Don’t, just, be a star. Become a galaxy.


I’m often, mentally, brought to my knees, with melancholy, when I think, of, the utter callousness, of, the human species.

My cerebellum’s, figurative, grey, grazed patellae are; a metaphor, which compound the pleading, within my mind, for mankind to stop, and, think.

Think about our selfish, greedy, unflinching nature.

Think about our incredible lack of foresight. Foresight, for not only our fellow genus, but, the wider amalgam, of; wildlife, biodiversity, planetary ecology, and, ultimately, our world, and, universe.

Our arrogance, and, sense of self, have become, our own baited, foolish, avaricious universes.
Solitary, loathsome universes, filled with;
galaxies of material wishes,
solar systems of Internet based gratification,
constellations of exploitation,
and, nebulae that beckon fruitless, divisive competition.

All in the hope of ‘getting ahead’ and/or ‘becoming a star’.

Ironically, we are all composed, of; stardust.

And, on that basis, I believe that we should do everything, humanly possible, to create our own; galaxy of justice – here on Earth.

A galaxy, where, instead of compete for monetary wealth, (a practice which has long seen; each, and, every genius star, capable of contributing any egalitarian offering to humanity – “miraculously” being snuffed out by the establishment e.g. Nikolai Tesla etc.) we, lift one another up, amasse, and, unite – within our; ninety-nine-percent nebula.

By eradicating, the elitist; Black Hole, we, together; can create real, monumental change. The kind of change, which will, echo, throughout; the generations, heavens, realms, and, multiverses.

Whilst standing idly by, the so-called ‘elites’ will continue to;
imbibe our misery,
bathe in our systematic poverty,
mop up any hope of our revolution,
and, spew propaganda, via every form of media, to poison the minds of; every generation, it has the manical pleasure of tainting.

The time is now to; expand our minds, gravitate to one another’s plight, and, escape, revolt, and destroy; the elitist Black Hole, which delights in our unchained servitude.

Don’t, just, be a star. Become a galaxy.



Fifty-two lightning strikes; deserted.


Escaping,
bitter seas,
of, slippery grips,
betwixt,
waves of gritted,
inhumane hands;
are; ferocious tides,
of, untimely;
porous – reveries,
scattered notions,
of buckets and spades,
abandoned;
castles of sand.


Amongst,
searing footsteps,
of, downtrodden,
Atlas-burdened,
vanishing – caravans;
yearns; a purpose,
however, unlikely;
changing tact,
or, track?
Parting seas, or, ways?
Searching for answers,
or, the truth?
Fearing God, or, man?


Eviscerating,
the pot-bellied,
beach,
with hurled,
long-ranging bolt,
of, Zeus’,
electrifying brand;
galvanis-ing;
crack,
and, crash,
sublime-ly;
exploding;
bashful,
pock-marks,
on the coastline’s;
dusty naval,
then, birthing
mishaps,
of, misshapen,
yet, fierce; fulgurite,
a serendipitous,
by-product,
of a,
vengeful,
God’s
plan.



What? Do you think?


What if

to err is to be human?

But, not universal?


And, we are at best

Elysian mongrels –

in a field –

of wrongful existence;

an inhumane breed

that isn’t meant.

To be?


What? Do you think?

No,

nothing,

not at all.


Despite those Janus

empirical attempts

to civilise – by both

British and otherwise.

Tasking those unfit

with tyrannical wishes

of afternoon tea,

ballroom dances

and decorum

all the while

killing both

domestic and foreign

masses. Making

“civilised” territorial advances;

civilians accosted for the

colonial-cost

of another version of history;

lost;

whitewashed.


What? Do you think?

No,

nothing,

not at all.


An inhumane answer

is cruel enough

to be considered; just.

But,

to care about one another –

is just – too much?

We; this planetary cancer

of uncompassionate

missed chances..

Founded on

beings; lost.


What? Do you think?

No,

nothing,

not at all.


On homeward soil,

does terrafirm suffering

stop?

Outward..

Galactic empathy –

would be what?

Buffering? Double-bluffing.

Never gonna happen?

Watch this space;

amass dispersal.


What if

to forgive; divine

and life’s just a rehearsal

after all?


What do you think?

If all is, really, nothing?

Yes.

Then, there’s really

nothing to lose

at all.


Death & Taxes


Death and taxes

are for certain –

you spend your life

for the final curtain.


So, what does it matter –

what is the point?

Tiny feet?

The pitter patter?

Success? Career?

Trophy wife?


Or, is there more

than meets the eye?

Burnt candle wax is

time passed by.

And passers by

you learn their faces

on commutes

littered with

sojourned strangers.

Just like the streets

you learn to tread,

learn to steer clear

of some instead.


A forever question

of take and give

of peace and war

of love and hate

of is there more?


Wipe the slate.

Clean the floor.

Swallow a hard pill

for indigestion.

Make your mind

up what you want!

They cannot find

the knowledge fount.


When all is said

and all is done,

when blue is red

and cruel is kind,

you’ll search the times

⁃ a memorial quest

and smile sublime

(once taxed to death)

at not need or want

fulfilled at behest.


But, of those you loved

and those who loved

loving you the best.


Remember the Peace


On Armistice Day I’ll ask of you this

With the poppy you’ll wear

To commemorate the long list

Of young men dead – with care.


Of those we have mourned

Yearly, since nineteen-forty-five

Other pieces of Peace we have scorned

Saving countless peoples lives.


War in proximity that always relates

Is that Troubled area over the strait.

What else could we do? Celebrate?

A peace process since nineteen-ninety-eight.


And there is a list over there

Long and left without.

No clover? Nor poppy? Or something altogether more fair.

Still, Peace worth remembering without a doubt.


So when you wear a poppy.

To remember.


Or choose not to.

To remember.


Try to remember.

Those slain and lost.


In the bitterness of November.

Remember the Peace and what it cost.