Monday, 18 April 2016

What are we to do?

What is the want of any one of us?
Get schooled, get work, get paid.

Get paid, pay it back, and frittered away,
Always into the same few pockets.

It jingles loudly, it grows and balloons,
The gold sits in vaults while interest accrues.

And each year it swells as the workers dwell
On their meagre pay that'll end there as well.

We need to stop, to stop the rot
We work, we play, we pay, we pay.

No shame the greedy billionaires bliss
Top down? Bugger off, this never was witnessed.

It's been bottom up since day one, and again,
The top one percent piss all over us.

The bastards burn, the bastards abuse,
The bastards rape, they take us for fools.

But what on earth is a fool to do?

Saturday, 9 April 2016

A week since John fell off his chair

It's a week since John fell off his chair,
a week has gone and I wish I was there.
Karaoke sung 'til the early hours
with Britney, Whitney and a fiberglass cow.

We gathered together to uproot assumptions,
growing together in a lush Swiss jungle.
We thought, we built, we made and played,
expanding horizons in a post-it haze.

We dreamed of cauliflower with a better taste,
kithe chali hai gobi da phul banke,
a world that truly appreciates its brocolli,
mustard seeds, turnips, Brassicas and bees.

We scoured the cardboard mushroom maze
designed in famous Oupas! style
for pineapples amongst the swathes
of a feel-good, caffeine-fuelled, morning rave.

The comedown bites from each event
'til next year's family comes in search
of more ideas and space to grow
with positive minds, no room for no.

For sure, next year, more untapped minds
are bound to pitch and wine and dine,
as still the movement marches forth
and yet more ideas are born.

I await with glee to see Kulisha
sustainably feeding the Tilapia farms
as Biteback nourish our shelves with oil
and fight against the raging palms.

While Frooticycle fly from fields
delivering veg to market stalls
and yoghurt enriched by Peer-to-Peer
provides a fix to nourish us all.

It's a week since John fell off his chair,
I've never yet had such a laughter-ridden spree.
Four days, three nights, we giggled in delight
And my stomach aches for next year's glee.