picked to my high ideals:
She’s got loads of contacts
And will help to grease the wheels.

I have a little trophy wife,
We’ll sort the love bit out:
I’ll paint some false emotions
On the face of this old trout.

I have a little trophy wife,
The baby’s on its way -
Another useful extra
In my Top Window Display.

A wrinkled old git who had overseas business ventures.

I have this little stethoscope

I have this little stethoscope
I fling around my neck -
I’m sure that I’m a doctor,
Yes! – I’ve done my doctor check!

I know I am Important,
(I can see it on your face):
A doctor is a DOCTOR
Because that’s a Doctor’s place.

Stethoscopes are the medical Doctor’s big, bold status symbol flung ever so casually around the neck.

Libel

‘Oh! They libelled me!’ he cried,
His lawyers nearly died -
‘Untruth upon unreason, we’re definitely on your side!’

But what they didn’t realise was -
He lied!

Choose between Aitkins or Archer, each convicted of perjury.

Kid’s food, crap food

There’s this crappy product
That we’re asking you to buy -
We’re aiming it at your children,
And we’re gonna be quite sly.

We’ll give them little goodies
That will go with their crap meal -
The toys that they then take home
Will be the BEST part of the deal.

The cheap and nasty food they’ll eat
Is sold with great panache -
You really should appreciate
How well we sell our trash!

Think of any Mega-Corp McBurger and the shit they sell.

Web awards

An award of 5! I am impressed!
It seems your site’s among the best -
Oh! Let me check, oh let me see,
How you’ve done so brilliantly!

Ah, you give awards and ….. wait, that’s it ?
But otherwise, your site is shit?

It seems you haven’t much to say,
An echo of the world today,
Empty, vacant, void and bare,
There’s nothing here that you can share.

Why don’t you save us all some strife,
Just go and get yourself a life !

Not so long ago crappy useless sites awarded each other web design awards. Hardly believable now.

Thankfully this practice seems to have died out or I no longer move in those rarefied circles.

In the land of the free

‘It’s War!’ shouted the papers.
‘It’s War!’ bellowed the T.V.
‘YEES!’ screamed the people.

‘Excuse me,’ said one little voice, ‘but surely -’
‘SHUT UP!’ they all shouted in unison.

‘Excuse me,’ said another little voice, ‘but perhaps -’
‘No!’ they all shrieked, sounding even more ferocious.

‘It’s WAR!’ hurrahed the radio.
‘But really,’ said another little voice, ’shouldn’t we -?’
‘GO AWAY!’ they all yelled, ‘WE DON’T WANT TO KNOW!’

And they made him – and him – and her – apologise
For daring to question their world view,
In this (apparently)
The Land of the Free.

America post 9/11, with public apologies from several T.V presenters who dared to question the mob mentality Bush created and then exploited.

I was 18 when they married me

I was 18 when they married me,
16 when I died:
15 and my hopes were full,
14, eyes still wide;
And all the time that went before
Was childhood in its dreams -
Their hands were light, they guided me,
Their truths were what they seemed.

Yet though the hours are filled up now
I sometimes see a light,
And kneeling down before my God
I puzzle on their ‘right’;
Their expectations moulded me,
I couldn’t fight their lies -
I struggled for a moment
Then died without surprise.

So what hope is there for this child
Born to their bounded hell?
Though my eyes are opened now
Will hers be closed as well?

Where I used to live girls of 14 were still full of wide-eyed innocence; at 15 they had hopes and dreams; at 16 (for a few of them in very traditional, unthinking familes) something died inside as it was made clear to them what their future would be; by 18 they were married and pregnant.

They were directed gently, subtly and implacably by their bone-headed parents and the culture of conformity.

The last line asks if her child will have her eyes (perception) closed down as well.

Meditation

‘I meditate,’ he said,
‘Burn up my energy to flee the world,
Short-circuit the system -
Get a buzz,
Heal myself.’

Sure.

A flat battery’s no use to anyone.

I’m no expert on meditation but there are enough idiots out there imagining that the brief buzz of short-circuiting the battery means something.

Donald’s Chemical

Amazingly sweet,
Slickly
Peddled,
Always present,
Replacing sugar,
Toxic,
A LOT of
Money involved,
Endless shenanigans:

Madman calls in favours,
Eyes profits,
Announces proven safety record,
Never gives a
Shit,

Publicly
Outraged
If questioned,
S
O
N of a bitch

http://www.rense.com/general33/legal.htm
QUOTE: The FDA had actually banned aspartame, only to have Searle Chairman Donald Rumsfeld vow to “call in his markers” to get it approved.

On January 21, 1981, the day after Ronald Reagan’s inauguration, Searle re-applied to the FDA for approval to use aspartame in food sweetener, and Reagan’s new FDA commissioner, Arthur Hayes Hull, Jr., appointed a 5-person Scientific Commission to review the board of inquiry’s decision.

http://www.321recipes.com/aspartame.html
QUOTE: The newly appointed FDA commissioner Arthur Hull Hayes overruled the final scientific review panel, approved aspartame, and then went to work for G.D. Searle’s (initial owner of aspartame) public relations firm at $1,000 a day. Hayes has refused all interviews to discuss his actions.

http://www.321recipes.com/aspartame.html
QUOTE: Dr. Russell Blaylock, M.D., Neurosurgeon: “Over 100 million American now consume aspartame products…There is sufficient medical literature documenting serious injury by these additives in the concentrations presently in our food supply to justify warning the public of these dangers. The case against aspartame is especially strong.”

http://aspartamekills.com/lydon.htm
QUOTE: In the May 1992 edition of their journal, flying Safety, the United States Air Force warned all pilots to stay off aspartame, stating:

“Some people have suffered aspartame related disorders with doses as small as that carried in a single stick of chewing gum. This could mean a pilot who drinks diet sodas is more susceptible to flicker vertigo, or flicker-induced epileptic activity. It also means that all pilots are potential victims of sudden memory loss, dizziness during instrument flight and gradual loss of vision.”

The Minister

The Minister was foolish,
The Minister was wrong,
The Minister’s career
Meant he HAD to appear strong.

Oh, BSE is lovely,
It rots away the brain -
If only he’d had that excuse
Instead of personal gain!

Please, dear pygmy rulers,
Look up these words for me -
There’s ‘rigorous’, ‘analysis’,
And that big ‘INTEGRITY.’

One exceptionally stupid man publicly fed his daughter beefburgers as the great BSE debacle raged.

You have to weep. Since there’s a possible incubation period of 20 years let’s hope Mr. DingBat’s got it right.

Testosterone Man

Testosterone man lives at high pace,
So big, so strong, seems such a waste
Soon dead, soon gone:
Such a shame he don’t last so long.

Men full of testosterone and power seem to achieve a lot in a short space of time. Shame they die relatively young.

The Little Prion

The little prion survived 130 degrees Centrigrade:
No one knew if it lived in milk
And milk was in:

Biscuits
Cake
Bread
Ice cream
Baby foods …

No one knew if it lived in gelatine,
And gelatine was in:

Chocolate
Jelly
Medicine …

No one knew if it lived in meat-extract,
And meat-extract was in:

Crisps
Noodles
Gravy powder …

When the Minister fed his daughter
He knew nothing.

When the Chief Medical Officer made his pronouncements
He knew nothing.

When the teenager died
She knew nothing.

The little prion laughed
And had a fine old time of it,
Because knowing nothing
Is not a barrier.

Mr. DingBat again, and the usual jobsworth official who put his career first.

The English Mindset

The English mindset’s quite a laugh,
We sell it first and then we ask -
Will mobile microwaves hurt the brain ?
Will BSE drive us insane ?
Do ciggies harm our English health ?
Will GMO destroy by stealth ?

And in crises we turn to fools
(The tame ones who obey the rules,
And take their silver for some lies,
Whilst pretending to be wise.)

So let us spell it out for Judas:
You test it first, and then you tell us!
And make it plain to the ostrich person,
When reassured be VERY uncertain!

Here in the U.K. we market it first – test it later.

Reincarnation

If being reborn is true
Then what I’d like to know,
Is why it seems first-timers
Dominate the show.

If we’re all going through reincarnation then how come all the crap people are in charge?

Here’s a cool poem about reincarnation by Alan Harris called Ones

Junk mail

They must think I’m really sad,
Or maybe just a little mad:
‘Which car would you like to win?’ -
Hey! Welcome to your home, this bin!

And that’s the only place for junk mail.

The Dad from hell

I’m an over-achiever,
I didn’t get anywhere -
I’m living it out through my poor kids
(Just stop me if you dare!)

We’ve ten hours tonight of homework,
My programme’s very strict -
They’re crammed to the gills with info.,
(And full of dysfunctional shit.)

Their uni’s proud to accept them,
It’s all good grist to THEIR mill -
Though my kids won’t do much that’s really profound
I like to imagine they will.

I’m an over-achiever,
A control-freak who lays down the law,
There’s only been one who disagreed
(But he had a fatal flaw.)

I turned him off as soon as he went,
There’s lots more where he came from -
He displayed a terrible attitude,
And was getting FAR too strong.

I’m an over-achiever
(They’re trying to get me out there!),
Yet my programmes safe, my kids are well-trained,
Just stop me if you dare!

July 00

Based on a true story about an over-achieving paranoid Dad from hell who hothoused his children.

One was strong enough to escape and do his own thing – the Dad promptly disowned the child.

Strangely, Universities seem to welcome such fragile hot-housed children, even though most of them seem to contribute very little of significance to the world after university.

God is Wonderful

God is Wonderful -
Praise Her.

She makes the mountains and the springs,
She carves the wondrous seas,
She lifts the birdies on their wings
And sets the breezes free.

God is Everywhere.

Praise Her.

With certainty they condemned the man,
They knew their heart’s desire:
Their God was Just but what they saw
Was the consuming, beckoning fire.

For Fire will burn and questions die,
And habits then can’t flee -
Freedom is a dangerous thing
In its intensity.

For freedom leads to doubts and woe,
Freedom’s best unborn:
Freedom is a sickness
For the wicked and forlorn.

Freedom hurts and freedom lies -
It’s safe to know The Truth:
Best to see with Certain Eyes
Than suffer a reproof.

The drone mindset as exemplified in the certainty that God is male; the desire to conform that sees questioning as dangerous; the desire to hurt those that challenge a world view; the desire to label those that challenge a world view as ‘wicked’; the desire to keep to a world view at all costs rather than have to suffer a reproof at having lived a certain way for decades.

This Painted Breath

admin — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 19:30:11 +0000

This painted breath you see before your eyes
Is a darkling curse to hide bitter dross,
Miasma from a mind too used to lies
That greedy seeks to thrive off other’s loss:

Where’s honesty? In most it’s not been born,
The crabbing way leads blindly by the hand
The weak and spiritually forlorn,
That crowd of glitter-eyes that stalk this land.

Beware! The educated are the worst,
Their smiley half-truths, tensions buried deep,
Give brief success (’till something has to burst):
Compartmentalise – seems that’s how they sleep.

Deception, usually of the self,
Long-term, all ways, destructive of the health.

27/15/00

A sonnet about the sea of liars you’ll come across in life. The educated are the worst, as they try to rationalise their half-truths away.

Ultimately deception is only deception of the self, and is destructive of health.

They said, ‘There’s no such thing as God’

admin — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 18:56:05 +0000

They said, ‘There’s no such thing as God -
We’ve proved it in this book:
The figures are all written down -
Please come and take a look!’

Well sure, if that’s the way you see it,
Then who am I to say ?
There’s not much point us talking,
So I’ll just be on my way.

‘No, seriously, it’s Science -
We know we’ve found the Truth:
There isn’t room for error
In a Scientific Proof!’

Well Howdy, Mr. Science,
I like the things you do -
But where’d you get this notion
That only Science is True?

You haven’t found the Spirit,
You haven’t found the Soul -
And as for seeing if there’s a God,
Why, that’s never been your goal.

How can you claim an answer,
When the question’s written wrong?
If Science hears the music,
Who was it wrote the song?

Do miracles not touch you,
Are you stuck on planet Zog,
Are all the mysteries there to see
Hidden by a fog?

Is Meaning just a theorem,
(Some symbols on cold paper) -
What IS the force that drives you
Through your scientific caper?

Has all the spark been driven out,
Are your cold eyes stone dead ?
Is everything just wooden blocks
Assembled like your head ?

Is Progress always outwards,
Could it be in as well,
Is living just a method
In your Scientific Hell ?

Now surely, Mr. Science,
You’ll explain this stuff to me:
Although I’m not a genius
I’ve seen telepathy.

And sometimes I’ve felt strange things,
And sometimes seen the ‘weird’:
I know it goes against the grain -
Is this why you’re afeared ?

And if this is on the surface,
If the Wonder’s just begun,
Shouldn’t you be digging deeper
To find your proof of One ?

Come on, Mr. Science,
There’s Mystery out there!
Saying it’s all just bricks and dust
Is taking us nowhere!

And in this whirl of emptiness,
Where it seems we most belong,
There sings a voice that has no tune -
For Science has lost the song.

23/3/00

For too long Science has been unable to see the magic of life, though with quantum mechanics and concepts such as multiple universes moving into the mainstream that might be starting to change.