Poetry – The Future – Where are womens’ voices?

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Vice and Verse cover

The Future

I was feeling rather despondent last night. Perhaps I was merely tired?

In among all the environmental destruction, the wars, planes being shot down, fundamentalism, torture and barbaric deaths, I was looking for a glimmer of hope.

It was hard to see.

I was looking at the applied misogyny of Sudan where the women were walking around in their full body coverings and gang-rape was a weapon of war – even against children – and I was appalled.

Sometimes it appears that the future looks grim.

We live in a bubble in the West. Our women have not yet achieved full equality in many respects but compared to the rest of the world they are valued.

It seems to me that the world needs to hear the oestrogen driven voices. They are softer than more caring than the testosterone belligerence that seems to drive most of the globe.

Perhaps females are that shard of light I was hoping to glimpse?


The Future

Within the gloom of the future

Is there a shard of light?

Something to hold on to?

To fix our sight?

For all I see is control.

 

It looks so dark ahead

Within the minds of men.

Where are the women’s voices?

As the stone-faced, glazed

Armies patrol.

 

Opher 30.10.2015

Poetry – Naive Dreams – A poetic review of the Sixties.

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Naïve Dreams

The idealism of the sixties was subverted from inside and out, its naïve dream exposed as a pipe-dream. But the philosophy that originated in those idealistic days lives on. It sowed the seeds for the Environmental movement, the Women’s movement, Civil Rights, anti-war and an era of liberalism, tolerance and equality.

There is much to oppose and while a dream of a new society is still a long way off much of the philosophy was good, pragmatic and liberating.

I think society is all the better for it.

Looking back you can see big business and the establishment moving in to take their profit. You can see the rich kids donning the costume and looking to muscle in and make a buck or two.

What started as community, street-culture, became fashion and mainstream.

I still live by the idealism of my youth. I do not trust the establishment and I value my freedom.

They were very positive, enthusiastic days. I’m glad I was part of it.


Naïve Dreams

 

A naïve dream of innocence

Flowing downstream

Towards the rocks

Of reality.

 

Those that run

The business

Exploited

The essence of Alice

In her Wonderland

And made it very small.

 

Pretentious posers

From Public Schools

Preening and pandering

To re-impose

The establishment

From the inside

To prove

The world is not run on

Equality.

 

Opher 30.10.2015

Poetry – The First Waves – A poem about the creation of life.

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The first waves

This is another poem about the creation of the first organism; the progenitor from which all life on this planet evolved.

That molecular voyage was a miracle of stupendous complexity -0 the origination of life. Because of its wondrous unlikely inception we have layered it with mysticism and religion. I see it with awe and wonder as miraculous science – another incredible product of this incredible universe.

We should pay homage to the brilliance of such a manifestation.

Life is probably the greatest glory of the amazing universe we live in.

Life is so complex and unlikely event that it is almost beyond belief.

But in an infinite universe, which is so vast and has existed so long, even the most unlikely event is bound to happen.

It happened here and we may be unique. Not only that but we have the senses and intelligence to experience it.

This is a homage to that first simple coming together of organic molecules that was the first step towards the stupendous range of life we see around us.

 

The First waves

As the first waves broke

On the lonely shore

The prime molecules cloyed

To create

In total blindness

On the first day

A new

Origination.

 

New merging,

New combination,

Forever changing,

Rearranging,

Endlessly,

With no destination,

Just because

They could.

 

Opher 30.10.2015

Poetry – What hope is left? – a poem of despair.

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Prose Cons and poetry cover

What hope is left?

I was feeling very down last night. I don’t get that way very often. But everything felt hopeless. I watched the forest in Indonesia burning. Nobody mentioned the creatures being fired in the heat. They were clearing more forest for farming. The slash and burn policy provided fertility for a year or two and then the thin soil is useless. The forest is being systematically destroyed. The creatures incinerated. Behind them the land is barren and the soil is washed away. It is so short term, so stupid.

In one week they produced more carbon dioxide than released by the whole of Germany in a year.

Global warming? Controlling our carbon output? The destruction of the world’s habitats? The cruel slaughter of wild animals?

It all felt totally hopeless.

As a species we are insane.

We give out the gasses that destroy. We burn. We breathe. We fart.

We exhale words that are dangerous. We speak of growth, economic success and wealth when we should be talking about the future.

We exude gasses that destroy: our words and our conflagrations are as rancid as our farts.

The gas we pass through our vocal chords is meaningless.


What hope is left?

 

What hope have we left?

What purpose

Can we hew

From the rocks of desperation?

 

No simple direction

Left to us.

No solutions  to crack

With our perspiration.

 

Between the madmen

And the masses,

We live lucky lives

On the periphery,

Releasing our gasses

Obliviously.

 

Opher 30.10.2015

Poetry – Pretending – a poem about vigilance to protect our freedom and rights.

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Stanzas and Stances cover

Pretending

I feel our freedoms are tenuous. They were won through hard struggle over much time but can be so easily stripped away.

I am fortunate to live in Britain. For all the bitching and my dislike of the despised Tories and the establishment with the inequality they stand for, I am aware that we still live in a country that has fairness, tolerance and equality in greater abundance than most of the world.

But I remain vigilant. I know that human nature has very strong fascist tendencies. There are people of all persuasions who would like to control, subjugate and impose their views on everyone.

There are many cold eyes who watch closely what is going on, waiting for their opportunity. Whether political or religious, they are merely biding their time. If they get the chance they would seize the power to take away our freedoms. Either insidiously or in one fell swoop their aim is to impose their views, brain-wash, undermine and claim the power.

I remain infuriated by religious or political fanaticism. The world-wide rise of fundamentalism and right-wing nationalism is despicable. It needs challenging and showing up for the evil that it is.

I value my freedom, my right to believe, say and do whatever I wish within the well-thought through laws of a secular society that values the rights of individuals.

That’s worth fighting for.

 

Pretending

Pretending not to look

For it cannot happen here

Until it does.

 

Drowning in fun

Without a thought

As we get the buzz.

 

Stern dictators

Watch with

Hard eyes

As our every move

And thought

They despise.

 

Opher 30.10.2015

Poetry – First Feet – A poem for the first humans – the crazy chimps

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Stanzas and Stances cover

First feet

I am intrigued by the idea of the first humans. Somewhere on the African plains a small group of chimp-like apes were isolated from other groups and underwent various mutations. Within that group the genes became distinct and a series of beneficial changes created sufficient difference to be considered a new species.

There had to be a moment when those changes were distinct enough to be considered human. A mother held her baby in her arms. When it took its first steps human civilization was born.

I am aware that in practice this would have been a continuum and that moment would be arbitrary but it is nice to give it a concrete moment.

The strength of humans, which gives us our dominance on this planet, is due to our ingenuity/intelligence and ability to solve problems coupled with our teamwork. We, as hunters, even with weapons, when on our own, were no match for predators, but when in a group we proved formidable. Our brains created technology, weapons, civilization, war, hunting, farming and religion.

I just hope that our abilities are sufficient to deal with the huge problems we are creating ourselves.

 

First feet

 

First feet

Treading the grass

Of the savannah

With the cunning

Of a predator.

 

Brother to the right

In trust of

Bravery,

Safe within

The magic

Of ingenuity.

 

Working fearlessly

In collaboration

Lies the strength,

Cold and calculated

Of imagination

Throughout their length.

 

Opher 30.10.2015

Poetry – When we love – A poem about trying even if we fail.

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Stanzas and Stances cover

When we love

I got up in the night to write this down. It was floating around in my head as I was trying to sleep. I knew that if I did not write it down I would not remember it.

It is a poem about that reality of human nature that many of us possess:- that we prefer not to try in case we fail.

I used to be guilty of this. There is a tendency to keep your head down. As if we are so delicate that we cannot take the criticism or that we do not want to appear stupid, useless or a failure. We don’t like to hurt.

I think that if you never try, never put yourself forward, you can never succeed.

I believe it is better to try and fail than to live life without trying at all.

I believe that the hurt of failure and ridicule serves to make the taste of success all the sweeter.

Life is about pushing yourself to the limits and beyond, extending your reach, failing and succeeding, and reaching your potential.

I want to reach the end of my life knowing that I went for it. I don’t want to be full of regrets about what I could have achieved.

There is a horrible voice sitting on our shoulder whispering in our ear that we will fall flat on our face and look stupid. We need to tell our subconscious to fuck off.


 

When we love

 

When we love

Sometimes we are hurt

But it is better to be hurt

Than to have no feelings at all.

 

When we create

Sometimes it does not work

But it is better to make rubbish

Than nothing at all.

 

When we try

Sometimes we fail

But it is better to fail

Than never to have tried.

 

Opher 31.10.2015

 

 

Poetry – Infinity 337 – The final end

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From the endless sea in which all things swim, from the teeming waters of energy, from the edge of the even horizon that creates the holograms that are us – I bring you the final document of forever – Infinity337 – The Final End.

It seems appropriate. Who can capture infinity in words? Who can encapsulate all of the metaphysical universe, the mystical experience of mankind and trap it in a poem. Well my twenty year old self thought he’d have a go. He was inspired, fearless, naive and daft.

Infinity 337 – The Final End

To me man is ice in my sun

I am the seers ivy

I am the priestess’s laurel

I am the lame King’s friend

I am the reason for the mistletoe’s castration

Confusion is your depth of thought

 

I am the wonder of the world

I am all that is awake

I am of no age

I am created of nothing

Mine is everlasting

 

Opher 1973

Poetry – Compromise – That is the question.

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Stanzas and Stances cover

This is another type of poem ripped from the guts of my Reality Dreams book. I think it was very influenced by Bob Dylan. I was struggling at the time with how to fit in to this juggernaut of a society. We were meant to be slotted into place. I did not want to be slotted into place anywhere.

Compromise was the dirtiest word. There could be no compromise.

I am older now. Every day is a compromise with someone or something. You learn to make your compromises on your own terms. I wonder ho0w much of your essence you lose in the process?

Compromise – That is the question

Compromise – that is the question.

The iron judge smiles woodenly.

I grin.

‘Who is it that would stand against all evil?’ He asks.

‘I’, said Cock Robin. ‘I will stand.’

To make a stand you have to possess a label

Once labelled a thing is confined.

Once confined it escapes or rots.

But in dreams….

I

I apeman

Live free

I swing

I grab

I take

Courage – that is the question.

Who has the courage to live?

‘I’, said Cock Robin. ‘I will take life!’

Courage turns to bravery

And dies creating a lie

To achieve a dream.

Here the land runs with water.

It is green and fresh.

It is alive.

I run.

I laugh and see no shadows.

Who can stand in the path of true light?

Man??

I gather

I catch

I run

I

I

I.

Cheese is the question.

But this milk has gone sour.

I smile.

Who will eat cheese?

‘I’, said the mouse.

But it was a trap.

‘This contract is yours’

Eighty year.

Is that alright?

Yes. It’s a long life.

But what is a contract?

This is my private life – so very public.

Cock Robin is dead!

Opher 1973

Poetry – Infinity 11 – Nothing is a magic number

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We’re all standing on an endless beach, under a star, beside an infinite sea. Beyond the horizon is forever. The sky goes on forever. Below us is forever.

There is a microcosm of miniscule bursts of energy – the atoms, quarks, higgs boson and strange, electrons and space. A quantum universe of weirdness, string theory and things that are stranger than we can imagine. Inner space is as weird as black holes and neutrinos. The space between atoms is, relatively, bigger than the space between the stars.

On a layer between the infinite macrocosm and infinite microcosm is the layer of finity that we inhabit. It is probably more unreal than anything else. We live an illusion. My twenty year old self was arrogant enough to believe that he was shedding light on mysteries with paintbrushes of words that captured ideas beyond words.

Infinity 11 – Nothing is a magic number

I am the explanation of beyond

I am the mingling of within

I am the soul of man

I am the book of life

Open me and I will answer

I am the perpetual question

I am the only answer

I have but one aim

I have many names

Holy is my sanctuary

Opher 1973