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The State Of Things: Triple senryu


Perhaps the only
evolution we need to
concern ourselves with

is in fact our own.
Then again it’s probably
the only one we

can do much about.
It’s as if the two were made
for one another.

Cosy Castle


Out in the black a tiny spark
Blooms into flaming flesh
That flickers, a fiery dancer
Amidst a slowly forming picture
Imagined, improved, approved as
Yes … that castle only dreamt of
Time and effort bring it into view
With towers, turrets and bartizans
Crenellations atop sturdy walls
Moat and drawbridge, portcullis
A statement of power, of dominion
A protection gainst any assault
From the envious or less fortunate
Fully equipped with arrow slits
Endless ramparts, battlements
Murder holes and oubliettes
Till in time as will in time all
The tide turns and with a sigh
The sandcastle returns to sand

~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~

This is a response to Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #80

Sound Advice: Four By Six


My adviser tells me
We can do anything
Though the impossible
Takes a little longer

Police And Thieves


Duly sworn in as if to protect us
Are our police and politicians

Similarly dogs are very useful
If one for example owns sheep

Having sheep one requires dogs
They each have particular uses

Dogs, see, have a dual purpose
Sheep, bless them, only one

The dogs guard the sheep
While they graze and fatten

The dogs then herd them
To be safely delivered

To the slaughterhouse
To be prepared for the table

Police and politicians
Forsworn and redefined

Police and thieves
Police and thieves

The Rattle Of Keys


Karma is force of habit
One thing leads to another
One thing leads to another
Karma is force of habit

Karma is habits
Habits are karma
Habits are karma
Karma is habits

We are karma’s slave
Habits are its tool
We are karma’s master
Habits are our key

Roll Up, Roll Up, The Circus Is In Town (Republished)


Deafening election ballyhoo
A further relapse into insanity
Louder, louder, worse and worse
The lies … The misdirection

Like the two sides
Of the same bad coin
Turning up over and over
Heads I win, tails you lose

Like a rancid smell
In the soggy walls
And rotting floorboards
Of the Off-white House

Don’t flatter yourself
You have no real value
To the puppet masters
Who possess you

As they have none to you
The dupes who ticked your box
They’re used to tests from school
This one’s a gullibility test

You like Gorgol. You Like Fessebouche.

The Omnipresent Surveillance State: Orwell’s 1984 Is No Longer Fiction.

Google Is Spyware

Fortunately there is an easy (and better*) alternative.



The Projectionists (a poem)


Unendingly we puzzle and wrestle
To make some kind of a sense of
This motley old world of ours

This mad higgledy-piggledy mishmash
Of ecstasy and misery, joy and pain
On-off light and dark, good and evil

Why oh why oh why, we wonder
Does whoever created such beauty
Permit also ugliness, such cruelty?

What stories and parables we devise
Telling of gods and devils locked tight
In pitched battle until we know not when

After some time looking into the case
Internally as well as beyond these eyes
Decided we see projection, in both senses

The dualistic dual played out in the world
Actually takes place within our own minds
No matter why we may find ourselves here

Ours is the awesome power and free will
That is our inheritance and our birthright
And also therefore ours the responsibility

Jet Plane Warbirds (Republished)


Noisomely loudly
Splitting our quiet skies
Oh when will you return home?

Be gone, fey daughters of mad Zeus
Be done with twirling your bloody fingers
Fondling their hard-won garlands demanded
And then – oh but of course – soon discarded

Gladiators meet, mete out death, make meat
Reborn as gliadioli – erect, sword-shaped
Leaves and spikes of flowers – overblown
In a superfluity of colour, so over fulsome

Be gone, be gone, we beseech thee
Leave us in peace, in peace
In blessed peace

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