These are not politicians, These are bloated Showboating liars, Even then ineffectual, Snakes eating Regenerating tails.
There is no singular truth From mouths of proven beasts Gnawing on their sleazy deceit And trimming with pliers Their golden-tipped nails, Helium balloons for heads And guru gullibilities For their beds, Faux democracy Feeding compliance.
I will not be beholden To misappropriated rules By the imbeciles set, Held up like an orb At the end of a staff In which all greeds Do swirl and laugh.
Rise up suffrage From the dead, Thrown under Busses in blue And also the red, I do not need a uterus To be this much misled.
I would rather chew My own ear off Than align myself To the greater and The lesser of these two evils. I have fooled myself As much as their Legerdemain Fooled me, but now aware, And no longer scared, In writing we will find Our liberty, I have said, So rise up, Rise up suffrage, And bring out your dead.
Lately this bald lake Is a beer can graveyard, More litter than fish which Occasionally float On the surface, lifeless And bloated and stripped Of their sequin-coloured Sequences. Still, a scent of bergamot, A lost incongruous Birdwatcher with Binoculars on a cord Around his neck Says a cheerful hello And we are on our way.
A single bold swan Wandered into a restaurant Beside the lake Yesterday as we ate, Yellow tag on her ankle, Perusing for food, Brazen and tame. She could take my dreams And sculpt with her beak A series of images With memories interlaced.
Little then required to inspire me, Just you and me and a song; For many years afterwards, Years after you had gone, I wondered whether that swan Had ever visited at all.
Oceans of oily
And lifeboat ramps.
Bird cliff droppings,
In the village
We built a nation,
Beneath the snow.
I do not know your age, Or rather, what your age would be And all that now to me would mean, If you were here, alive somehow. Seventy-four, or seventy-three; Some people once remarked That you looked a lot like me.
You neglected every milestone Beyond your event horizon’s beak At world’s edge; Never seen a sunset, Just an endless bleak and Ghastly eyeless glass waterfall, Like a flea-infested mere black hole, Full of gassy gravity And its own invested energy.
I disowned you years ago, Of course, and consequence; (I thought you should know); The silences, interruptions In faith and the quiet Self-confidence Derived from permanence, The planets in their place Are no more than dusty molecules. Actions resonate, in blood, In deoxyribonucleic bonds. So much is invisible To the naked eye, Wouldn’t you say.
Your grandchildren, Beautiful in their individual Ignorances and unwrongs Of your divestment And your imposition undoing Of scriptures, and your dance With Fate, and behemoths Devoid of any talent, yet Too great for you To contemplate too long; They sing a new psalm Cut from a brand new song; Every birthday, yes, Every marriage, Every great-grandchild In Life’s Great Carriage You deprived yourself of, Every candle blown out, Every significant moment Like neonatal visits And yellow blankets knitted, Like a despot overthrown By populist senses of goodness; And graduation mortar boards, And then the inbetween minutes And hours of simplistic wonder, Blissfully ponder, A trip to the beach, A vanilla ice cream, Pretence of a wizard, A long Christmas list And bedecked Christmas Tree. Dreams of a gizzard Are all that are left, Dreams out of reach For the deeply bereft. Never a grandfather, Never would die In a world you created Where mistruth resides You outlive, outsurvive; Never a grandfather, Only a Dad, Only Death’s Bride, Only a Dad.