Poetry – Selling the World – A poem about the future.

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Selling the World

 

When all the forests are gone, all the wildernesses paved, all the wild-life eradicated and all the resources exploited; what will we have left then?

Will anybody care?

Will all the people go gaily about their lives without a thought, not noticing the difference?

Will they live their lives in their domiciles, walk down streets to the shopping mall, travel in computer driven vehicles, sit in manicured gardens, and watch mind-numbing media? Or will they miss the birds, bees and wild things?

Will they visit a zoo, eat their pseudo-pop-corn and stare at the weird animals that used to roam freely?

Where will the oxygen come from then? Will it be produced by huge industrial processes?

Will the scientists have invented new plastic?

Will everyone eat healthy beef-burgers made from sterile, wholesome bacterial sludge?


 

Selling the World

 

We’re selling the future

For a bigger slice of today.

Ripping the heart out

And making it pay.

What price a forest?

A whale or a bee?

Profit to be made

Where nothing’s for free.

 

They are buying the planet

Piece by piece.

Evicting the occupants

And stealing their fleece.

Creating sterility

Where once it was rich.

Stealing their lives –

Throwing bodies in the ditch.

 

Looking ahead

To the world of then

I see no home

For tiger or lion.

A plastic universe

Made of uncaring greed

With no wilderness

For wild-life to breed.

 

They are selling my future

And yours too!

All that will remain

Are remnants,

Caged,

Tamed,

Beaten,

Destroyed,

And contained,

In a zoo.

 

Opher 10.11.2015

Poetry – The Sixties – a poem about how is was dealt with.

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The Sixties

Being brought up in the sixties was a mixed blessing. It was a time of great social change, camaraderie, ideals, optimism and adventure. It was a time when a large section of youth questioned the order and wisdom of their elders.

We thought things could be done differently without the paranoia and warmongering, the greed and selfishness. We really believed that we could create a fairer system with equality, fun, creativity and love. Friendship took on a new dimension. There was no room for racism, poverty or war. When you met people from other cultures you could relate with respect and not hate them because they were different.

People wore bright clothes that reflected the happiness and positive feelings of the time.

It was a time of great optimism and idealism, a time of global perspective, travel and discovery.

Rules – there were no rules.

We made up our own rules.

We were freaks. We did it differently. It was a universal peoplehood.

Of course the establishment were not to enamored. They saw us as a threat and our culture as opposed to everything they stood for.

They were very clever. They absorbed, bribed, subverted and took over. They ridiculed the culture, caricaturized it, satirized it, and made it into a fashion. They sold it and profited from it.

Having experienced a feeling of such positiveness it is hard to return to the rat-race of profit, greed and cruelty and resume the paranoia as if it had never been interrupted.

The sixties was like the football match on Christmas day that first Christmas in the trenches – a brief friendly interchange where you found the enemy was just the same as you. Normal warfare was quickly resumed.

The Sixties

 

Naïve, happy and positive,

With all the world ahead.

Changing the universe

And laughing on the way.

I thought we’d altered for ever

But found

It will be the same

As today.

 

Busy blowing cobwebs down

The dusty hall,

As we shunted

The old order out.

But we were merely

Creating an interlude

That wasn’t worth

A shout.

 

Outmanoeuvered

And sold down the stream.

They changed it into fashion

And sold us

Another dream.

 

Opher 8.11.2015

Poetry – Imperfect – A poem about reality and our limited senses.

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Imperfect

We think we see the world as it is but we are wrong. We think we see reality but our view is only partial.

Our senses evolved to enable us to sense the world around us, to find food, seek a mate and avoid predators. Nothing more.

Evolution is very hit and miss. By chance a sense was created and then, through a million refinements honed to the standard we currently possess – imperfection. Each sense stumbled upon provided an advantage to the mutant that gave it a higher survival chance. We are left with the sum total of those random mutations. It is not even good.

We experience the world through touch, sight, sound, taste and smell imperfectly. It is enough to get us around, to avoid obstacles, avoid heat and cold, find things and even communicate. But it lacks range and depth.

If only we could smell like a dog. I would love to smell like a dog.

If only we could see like a bee. Flowers would be a whole new different world.

If only we had the eyesight of a hawk, the mysterious sense of a homing pigeon, the night-sight of an owl or the senses of a fish or whale.

If only.

Our senses are limited to a tiny range of the electro-magnetic spectrum. We are surrounded with myriad energy forms that we cannot detect or ‘see’. Radio waves and Alpha, Gamma, Beta all pass straight through without so much as an acknowledgement. We are so limited.

I would say reality is the sum total of being able to ‘see’ and delight in every single type of energy and matter. We’re a million miles away from that!

A few billion years more and we might have a few improvements.

What glorious universe would we be able to see if we truly saw reality?

 

Imperfect

 

Imperfect –

Seeing partially

A fraction

Of the universe

Available

To me.

 

Unseen

Energy

Flying by

Holding the key

To other views,

Further news

And mystery.

 

How would

The world look

If we only

Had eyes to see

In X-ray

Infra-red

Or UV?

 

We think we see

But we are blind

To reality.

 

Opher 8.11.2015

Poetry – Buying into a nightmare. A poem about the establishment who run the show and how to get on.

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Buying in to a nightmare

I’ve always had an aversion to the whole social game. It sounds like a social nightmare. There is this mad rush to fit in at any cost. You have to have the right status symbols, wear the right uniform, play the right game, watch what you say and buy in.

If you make it to the high table and are accepted in then you have it made. That’s where the deals are made, the strings are pulled, the words whispered in ears.

This is certainly no meritocracy. The dice are loaded.

Right back through the generations yea even to the days of knights and medieval favour. The control continues.

At the level of the ordinary we are largely unaware of the strata above our heads and the games being played. They manipulate us and control. They have the media. They control what we hear, see and feel.

Democracy depends on freedom of information and lack of bias.

It’s not all about polished cars and lines in the lawn.

 

Buying in to a nightmare

 

I’m collecting all the baubles –

The symbols of my class.

Polishing the car

Rearranging certificates

From my past.

 

I mow the grass

In straight lines

And brush down my grey suit,

Fasten on my ‘old boys’ tie

And stash away the loot.

 

I’ve bought my way to the table

Where the plates are always full

And all the fawning sycophants

Devise the deeds so cruel.

 

Where the plans are laid with glee

As the targets they are set

And they make the deals for each other

Lest we should forget.

 

Opher 7.11.2015

Poetry – The last one – In the Cage. – A poem for the Chimps and Gorillas.

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The last one – In the cage

As a child I was taken to London zoo. I stood in front of the small cage in which Guy the Gorilla was housed. He looked out at me with sad rheumy eyes. He seemed so human.

There was a great resignation. Guy was bored to tears.

We humans have evolved from a branch of apes that gave rise to the gorillas and chimps. Only one percent of our DNA is different. Our greater intelligence is the result of a small number of changes. It is responsible for our technology and the weapons and tools with which we are busy destroying the planet and killing everything that lives.

We assume that all those chimps and gorillas have no intelligence.

We are wrong.

They have plenty of wisdom. It is merely different to ours.

Our binocular vision coupled with that opposable thumb has enabled our tool making and our technology. It has enabled us to destroy our cousins.

I think they know their days are numbered.


 

The last one – In the cage

 

What wise thoughts lie

Behind those eyes;

Brown eyes so human.

The blitheringed

Say you have no soul

But I see the sadness –

The knowledge of your fate.

 

What strange tools

Could be devised

By that hand –

That hand with thumb

And finger to pick

And grasp?

 

What contented future

Has been savagely

Plucked from

Your grasp

And snatched

From your mind?

 

Opher 7.11.2015

Roy Harper – Me and My Woman – one of the greatest songs ever.

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It occurred to me that there must be a lot of people who visit this blog who have never heard or appreciated the wonderful poetry and music of the great Roy Harper – our poet laureate and greatest British songwriter.

Here’s a You Tube connection:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QC5gebGthAs

and here’s a short snatch of lyrics. He has such scope and captures so much. A true British genius.

Roy Harper – Me And My Woman

I never know what kind of day it is on my battlefield of ideals
But the way she touches and the way it feels, must be just how it heals
Ah but it’s got a little better since I let her sundanceI never know what time of year it is living on top of the fire
But the robin outside has to hunt and hide in the cold frosty shire
Ah but he knows just what goes in between his cold toes and his warm ears
And he’s got no disguise in his eyes for his love as she nears

He spreads her a shelter
She takes the tall skies
As they helter skelter
Along the same sighs

And she wakes my days with a glad face
She fakes and says I’m a hard case
She makes and plays like a bad ace
Carrying my ways into scarred space
And she knows me well
Ah but what the hell
Only time can tell, where we’re going to

Me and my woman
Me and my little woman

Woody Guthrie – Mean Talking Blues – Lyrics and rambling!

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I’m having a bad day. I’m feeling frustrated, disgruntled, miserable and down

I got up this morning and the central heating was off. The house was freezing. I switched on the lights and a bulb blew and flicked the electrics. The toilet was blocked. My computer is not functioning properly. The internet is a snails pace. I can’t open emails or big documents. I can’t write. I’m too grouchy and annoyed. Nobody has bought any of my books today. I have three books to correct and I can’t download them. I’m fed up!

Well I unblocked the loo, changed the bulb and did the electrics and got the central heating going.

Doesn’t make a jot of difference. I’m still down.

So I went and sorted a Woody Guthrie song that fitted my mood. Woody Guthrie is a master poet/songwriter and I love him. He has a song for every occasion. This song is about the meanest guy that ever lived. I figured that this guy must have been around messing up my life. What d’ya think?

Mean Talking Blues Lyrics
“Mean Talking Blues” was written by Woody Guthrie.
I’m the meanest man that ever had a brain
All I scatter is aches and pains
I’m carbolic acid and a poison face
And I stand flat-footed in favor of crime and disgrace
If I ever done a good deed, I’m sorry of it

I’m mean in the East, mean in the West
Mean to the people that I like the best
I go around a-causin’ lot of accidents
And I push folks down and I cause train wrecks
I’m a big disaster, just goin’ somewhere’s to happen
I’m an organized famine studyin’, now I can be a little bit meaner
I’m still a whole lot too good to suit myself, just mean

I ride around on the subway trains
Laughin’ at the tight shoes dealin’ you pain
And I laugh when the car shakes from side to side
I laugh my loudest when other people cry
Can’t help it, I was born good, I guess
Just like you or anybody else
But then I just turned off mean

I hate ev’rybody don’t think like me
And I’d rather see you dead than I’d ever see you free
Rather see you starved to death than see you at work
And I’m readin’ all the books I can to learn how to hurt
Daily misery, spread diseases, keep you without no vote
Keep you without no union

Well, I hurt when I see you gettin’ ‘long so well
I’d ten times rather see you in the fires of hell
I can’t stand to fixed
See you there all fixed up in that house so nice
I’d rather keep you in that rotten hole with the bugs and the lice
And the roaches and the termites
And the sand fleas and the tater bugs

And the grub worms and the stingaree’s
And the tarantulas, and the spiders, childs of the earth
The ticks and the blow-flies, these is all of my little angels
That go ’round helpin’ me do the best parts of my meanness
And mosquiter’s

Well, I used to be a pretty fair organized feller
Till I turned a scab and then I turned off yeller
Fought ev’ry union with teeth and toenail
And I sprouted a six-inch stinger right in the middle of the tail
And I growed horns
And then I cut ’em off, I wanted to fool you
I hated union ever’where, ’cause God likes unions and I hate God

Well, if I can get the fat to hatin’ the lean
That’d tickle me more than anything I’ve seen
Then get the colors to fightin’ one another
And friend against friend, and brother and sister against brother
That’ll be just it

Everybody’s brains a-boilin’ in turpentine
And their teeth fallin’ out all up and down the streets
That’ll just suit me fine
‘Cause I hate ever’thing that’s union
And I hate ever’thing that’s organized
And I hate ever’thing that’s planned
And I love to hate and I hate to love
I’m mean, I’m just mean

 

Hope I don’t get like that. Mean people aren’t born; they are made. Life warps them. Our job is to give ’em a smile and a helping hand. What those fascists and fundamentalists need are cuddles.

My grandson Nathan invented a love-gun that turned baddies into goodies.

Today I wished he’d developed a happy gun that turned miseries into ecstasies and fixed all your problems. Wouldn’t that be great.

 

Opher’s Book Recommendations – Poetry

Posted on by Opher

I thought I’d better start doing a bit of marketing to encourage people to purchase my books. It seems a good idea to have readers for my words.

These four books are the ones I would recommend to read for anyone interested in my poetry.

These are the links to Amazon UK.

Vice and Verse

 

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Vice-Verse-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1514792079/ref=sr_1_19?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1446400099&sr=1-19&keywords=Opher+Goodwin

 

 

Prose, Cons and Poetry

 

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Prose-Cons-Poetry-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1512376566/ref=sr_1_21?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1446400146&sr=1-21&keywords=Opher+Goodwin

 

 

Stanzas and Stances

 

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Stanzas-Stances-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1518708080/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1446399418&sr=1-1&keywords=Opher+Goodwin

 

Rhymes And Reason

 

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Rhymes-Reason-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1516991184/ref=sr_1_16?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1446399418&sr=1-16&keywords=Opher+Goodwin

Poetry – A history of struggle – a poem about inequality.

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Stanzas and Stances cover

A History of Struggle

Within Britain we have achieved a level of social justice. Nobody should starve or go without a roof over their heads, though I’m sure some still do. There is a minimum wage and health and safety to ensure reasonable working conditions. We have education and health care. Even the poorest enjoy a reasonable standard of living.

But I cannot help thinking that we only get the minimum that the establishment think they can get away with. The fat cats at the top scoop off the profits in inordinate amounts.

If we look globally we see an even greater inequality. While the corporations run things for their own ends, to maximize their profits, billions are on the starvation level and the natural world is blitzed.

It is only ever through social struggle, paid for with blood, that we have ever wrested power, better conditions or better pay from the wealthy.

I do not believe the establishment cares a jot. They have no compassion. They will screw you if they can.

 

A History of Struggle

There is a history of struggle

Disguised

By a thin veneer

Of adequacy

That controls everyone

In a web of narrow

Expectation.

 

There’s a small trough of cream

And an endless desert

Of excrement.

As the few wet whiskers drip

While billions of parched throats

Croak

In futile hope.

 

Opher 30.10.2015

Poetry – The Future – Where are womens’ voices?

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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