Torment

They've been bled dry
By the Troika vampires
Life sucked out
With each debt repayment

They've been drowned
By the European dunk tank
Immersed by the rising tides
Of unemployment and child poverty

They've been strangled
On the austerity gallows
Growth and hope stifled
By a choking noose

So who can blame them
For attempting to kick off their tormentors
Tear out the catheters, climb to higher ground
or cut the hanging rope
Would we not do the same?

Survival

Why don't we see
That we need each other
To survive
If we were to revive
Our sense of community
We would be
So much more alive

The consumerist cycle crushes
Our spirit, our will
Makes us rush to consume
To fill the void
An endless spin to spend
In a false hope to win peace

But if we reach out
To touch our neighbours
Re-teach ourselves
And reverse the introversions.
We might see a beautiful planet,
Full of beautiful people
And a reason
To conserve society.

Gunfire

Gunfire and grenades

Sand splashed bullets exploding

A vacation peace

Terrified lobby

A panic stricken stairwell

Attempts at escape

Certain death reprieved

In a desperate moment

Some inner conscience?

Too late for the dead

Lying under the blankets

Families destroyed

In tragic murder

Violence solving nothing

Breeding only hate

 http://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/jun/27/tunisia-attack-he-looked-right-at-me-i-thought-i-was-dead-says-tourist

Runway

It seems to have been
A simple publicity stunt,
For celebrities to back.
A punt on making a name
For themselves, yet lacking,
In honesty and truth.
Undermining a movement
For less pollution,
Giving in to the ruthlessness
Of capitalist vultures,
Who insist on fining the rest of humanity
For their own gain.
And when the runway
Is built, will they be filled
With guilt and despair?
Or be inside those jets
Champagne filled
And choking the air?

http://www.theguardian.com/environment/2015/jun/25/heathrow-third-runway-greenpeace-land-sold

Waste

None of us want to see
Our rubbish on the street
Sewers exist for poo and pee
To decontaminate our feet

And the government it seems
Feels the same about migration
Ignoring all the tortured screams
Keeping us in isolation

You see, displacement of societies
Is a capitalist effect
Money making in it's varities
Creates waste when it goes unchecked

If capital and jobs are moved
Then there's no reason to stay
And globalisation has now proved
Gambles will be taken to find a way

By people wanting to improve their lives
In a safer, richer land
From one which, through war and famine, deprives
Where blood mingles with the sand

And rather than try to improve their lot
We want to set the dogs on them
Leave them behind barricades to rot
Using "unacceptable" to condemn

And yet they are the victims here
Not detritus to be swept
Under carpets; while the richest jeer
From ivory towers, maintained and kept

Does your conscience feel the tiniest prick?
Do you feel any sympathy?
Are you seeing now the capitalist trick
Causing civilisation's atrophy?

Migrations come from the wars we start
And a "cheap goods" lifestyle is to blame
But we don't have to continue playing our part
In the evil capitalist game

Let's welcome them with open arms
As humans with the same loves and cares
Recognise that the price of money harms
And end the world's nightmares

Oxygen

Kids are like trees,
They grow in the summer,
Acquiring more rings,
The older they get.

They require the solid, central trunk,
Of a loving and caring family,
Before they can branch out.
But still those branches,
Remain connected to it.

Each will attempt to reach the sun,
And in their own ways,
Most will succeed.

According to their nature
They will live in copse or orchard,
Wood or forest,
Bringing their unique fruit,
And foliage to the world.

We must nurture them both,
As they will provide the oxygen,
For the future of humanity.

Six

Six years ago,
We had to wipe away,
The tears of pain.
And fears that we,
Might not see each other again.
Our grieving minds,
And weeping hearts,
Could not bear to be apart.
But we did not stop believing,
That our leaving,
Would be any more,
Than temporary.
And now it feels,
Like a dream ago,
A memory,
Like flickered reels of film.
With the gleam of love,
Between us real,
As we hug.

Austerity

They think they are endowed
With a special form of power
A born-into superiority
That allows them to ignore the crowd

They think they are above the law
That they can bully and abuse
Tell us how to live our lives
While we bow down in awe

But it's time to make our voices heard
To protest against the pain
Make demands for dignity
To fight them undeterred

For there is such unpopularity
To the extent to which cuts are planned
And our society will be ripped apart
If they continue their austerity

http://www.theguardian.com/business/2015/jun/20/people-have-finally-had-enough-middle-england-marches-against-austerity

Dad

The media have an image they like to portray
Of what it is to have the perfect Father’s Day
Extra sleep of a lie-in, breakfast on a tray
A card with a rhyme that has little to say

But that’s an idea that’s never quite true
You’re more likely to have the duvet torn off of you
Get a toy car massage while you sit on the loo
And clean up the mess of a pre-breakfast poo

At least, that’s the morning that I have had
But now I’ve gone and made it all sound bad
In truth a Father’s Day makes me glad
For the simple pleasure of just being a Dad

Stones

The stones stand the test of time,
Counting the hours and days.
Surveying the land as sentinels,
Watching from east to west,
As the sun sets and rises.

Monuments of a past age,
As the circle of life spins.
Though we know not what part they played,
They last in our memories,
And heal our hearts,
The twins of mind and body.
And if we look hard enough,
We may find ourselves.

Sixteen

If the politics of Britain continues as it is,
Then satirists will be out of a job.
Clearly some MP's should begin thinking more,
Before they decide to open their gob.

Take for instance the debate about votes at sixteen,
That raised the following claim
That late teens would become more. sexually vulnerable,
And their voting would be solely to blame.

It certainly the case that childhood is short,
We are all exposed at a much earlier age.
To adverts, peer pressure, for gadgets and toys,
Being body beautiful at every life stage.

But the comments about getting involved in politics,
Leading to more criminality.
Were laughable in so many ways, said as they were,
Without a semblance of irony.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/eureferendum/11684625/Sketch-Why-the-Votes-at-16-campaign-is-more-dangerous-than-you-think.html

Void

Hurtling across the sky
At altitude
Above the clouds
Stuffed in
In contorted attitudes
Too small seats
Two columns wide
The shouts, the smells
In your face
Recycled air
Breathed three times before
Soulless travel
A moving void
Where touching down
Means you touch at all.

Celebration

The mosquitos bit
Around the running water
In the glade in the trees
With the old millstones

A charcoal heap
Near the rickety bridge
On which a camera clicked
With new photographs

And a bride and groom
With smiles and nerves said "Yes"

In the garden green
Around the Floda Inn
Guests and flower perfumes mingled
With their shades of blue

And after food
And tears and speeches
Celebration continued
In a borrowed room

And a bride and groom
With practice and poise danced

Grass

The smell of cut grass ,
drifts across the fields,
Like the late rays of summer sun.
The tractors have danced their side by side
Ballet of scooping and baling,
For the winter feed of farm animals.
All is peace and pecking seagulls
In the turned earth.
While the trees sing with birds.

Sores

After we have our talk
I take a walk to clear my head
The sun still shines
Though the clouds form lines of grey
And the evening sky
Almost makes me cry as I remember
The way it used to be
When we were young and free, and not so scarred

Whatever happened to those days
When we could amaze each other?
When full of laughter
It seemed as if happy ever after was made for us.
We would discuss
How the world was there for us to take
In our heads we were wise
But our eyes just could not see the truth.

And now it comes to this
The end of the bliss of love's blossom
The crooked jigsaw's final pieces
That ceases the pain
When the end began
And when it ran away from us I don't know
But now the open sores
Of our petty wars have a chance to heal.

Criminal

Do they give you some discomfort
Sleeping rough on the street?
Are they not the sort of people
You usually like to meet?

Would you like to do something for them
Give them a helping hand?
A little push to start them off
Like fining them a grand.

Plus the bonus of a criminal record
That should do the trick
The Hackney Council version
Of giving them a right good kick.

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/home-news/thousands-sign-petition-calling-on-london-borough-of-hackney-to-stop-criminalising-homeless-people-10295269.html

Propose

What is a proposal?

Is it a private declaration of love.
An innate desperation,
That you cannot live without,
That other person.
You need them beside you always,
Indeed your life would be poorer,
Without that husband or wife to be,
Who you adore above all others.
After all, you are in love.

Or is it a public display.
Something that will stay in the memory forever,
An event to be told,
And worth every cent of that bold idea.
Location more important,
And must be photographed.
The self gratification of money spent
On daft ideas. The act of exhibition,
And the cost overwhelming,
And the meaning of the moment lost.

Tribes

We may be technologically advanced,
But we are still a tribal species.
Whether it's shunning those born,
Within different lines on a man made map,
Or showing mistrust for those
With skin of different colours.
And even within our own tribes,
Intelligence can be seen as a threat.
Especially when shown by those,
Without a penis between their legs.
Maybe if we understood that we
Are essentially all the same,
It wouldn't be so easy to find,
Somebody else to blame.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-32883122

Wool

We are much like the blind and the deaf,
As we stutter through our lives and loves,
Relying on the media to be our eyes and ears.

We trust them,
We put our faith in their honesty,
In their incorruptibility.
We think that they point us in the direction we asked,
Or translated into signs the speech we indicated.
We think nothing of ulterior motives.

But maybe we have pulled the wool,
Over our own eyes,
Stuffed our own ears with cloth.
And perhaps if we remove it,
We may find that the world is not quite as we thought.

Overslept

A range of thoughts can go through your head,
As you lie in bed, waking.
Fear and shock and questions too,
Surprise for sure,
As it would appear you've overslept,
And missed your alarm.

And then the calm sets in,
The rational thinking.
Revise the morning routine,
Slate what you don't need,
And optimise your tasks.
If you move at top speed,
You won't be late for work.