Party Conference Song
That song sounds familiar
just run it by me again,
words playing with ambiguity,
so cat – and – mouse.
Notes twist, turn, circle
and keep us guessing,
U turns are begging
listeners to reverse belief.
A chorus of excuses
for difficult questions,
an insistent beat marching time
into uncertain philosophies.
Yes, I know it well,
it’s called Politics
and its melody is arranged
by a conscience with a limp.
Versed in a language
that will protect mistakes,
the message that remains
is to hoodwink the electorate.
Voters are fooled by the showmanship.
The cause of nearly all woes
is the stupendous capacity
for believing the incredible.
Juggling Warnings
The bird sings of his heaven,
the tree full of delicate notes
hanging down like leaves.
He’s saying celebrate
a precious moment of summer
but when he stops
we live with the warnings
that we can’t keep juggling.
So I find myself
staving off the brunt
of another anger glaring
like words in a book.
I want a remedy for sins
raging like a mad storm
through this demanding world,
a loser wanting something
seriously satisfying,
satisfyingly serious,
to address our confusion.
I speak an ancient language
that was once called hope
and we haven’t time to wait.
In these uncertain times
this will never be reduced
to anything less
than my heartbeat.
Extreme Religion
The primeval desire
to break and hurt,
the rush of antagonism
for anyone different,
inflicting rage on innocents,
to hear music in destruction
hospital and homes,
schools and libraries,
of parks and gardens,
cemeteries, even bus shelters,
is akin to a faith.
Perpetrators live a formula
where behaviour fits
with the weight of nothing
on their conscience.
They eschew all rules,
follow a code as though
existing in their own book,
and measure the world
in their own image
to fit their desires.
They’re stepping back
to times unthinkable,
a world at war.
They are living
an extreme religion.