Saturday, 14 July 2018

Willing to lose

A throbbing mass
pulsing with black arteries,
plastic through veins,
rivers of tar.

The roads dug up.
Cars with no tyres,
no paint,
rusted stuck.

Industry on the pyre,
back turned,
facing
a rubber shot.

Keep calm and carry on (Brexit)

2016 was a terrible year,
They said.
Funny, because whenever I woke up
7am felt like any year in bed.
Drunk then, instead -
Illusions of a dream.
Shattered, at 7am,
It was unforeseen, they said

Friday, 27 April 2018

What the people want?

The people don't want faeces
the people want shit.
When it comes to what the people read,
that's the crux of it.

The Sun belittled
the Daily Mail shunned
But shit is what the people want
yet the Guardian readers are stunned.

Wednesday, 25 April 2018

The language of communication

If facts don't work then
it's how we explain them.
Our thoughts as ideas
  in an open sphere.

The driver of a tram
in the pub with a dram
Tells me, "you've explained that
  well to a working man."

I told him of algae
with enthusiasm.

Sunday, 22 April 2018

Art, Nature and Biology

The beauty in nature can be explained
by physics, chemistry, biology, maths.
It can only be truly described
Through art;
   The stroke of fine horse's hair
   or a sharpened feather
   fine and fair.
And whether intrinsic or learned
the artist's guile is guided by maths.
A shrewd eye shapes and forms a scene
as a lucid mind equates.
  The stroke of fine horse's hair
   or a sharpened feather
   fine and fair.

Sunday, 15 April 2018

The mist descends

As mist descends on Syria,
The mist descends around.
From London town the lies abound,
Through foggy tales, a mist descends.

The mist evaporates slowly,
The mist diffuses sound.
From London town the rockets drown
The cries from history's futile dissent.

As mist descends on Syria,
The mist descends around.
The mist descends on times gone by,
Through mist our hindsight rarely found.

When you look at the stars

When you look at the stars
What do you see?
I see plates of algae.
And like sun splashes,
Bright green flashes.
The flagella dance
To the calcium beat,
While the optics flare
In the laser’s refracted rays.
Away from the lens,
My eyes still filled
With algae as stars
As I step into the night;
I look up into the midst
Of a seafoam twilight.
My tiny green stars
Still glowing bright.

Sunday, 26 November 2017

Shit happens

What happens to the world, when technology dies?
Poetry, painting and art came before,
Plateaued,
Once more.
The last switch of the circuit
Will become broken,
It's for sure.
And then, alas,
What is left?

Sunday, 19 November 2017

A catalyst for change?

After Apartheid,
quite rightfully subverted,
The ashes of Mandela's revolution
Scatter on the whimsical breeze
Of Zuma, as he
plies the bribes
and piles the coffers.

Apartheid, long gone,
But better for who?
None of those,
Supposedly in lieu.

And Mugabe,
What comes after Mugabe,
The Zimbabwean Hitler.
It's all down
to the White Man,
the problems therein,
so goes the rhetoric
of the corrupt whim.

Farms, once productive,
Deserted as armed raids
Send them to flee,
Or murder them there.
"Shoot the farmer,
Kill the Boer,"
Lives destroyed,
The poor even poorer.

Out of revolution,
The violent
And fascists rise.
The whites replaced,
The repression inside.
Remains.
The song remains the same.
Corruption is colourless,
So who then is to blame.

Mugabe, gone,
A catalyst for change?

The Honey is Gold

Obsessed with money and gold,
but rather more blessed with honey,
once we grow old, what room do we have
for coins in the purse?


To live without food is a curse.
a life well lived is a life well nourished -
we need bold new ideas for a changing earth, to flourish.


With biteback, for Orangutans, we can fight back,
a sustainable oil better than palm-based toil.
Our rainforests might just be saved from the plight,
of a hooven stampede if our animal feed
is in fact made from MagMeal waste not from grain.


With nowt to lose and plenty to gain,
with a Thought for Food we can brighten the refrain,
and hasten the future.


Where we look beyond borders and antiquated roles,
and like Shahida Begum search deep in our souls...
To change what we can, where we can, if we can.

Bees not money, the honey is gold.