Poetry – The Pursuit of Happiness

Posted on by Opher

The Pursuit of Happiness

We’re all busy consuming.

It’s what we’re taught to do.

Buying and throwing away

Is the nation’s glue.

We’re using up the planet.

Making lots of people rich.

Destroying the thing we love.

Ain’t life a bitch?

The pursuit of happiness

Is to be found in ownership.

The more you have the more you are

All that matters is blue chip.

Some have much and some have none.

That’s the way it has to be.

We’re living the life of luxury

In the land of the free.

What good is having everything

If everyone has it too?

If money doesn’t buy us happiness

What are we to do?

Opher – 28.3.2021

It seems to me that we have lost our way. We do not have lives full of meaning, wonder and adventure. We live in a world where the only things that matter are status and fame.

It’s so empty.

Poetry – Anthem for Fucked Youth

Posted on by Opher

Anthem for Fucked Youth

What bells ring for those who totter vacantly?

Only the monstrous anger of the drunken thugs

Only the machine gun rattle of laughter

Can down the last orders from their mugs

Endless mockeries for them who vacuously stare

In search of laughs and empty pleasure

Bitter rebuke and mindless eyes glare

As their anorexic souls store their pointless treasure

What meaning for those who cruise to enjoy

Not in the bodies of girls, but in their eyes

Glazed dreams of abuse and lies

The gelled hair and dangling shirt

Designer labels and trainered feet

Now lobotomised cattle on the street

Opher 24.3.99

Wilfred Owen is one of my favourite poets. I wrote this poem after making my way through the comatose crowds in the centre of town for whom the purpose of life is merely to attain unconsciousness.

I heard no discussion taking place about the purpose of life. No philosophical discourse. No in depth analysis of prose, poetry or philosophy; no appreciation of book, film or song, just the clatter of high heels, the swagger and sway and the gormless glazed glare.

Like cattle in a field they go instinctively towards their demise.

There was violence, anger and hostility. It reminded me of a battlefield.

These were the days when the bell tolled for last orders and the streets filled with tottering figures looking for a shag, fight or incredibly a curry.

They were a sad and sorry sight – an army of empty-heads. The gas-attack will come as a surprise.