Poetry – I Aim – a poem about a dissident who refuses to swallow the story presented to him.

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Life could be totally wonderful if it was not for the greed that creates war, poverty, inequality and environmental degradation. I fear we will destroy it all along with ourselves out of sheer stupidity.

I suspect we are manipulated on many levels by many different groups with vested interests.

The politicians lie, promise and cajole.

The religious indoctrinate with false dogma.

The businessmen seek your gold.

In amongst all this manipulation, false facts, lies, deceit and indoctrination we are expected to believe.

I do not. I am sceptical about everything. All I know is the evidence of my eyes. It is sufficient to inform me that we are being exploited.

I aim

I aim

To speak

The truth.

I seek

The evidence

Of proof.

 

I want

To live

In peace.

Without

Fear that

This may suddenly cease.

 

I am not content

To believe all that I am sent.

I am agnostic

About its portent

And content.

I feel manipulated –

A thought

That cannot bear

To be contemplated.

 

So what

Is the aim

Of those that lead?

Self Gain?

But leave

The world to bleed?

Surely not? But Pol Pot

Hitler and Mao

Tell another story.

They hardly cover the

Human race with glory.

 

History reveals

The lies

We believe

To be false.

We are

Indoctrinated

With the rules

And beliefs,

Of course.

 

He who controls

The media

Controls the minds.

We are victims

Of the

Ruler’s crimes.

 

I do not know

My own mind.

It has been

Otherwise defined.

 

Go quietly into the market

To purchase all you can.

For the world is a supermarket basket

And a tantalising tan.

 

Religion is a morphia

Politics a scam;

Life the whole world over

Is based on a sham.

 

It’s all run for profit

Without regard to the future.

I despise all of it

As I seek a meaningful culture.

 

In vain.

 

Don’t give me the religious

Stance as real and meaningful –

Indoctrinated garbage

Controlling the sinful.

 

I reject its human creation

As contrived and primitive

Attempts to seek power

And apply the inhibitive.

 

Life should be free to wonder

And delight,

Not a fear to ponder

And an everlasting fright.

 

Give me life –

Make me free.

All I want

Is to be me!!!

 

Opher 9.8.2015

Poetry – Therefore I Am – inspired by Plato’s Groove.

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Sometimes I think the whole world is one great economic market, a tourist theme park and money-making opportunity. There are no aims to live, enjoy or communicate. It is merely exploitation and the weakest go to the wall.

The Third World are consumed, the poor are consumed and the world is consumed.

The mantra is progress. The clarion call is MORE!!!!

We are statistics to be analysed by politicians and businessmen. We are manipulated with subtle campaigns and our views are orchestrated for us. Our individual tastes are analysed and we are presented with opportunities, delectable tit-bits and possessions tailored to our individual tastes. Our every whim is catered for.

Where are our values? Where is our individuality? Where are our choices?

 

Therefore I am

 

I shop therefore I am

A number in the amorphous mass

That feeds upon the demographic

Dangled in front of me – so crass.

 

I buy therefore I exist

To nourish the economic bubble

And create wealth for the chimps

Who cause so great a trouble.

 

I consume therefore I live

To support the wealth of others

And enable the system to persist

That creates expendable brothers.

 

I hoard therefore I’m worthy

Of their encouragement

And feed their greed and mania

Without the slightest lament.

 

I discard therefore I thrive

In their eyes, for I replace

The baubles and the beads

Without a trace of disgrace.

 

I think therefore I am

Untrustworthy to those whose aim

Is to make us economic

Numbers in their game.

 

Opher 8.8.2015

Poetry – The Establishment and the Flea

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The Establishment and the Fleaebola in garden of eden cover

We are fortunate as to be so extremely worthless. Our greatest efforts are not even a pinprick.

I imagine the establishment as a mighty horned dragon. It guards its treasure jealously and refuses to share a single coin.

The establishment like things just as they are. It does not like change. It has the power and ensures the money keeps rolling in. The pile grows ever bigger while the desperation outside is enormous. It cares not.

The dragon devours all who dare to oppose it. It bribes them, includes them and devours them……. Or it destroys them utterly.

No one has the power to oppose its deadly games. We are all toys.

My only weapon is my words.

I fashion extreme weapons of mass destruction but they bounce of his impervious scales.

We are defenceless against his might. We can keep our heads down or fight.

I firmly believe in the gesture. It may be futile but it is at least an attempt.

I aim my words with anger, clarity and perception. I hope that they may hit home; find a way through those scales to the putrefying guts inside. We can but hope!

 

The Establishment

 

I threw my words

Like grenades

Into the belly of the monster.

He took no notice.

I wielded sentences

Like swords

And sliced at his

Softer parts,

But he took not the slightest notice.

He ignore me.

I carefully organised

My phrases

To reach critical mass

And detonated them

In his heart.

It was as if a gnat

Had floated past his nose.

 

Friends told me I was fortunate.

With one lick

He could devour me.

I should desist.

I would be swallowed whole.

But I feel free to do my utmost.

I know I am inconsequential.

 

Opher 8.8.2015

Poetry – The Small things – a poem about what really counts.

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If life has taught me any lessons it is that there are never any short-cuts that don’t end up costing you, no quick fixes that put things right and that anything worthwhile is always about the details. The small things are really the biggest. They are the things that make the difference. They show you really care.

 

It’s the little things.

 

It’s the little things.

It is always the little things;

The touch of a hand,

A kind word,

A voice that sings;

The smile of a child

The caress of a breeze,

The flash of the wings.

 

That’s what warms the heart,

Gives strength to the mind

And gifts power

To everything you find.

 

For the little things

Are bigger than you think.

They provide the link.

 

It’s always the little things

That mean the most.

 

Opher 5.8.2015

Poetry – We were just kids – a poem about the idealism of youth.

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I often think back to the days of my youth when everything seemed so clear. I looked at the way the world was being governed and thought it was completely insane.

I’d met people from a range of cultures and discovered they were people just like me. We could laugh and love without hatred or prejudice. So where did all this fear, violence and paranoia come from?

It had to be the politicians, the media, and the institutions. The world was being run for people to exploit and make money, for power and wealth. It created nations, wars, inequality and led to distrust, paranoia and hatred.

I believed there was a better way. But I was just a kid. I thought it would be easy. All you had to do was explain it well enough and everyone would understand. It isn’t as easy as that. A small minority of people are vicious, deranged, damaged and indoctrinated. They need to feel good about themselves and they do that be placing themselves in positions of power. We are governed by sociopaths and psychopaths. They set the tone for everything that happens. Too many people are traumatised by abuse, war, bereavement, ill-treatment, bad upbringing or bad experiences. They need assistance.

I was young. I believed everyone had a core of humanity and was open to reason. I had faith that I could talk my way out of any bad situation.

I’m not so young any more. I think it isn’t quite so easy. But I still believe that most people are good and that those who aren’t are sick and damaged. That should be our priority; to heal the sad and traumatised. That’ll make things better.

I’m not so young anymore. I know it’s a big job.

 

We were just kids

 

We were playing revolution,

Making rules as we lived each day;

Throwing out the constitution

Laughing all the way.

We were just kids.

 

We knew we were immune

We had the bravado of youth.

We could write any tune

And sing it on the hoof.

 

Rejecting all the leader’s men

Institutions and the laws.

Throwing out the court’s pen

The rules and the scores.

We were just kids.

 

We knew we saw a better path

One without greed and power.

A way that was full of laughs

Making love by the hour,

 

Full of naïve innocence

That provided amazing clarity.

We were certain it all made sense

Armed with great hilarity.

We were just kids.

 

We were just kids.

 

Opher 1.8.2015

Poetry – Eyes Open – A poem to the splendour around us.

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I wanted to write a poem to encapsulate the incredible beauty of the universe and life on this vibrant jewel of a planet.

Evolution has provided us with sense in order to enable us to survive. It has provided us with a brain to process the data. Our senses see all that is around us in order to protect us from predators and enable us to find food and shelter.

An offshoot of this is that we have developed consciousness that allows us to comprehend, create and wonder.

The world around us is full of immense beauty. Life on this planet has evolved into immaculate forms. The natural features of this planet are marvellous to behold.

We should open our senses to the full and bask in it and thank chance for dealing us this hand.

We are possibly the only intelligent life in the whole universe who are able to witness the extent of this wonder. I hope that we are able to not only appreciate but preserve the splendour we are surrounded with; much of it is delicate.

Eyes Open

Surrounded:

Petal and scale

Iridescent –

Galactic

Majesty

Replete.

Feather

Wing and crystal,

Aromatic scent

Creating

Awe and wonder

We cannot repeat.

In the midst

Of splendour

We exist

With sense

To feel

It all;

With open eyes

And ears

To insist

That life is here

To feel

That pull.

There is wonder in our being;

Greatness in our seeing,

And love enough

To hold it all in

Thrall.

Opher 27.7.2015

Poetry – Consciousness – a poem about the most amazing result of evolution- possibly the most complex thing in the universe.

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Consciousness

I was taking a break from taming the beast that is ivy on the wall when I was thinking about consciousness.

I have senses that enable me to see the world, a brain to think, a sense of identity and an appreciation of everything.

The world is wondrous. The universe is spectacular. Wouldn’t it be a shame if there were no eyes to witness it, no minds to appreciate the awe and wonder. Evolution is great.

Now so long ago the wonders of the heavens were not known and microscopic life unseen. Now we have instruments and machines to enhance our senses. It is an incredible age we live in. Our eyes are fully open to all possibility.

Yet what are we? A flash of electricity? A chemical flow? A wave of polarisation? A network of connections? The sum is always greater than the parts!

 

Conciousness

 

A flash, a pattern, lighting up the skull.

A construction of identity for us to ever mull.

A sense of reality that forms within the mind.

A delving into mystery to see what we can find.

 

I am alive.

I think .

I feel.

I thrive.

 

I am aware of what I think and feel.

I am aware of you and me.

I have memory

To give continuity.

 

My prized possession;

But I like to change it now and then,

For insight into other worlds,

But always back again.

 

Chemical and network,

Infused with electricity,

Polarising views

Of our eternity.

 

For consciousness is all I have.

It is the essence of me.

When I’m gone it will dissolve

And I will cease to be.

 

Consciousness is ephemeral

But not a spirit or a soul.

It is a physical construction

That gets our rock to roll.

 

I am conscious

I can see.

Imagine the universe

Without you or me.

 

I’m glad we evolved consciousness

In the face of such majesty.

Without the eyes to see it

Would be a waste of such beauty.

 

Opher 25.7.2015

Poetry – A Wail from the Fifties – a poem about the prevailing zeitgeist.

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Every age has its zeitgeist and that spirit creates the possibility. Nothing is simple. The complexity of all the subtle inputs and nuance create a ‘feel’ that can only be sensed. It can never be recreated.

Music captures a bit of the ‘soul’. Within the sound the human condition is expressed. It captures the politics, social condition, personal mood and idealism of the age within which it was produced. It is not merely a sound. It is not merely a set of notes performed on instruments. It is not merely a product of the recording technique and studio. It is much more than that. It is a product of all the attributes of the time it was made. All the experiences of the times are condensed into those sounds. It is a human being who is pouring their spirit into the sound. What comes out is their poetic interpretation. It is human.

And humans swim within the zeitgeist of their age. It bathes them, is absorbed by them and transforms them. What comes out of that osmosis is the essence of the age they live in. No amount of reproduction can recreate it. Every age is unique.

We build the zeitgeist that moulds us. Let’s make it good!

A Wail from the Fifties

A saxophone wail from the fifties

Is not the same as the best we can now make.

A guitar riff from the sixties –

We cannot create the same revolutionary break.

The snarl of disgust from the seventies

Cannot ever be reproduced.

Every decade has its moment

And cannot be reintroduced.

 

The zeitgeist of the moment

Is the spirit of the age.

Unique to the chemistry

That is written on that page.

 

We can listen back in wonder

At how it came about.

Tune in to the moment

And understand, without a doubt.

But we cannot re-experience

What it felt to live back then.

You can study every nuance

But you cannot get it back again.

 

It’s different.

 

Opher 24.7.2015

Poetry – Cruelty our Ecstasy – an X-rate poem (not for the weak hearted) about mankind’s inherent love for inflicting agony.

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You might not want to read this one.

I wrote this in response to the callous, inhumane way that the sectarian killings were being carried out. There seemed no limit to the desire to inflict pain. If someone could be tortured longer and more cruelly then that was the aim. The electric drill was the favoured tool. The only limits were those imposed by our imagination.

Humanity has a propensity for enjoying the pain and agony of others. At our worst we are vicious, callous and indescribably evil.

Every war sees its range of torture, brutality, rape and despicable violence.

We create tribes and gang up on each other. We bully, use derogatory terms, racial slurs and put-downs to upset and destroy others. We can be so nasty that we cause self-harm, suicides and destroy individuals We create stereotypes of whole races and nations that end up in wars.

The inhumanity shown to animals is almost unbelievable. I watched a film where a crew were catching hundreds of sharks, slicing their fins off and flinging the living fish back over the side. It was not possible to imagine the agony those fish suffered.

Round the world there are cock-pits, bull-rings, bear-baiting, dog fights, and badger baiting. The crowds gather to excitedly jeer.

In China they are reputed to kill the dogs by boiling them alive in their dog festival.

I don’t know how the torturers of people and animals manage to sleep. I don’t know how they manage to reconcile what they do with any code of morality, inner conscience or religious views. Some of them are doing this in the name of religion. Somehow they believe that their god sanctions such barbarity.

It almost makes me believe in evil. Except this isn’t evil. It is part of human nature. We did not get to be the dominant species by being nice. We are the biggest, meanest motherfuckers on the planet.

I believe we have to recognise this tendency and prevail against it. At our best we are altruistic, pleasant, friendly, loving and kind. That is the side we need to nurture. That ‘Evil’ side needs containing and controlling. We need laws, counselling, education and assistance to be the best we can be.

I believe we can create a better, positive zeitgeist and learn to live without needing violence, division, bullying, cruelty and evil. We can put it behind us.

We can become civilised!

Cruelty Our Ecstasy

A drill through the leg, the liver and the head.

We love it!!

A ring for the bull, the badger and the fool.

We love it!!

Agony

Cruelty

Our ecstasy.

We love it!!

Red hot poker through the eye, crush your balls to hear you cry.

We love it!!

A shock deep in the cunt, a smack with something blunt.

We love it!!

Inject the acid, burn the brain, til we’ve driven you insane.

We love it!!

Agony

Cruelty

Our ecstasy.

We love it!!

Shoot, burn, stab and kick, do it slow and never quick.

We love it!!

Gang rape the little boy, treat his sister like a toy.

We love it!!

Hunt the tiger, stab the whale; saw the head off the little girl.

We love it!!

We love it!!

Tease with a word, a joke, – a lie, a leer, a sneering poke.

We love it!!

Bully for you, another wog another jew,

We love it!!

Another push, another kick, another threat, another pick.

We love it!!

Display the skin, the horn the head, shoot them all full of lead

We love it!!

We love it!!

Cruelty

Agony

Our Ecstasy

We loooove it!!!!!

Load the nails in the grenade; imagine the mess you will have made.

We love it!!

Pull off every one of the wings, cut off the legs and all the fins

We love it!!

Cruelty

Agony

Our Ecstasy

We loooove it!!!!!

We love it!!

 

 

Opher 23.5.07

Poetry – I Read the Page – a poem about a writers life – to search for truth, meaning and mystery and seek out the stories life contains.

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You get so caught up in life that you often lose track of what you are doing. It becomes habit. Life goes on in an unchanging monotony, swamping you with trivia, until it suddenly changes.

A writer hunts for truth, meaning and purpose among the debris of the days.

The truth is that in the depths of eternity all we have are the precious moments in which we live. That is where the best stories are to be gleaned. We defiantly carve them from thin air.

Our stories have the same substance, the same significance, as life. They will outlive us.

There is no ultimate purpose and everything will pass. That is why we write. It is the defiance that makes us special.

I read the page

I read the page behind the words

And breathe the air beneath the birds,

In which nothing lives,

Yet it holds all life.

Seeking meaning

Through this mad strife

 

I search the black between the stars

And touch the skin between the scars,

To find the story

That does not exist.

But in that blankness

Lies life’s gist

 

I hear the silence between the notes

And trawl the depths on which all floats.

For that alone is true

And contains the tale

On which we grew.

But there is nothing there

Anew

I knew

 

Opher 21.8.09