Nightmare coming

There is a nightmare I have
of our future coming.
Of government corporations
where all decisions
are made by the bottom line.
no people,
just employees and customers
and the endless war
but long hostile take overs.

I see its beginnings
free speech for the unliving
giving voice to greed;
Voltaire turns in his grave.

Changed

They came, footsteps crunching out
A slow rolling beat.
The tolling thud of thunder
Thumping in time
To their low chant.
They did not shout for change
They had shouted too often before.
The disenfranchised and the forgotten
Held banners woven of their tattered dreams
Stitched with tears and lined with broken promises.
On each face the battle marks of lives wasted
By men who knew it all
And knew it all could be taken for themselves.
Men who preached democracy,
The rotting carcass of a broken system,
Purporting to empower the people
While keeping them down.
Taking our power to decide from us
And calling it a mandate.
There were children in the crowd.
Who saw ahead a future as hard as their parents past.
All were resolute in the face of threats and weapons
They were laid out by bullets, gas canisters and riot gear.
Inside each and every one of them a minor miracle
Had fornicated with their last remaining hope.
The fucked up offspring of delusion and despair
drove them to die for a cause only they could believe in.
Fuck change. Fuck government.
Their legs pump as the stoic silence parts to angry venom
Peaceful protest finally gives up and dies
And rage spills out onto the streets.
Fists pump as sheer numbers push back men
Who until the last moment think they do their duty.
Angry words turn into angry action
And then there is change.

Why terrorism works.

I don't plan to talk about politics much on this blog, but there are some things that just need to be said.

Right now, terrorism works.

That’s right. If you want to change the world for the worse, to scare the 'West', to lessen our freedom or to inspire fear then all you need to do is sneak a bomb onto an aeroplane. It's not that hard. There are all sorts of explosives and if you're really prepared to die for your cause then it can't be that dificult to cause a plane to crash.

Sadly this isn't why terrorism works. Terrorism works because of our reactions to it. The aim of terrorism is to make us afraid, to take from us our freedom. No terrorist alone can do this. No, it takes the complicity of major world powers (I'm looking at America and Britain here) that, as soon as there's a terror threat, hit the panic button and removes more of our 'democratic' freedoms. It works because we start thinking of ourselves or our children and we decide that having everyone's private lives examined or being strip searched to fly is a price worth paying.

It isn't. Whether you have nothing to hide or not your privacy is sacred. It's sacred because without it there is no democracy. Anyone who won't to do something because of fear of their government doesn't live in a democracy and anyone who gives up their freedom for temporary safety deserves neither.

Law is not fear of government. Law is enforcement of a moral code we choose to live by with penalties set out before hand. I’m not afraid of being given a parking ticket; I just know that that’s what happens if I park illegally. I shouldn’t be afraid to read a book or write a blog because it might draw the eyes of my government and what I say or do shouldn’t be tracked by them.

Terrorism isn’t the man on the plane with the dynamite. Terrorism is what we do to ourselves after the dynamite goes off, or doesn’t.

Written in mild delerium

The soft curves of a slight smile,
and a naughty sparkle in your eye.
The warmth of your body,
pressed close against mine.
Your lips as inviting
as an open fire,
and a glass of wine.

Swift illness

Cloying smoke curls
in my battered throat.
coal weighs down my eyes
and every muscle aches
like a week on the rack.
My skin is old leather
my mouth the dregs of a blackboard.
My neck two bowling balls in a canvas sack.

Sleep is both fantasy and nightmare,
each breath relief for my lungs
and death for my maw

Swift Illness, unquenchable thirst.

Some other day

Screaming at the sun -
as the sun descends,
Turning, toppling, twisting
as I reach the end.
Oxygen starved
and out of control,
Feeling like a prisoner
passed by for parole.

Lost and silent
and out of my mind,
Why argue with reason
when reason is blind.
Broken hearted
and man does it hurt,
Left like a spoon,
lying in the dirt.

Setting a benchmark
for crazed and confused,
When you leave yourself open
you're easily used.
Delerium stricken
you're strictly unkown.
A forgotten king
on an empty throne.

The beauty of the sun in the hawthorn tree

Sunlight strikes dew drops on a hawthorn tree,
a beauty no lens of mine can capture.
The golden fingers stretch towards the sky
and the flaming orb obscured by branches
casts brilliant spells upon the frozen grass.

A blackbird searches chicken-like in the frost.
Stalked by a hungry cat.
The bird wins this encounter.
While above a finch watches
picking at food we have left it
for this long Winter.