Whiter Waters

I think I shall return

to whiter waters

where needle-pointed spray

may pierce my need

drench my soul in deluge

ride the rapids

to vapoured mist

I think I shall accede

I think I shall resign

to white-crest stallions

on bareback mount

the tempests till I’m thrown

relinquish reins

and lose all steering

in whiter waters drown

on winds be blown

Fiddle-Faddle

the lumpen proletariat were silent

enjoying that, for now, their TVs blinked

medullas chewed the spew that those tubes fed them

saved them from the burden of self-think

lives of rich and famous were presented

in accents that proclaimed a brain for hire

plastic lives and faces swilled their hogwash

those dudes can pitch and bitch like they’re on fire

nonsense spilled from corners onto tables

bunkum munched for breakfast and for tea

scalpels to lobotomise with supper

retiring then to dream of what could be

disorderly enactment of self-serving

nightmares of left behind in greedy race

another day another dose aspiring

to be the public plasticised of face

the mush that swirled solidified with access

till arteries, clogged up, forgot the brain

a lazy trickle inwards flowing downwards

that policy that never works again

the TVs spluttered then and heads exploded

potash of cells lay muckled on the floor

abstinence soon resurrected reason

alas, some brains would be a broth for evermore

a gallery of whispers twiddled knobs where

a panel of control determined cause

twiddle, twaddle, fiddle while we burn up

accepting every edict, all new laws

there’s a reason why the tube is cheaper, cheaper

the cheapest set in town is worth the sell

lumpen proletariat rejoices

one percent that fiddle do as well