A Dream Too Far

My friends,

I find myself so drawn

To others I can’t see

And yet, their souls are visible.

Is this only me?

 

All week long

I worked and wanted

To share myself with thee

To read your truths and your stories of

Truth and fantasy.

 

It seems to me

That I now live a lie

In once, choice profession.

Excuse me, please, I know this sounds like

Sordid, mean confession.

 

It is not that.

It’s just that, well,

I’ve written far too long and hidden all

I’ve thought and felt,

Like BBC banned song.

 

At last I feel

I’ve found my way,

Words upon the page

Flowing more profusely

Than at any other age.

 

I love my kids

Inside my school,

I know I do them well,

I, seriously, could do no other.

They’re like my own, myself.

 

But what to do,

I’m fifty-two.

I know that that’s not ancient

But I don’t know if I have will

To be forever patient

 

To do what I have always felt

Is so my heart’s desire

To set chosen words

Upon a page

To fuel a literary fire.

 

I kind of figured

A short while ago

That all this was a dream,

Like fairy belief and flying;

Nothing as it seemed.

 

Such disarray within my thoughts,

My dreams are running wild

And yet,

I am responsible,

No longer infant child.

 

May dreams surpass

All aged years,

All human expectation?

Is wanting something longed before

Merely, childish, frustration?

 

It may be so.

I think it may

Be nothing more than flight,

Imagination, born of dreams

Aurora Borealis light.

 

But, still,

I see them flashing there

Right before my eyes,

I look forever upwards

At heavenly, promised skies.

 

If truth be told,

There’s part of me

Still gurgling in my cradle.

I can’t let go, confession time.

I simply am not able.                                   

 

Market Forces Confuse

A galaxy of chocolate

And sweets displayed to catch the eye,

A Marathon now Snickers

At my attempts to pass them by.

Opal Fruits, so once called, add to the confusion,

Call me Starbust, they now say,

Your memories are illusion.

And not just sweets or chocolate bars,

Household products too.

I remember Cif was Jif,

It used to clean my loo.

Markets dictate, me confuse.

Fusion

Some are entrenched in immutable mode

And keep their eyes blinkered ahead on the road.

Others decry all depths of matter

And throw the baby out with bath water.

Superseding notions are all very well

And ideas, progressive, can find places to dwell.

If old marries new and blesses the union

Some harmony exists in this grafted fusion.

But crushing the past causes greatest confusion,

Beliefs left bereft for a newer delusion.

No secretive, unwritten code.

Planning

Planning has a purpose;

To house a better way,

To make things clear and visible,

A clearly marked out day.

 

It’s laudable, desirable

And helps to show the path,

Notable, remarkable,

Creative, structured math.

 

So, why then, do I make a plan

Then discard the obvious route

In favour of impulsive;

Making planning moot?

 

I like to see the road ahead,

To mark it in the diary,

Then rip it up and start again,

Do something helical and wiry.

 

Within this heart, two different parts;

One sensible and planned,

The other very childish,

Takes spontaneity in hand.

The Polis

Quite distressing,

Watching news,

So many different

Points of views,

Seeking all to

Contradict,

Never missing

Any trick

To overthrow

Or undermine

Credibility.

 

Lying or being

Colourful with truth,

Quite a message

For our youth.

Give us your vote

On ballot paper,

Won’t screw you now,

We’ll wait till later.

Once confidence

And seats

Are ours.

Now we’re in

A Celebration!

We’ll fix this lot

The whole damn nation.

We’ve got a plan

Just wait and see

We like to call it

Policy.

It’s changed a bit

From just before

Election.

 

The trouble is

Now that we’re in,

We have to deal;

We call it spin.

Shaving truth

From here and there.

We’re cuddly still,

A hairless bear,

With claws

And teeth

That bite.

But, worry not,

We won’t bite you,

You’re one of us.

Well ain’t that true?

I voted, yes,

I put my mark,

My little cross,

My vital spark

Believing,

Trusting in

Democracy.

I feel though, that

I’m standing by

While you get rich

And pass us by,

Pissing up against

Our legs,

Doling out to us

The dregs.

While bankers

Wanked

And walked.

 

Strange, misplaced,

This trust you urged.

Some view the process

As absurd,

When what is said

And what appears

Mismatch. The policy

Disappears.

There’s egg

On all

Our faces.

 

Still, better than

Dictatorship

Or feudal lords

Who, fortune stripped

From workers

Ploughing in the field

Theirs the effort

Yours, the yield.

Oh, wait, that

Seems quite

Similar.

 

A paper mark

Means nothing more

If once you’re in

You shut the door

On faces who

Extolled your worth.

Who’s laughing now?

Oh, you. Such mirth.

You’ve conned

Us all

Again.

 

Honesty?,

I’m so naïve.

I listen and

Sometimes, believe

The shit you say,

You pose and preach.

We are all

Just out of reach

Of mattering

To you.

And other you.

 

Not much to choose from

I see that clear,

With clarity

Not dowsed in beer

That’s taxed

To death

Like everything

That’s left.

Which is

Not much

At all.

 

So, what’s my choice?

Should I abstain?

Refuse to take part

Once again?

Or trust that one day,

Maybe soon,

An upright man

Will fly from moon

And work

To serve

The job and people.

 

Excuse me if I don’t

Hold my breath,

Not ready yet

For certain death.

Is this what Aristotle

Meant

When speaking

Of a government?

I don’t

Think so.

 

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