Poetry – Mother

Posted on by Opher

I woke this morning with this poem in my head.

Mother

 

Slowly, circuitously she approached.

Her eyes fixed on him.

Not wanting to arrive.

Reaching his side she squatted and poked him with her finger.

He did not stir.

She picked him up and shook him

As if trying to wake him from a dream.

His head lolled.

It was no dream.

Already his body was cooling;

Giving its heat to the warm air.

A low moan escaped her lips.

She sat back on her haunches

Cradling him to her breast,

Into her fur,

As if the warm of her body

Might revitalise him.

Her vacant eyes stared.

She began to rock back and forth

Like a metronome.

Two hours passed.

She was still rocking.

 

Opher 6.9.2020

Poetry – A Tessellated Dream

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A Tessellated Dream

 

I live in a world of strings

Lost in a few dimensions.

Reality is lost to my eyes

As I inhabit our inventions.

The macrocosm and microcosm

Are invisible to me

And time is fleeting

In this reality.

For there is no such thing

As substance or stability

The illusion is convincing though

I struggle to really see.

I’m very leery of the m-theory.

Things are not what they seem to be.

All time exists as a single moment

And in the quantum universe

Things exist and don’t exist

It’s really quite perverse.

This world may not be as it seems

As we splutter out of these tessellated dreams.

 

Opher – 5.9.2020

Poetry – Quite Grotesque

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Quite Grotesque

 

In the West, we are quite grotesque.

Exploiting the rest,

Not guilty for the ore we wrest.

Our pollutants are manifest

But we divest

Responsibility

And will not confess

To the mess

We invest

On the planet we molest.

 

Opher – 4.9.2020

 

 

Poetry – Georgie by John Phillips

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Georgie

 

Grubby little piglet

Snuffling in his trough.

Wants to eat up everything

And still can’t get enough.

 

Another poem from Shorts and Shots by John Phillips. I hope George Osborne reads it – though it could be about most of the Tories couldn’t it?

Poetry – John Phillips –           Coalition 2010

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Coalition 2010

 

A clanging gong.

Bong!

Caring Conservatism.

Bong!

The Big Society.

Bong!

Hard-working families.

Bong!

All in it together.

Bong!

 

(another poem from Shorts and Shots by John Phillips)

Poetry – Source of the chaos.

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Source of the chaos

 

Searching for the source of chaos

Is not a difficult task.

Look who’s sowing division

In his KKK mask.

Look who sacks anybody

Who disagrees with him.

Look who sulks petulantly,

Perpetually looks grim.

 

The harbinger of chaos

Can’t even read a book.

Is ignorant of science

And is nothing but a crook.

He won’t show us his tax returns

Or his Russian connections.

All he’s got inside his head

Is winning the elections.

 

He loves to have the power

And craves more wealth.

The only person he loves

Is the image of himself.

He’ll stir up the rioting

And condone the killers.

With snout in the trough

With all the other swillers.

 

The source of all the chaos

Is hiding in plain sight.

Pretending to have solutions

But never getting it right.

He feeds his loyal base

With cynical concessions.

While sneering at their loyalty

And feeding their obsessions.

 

The master of fake news

And conspiracy theory.

Tweeting long into the night

When other eyes are bleary.

Out on the golf course

In the midst of emergency.

Calling hoax, misinforming;

Not understanding urgency.

 

He does not care about people.

Has no ounce of compassion.

He’ll do anything for a vote.

The truth is on ration.

The architect of chaos

Is serving up the blame.

Passing the buck

Without an ounce of shame.

 

Opher – 3.9.2020

Poetry – John Phillips – The Awakening

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In these difficult times, with lying politicians putting a spin on everything, we need poets like John Phillips to tell it how it is. Awake! We are not second-class! We are all worthy! We deserve better than this!

 

The Awakening

 

Speak not to me of empires,

Who’s empty drums beat out a lullaby

To fill the sleep with dreams of glory.

 

Speak not, with twisted tongue,

A web of propaganda, spun

To idolise and justify unwholesome wealth and privilege.

 

Speak not to me of thrones;

Of bogus majesties, who’s festivals of inequality

Seek only to patronise and so, deny the right of all to be the same.

 

Awake! Awake! Reality awaits.

We are not second class!

Awake!

Poetry – Trumpville – where only some lives matter

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Trumpville – where only some lives matter

 

Welcome to Trumpville

Where a black man’s life counts for little.

Welcome to the land

Where police dispense justice

With a trigger.

 

Welcome to the leader’s policy:

Sow fear,

Pour blame,

Stoke division

And soak up the power.

 

Opher – 2.9.2020

Poetry – Welcome to Trumpville

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Welcome to Trumpville

 

Welcome to Trumpville

The land of burning buildings

Teargas and clubs.

 

Hail the leader

Throwing petrol on the flames.

Urging the firing of guns.

 

Welcome to division.

Welcome to hate.

Welcome to the world of spin.

 

Welcome to Trumpville

The land of burning buildings

Teargas and clubs.

 

Opher – 1.9.2020

Poetry – Cynical Leadership

Posted on by Opher

Cynical Leadership

 

Inciting, infiltrating and spinning

Deviously

To prey upon the gullible.

 

Threatening, posturing and jeering

Arrogantly

To enrage the peaceable.

 

Cajoling, lying and frightening

Blatantly

To scare the fallible.

 

Any tactic will do

To gain their power.

Illegal,  immoral or insane

Turning the future sour.

 

Opher – 31.8.2020