Lifescape (or an elemental metaphor for life)

Reasoning is liquid, ever changing and shapeless defining the self in society.
Drive is gaseous, the wind overrider of intellectual tides, or a guide
Social life is a landscape, full of valleys and hills, gorges and mountains and
Passion, which can scatter intellect wide, along with Drive,
Passion burns eternal beneath the landscape of life.

You are the wind and the water. Blow hard enough and your mind is guided,
drive is Will, and if the Will-wind is steady
your reasoning will ripple into eddies-wavelets-waves
tsunami’s of the brain that will reshape your Lifescape
your way.

Think of the Money!

“Industry, policymakers and social leaders – like Pope Francis – must work together to support policies that bring about new advances in fossil energy technologies so we can strike a balance between global economic needs and climate concerns,” Tom Altmeyer, Arch Coal Lobbylist

Think of the Money!
Not Bangladesh drowning
Think of the Money! not coasts in collapse beneath rising watery wrath, no
Think of the Money!
yell the coal king’s pawns.

Think of the Money!
not the thousands of lives
Think of the Money!
not good leaders preaching, no
Think of the Money!
leave science to our servants,
says suited greed.

A Celebration of Sir Lee

A voice
a face,
a talent,
amazed
from Hammer’s coffin
to New Line’s second Tower
on the screen, as a man, or a voice
he had power.
power grand,  power deep, power darkly unique
rings in a voice
that shall never know sleep
on uncounted screens, in uncounted dreams
speaks this knightly man,
whose many songs and many films on all art’s tiers stand.

Courageous and courteous
commanding and kind
Lee knew true suffering
and the value of life
as an Officer, a gentleman, as an actor, a leader
audiences needed him everywhere to lead them-
via mock darkness and horror, villainy and terror
to something higher something lighter something warmer, something brighter.

Farewell Sir Christopher Frank Carandini Lee,
singer
soldier
swordsmaster
actor supreme
your impact was massive
you’re in a thousand dreams,
ars longa, vita brevis
your art was your life
vale magnum, Sir Lee,
grand actor Knight.

latin translations: ars longa, vita brevis =art endures, life is short. Vale magnum= farewell, great one.

Matter

It
doesnt
Matter
whether you’re green, blue
plastic, stillborn or overdue you’re still,
just
Matter
constructed of slowly vibrating energy arranged in discernable fields we know as
proton, electron, neutron, forming atoms forming particles forming people in places forming races nations movements religions all groups making decisions  but,
still, just,
Matter
you do. you’re needed by someone, for something, somewhere even its only to maintain your tiny place in the endless pattern of living things woven by birth and death, war peace social increase, global warming and midnight feasts all just rearrangements of what the world and you will always be
miniscule
mysterious
miraculous
Matter.

Give all the bears a gun.

Give all the bears a gun, still they wouldn’t shoot
‘why shoot those little things, with their glass-eyes and boots?’ they’d say
theirs is the true hunt, for food THEN for fun,
understand, the big game grand
aren’t a game, they’re lives lived out
then taken by brutes with .204 lumps
of metal
that settle
in the body or brain, or sometimes in the dusty earth,
once they’ve caused the pain
intended.
Yes, intended
by the shooters and their friends who
believe in bollocks
like a right to kill
a right to take life because they’ve got the weapons too.

Now this verse isnt subtle, nor is it meant to be.
It’s meant to be a warning, to the hunter wannabes
guns and gear dont make you , your still cowardly butchers
slaughtering beauty in outdoor abbatoirs
you are brutes, eco-enemys, acclerating-
the extinction clock
may death find you  quickly
as it does the animals you slay
I hope the pain you cause is returned to you, one day.

Get it Together

Sort it out
make it happen
level the mess, your social field flatten
abandon senseless traditions
depise with the wise the ancient fictions
put about
by men without a love in their lives
save violence and money and their neighbour’s prize

Your history is mystery cause you’ve stolen the blocks
used them to re-build then blown them to rocks.
I address you, fool leaders, arms dealers and killers
will you look past your bloody time-fillers?
A future awaits
for those who will make,
a future awaits
for those who will take, a chance with peace
to give, to increase
neighbours near and far.
to open heart and mind
to drop the one viewpoint, to leave religion behind
only one thing is true, we’re all energy divine, sublime, energy,
yet you, tribal leaders, waste yours on your enemy
imagined
or fashioned
cause you need to rule
dont you see, silly men, history laughs at you,
fools.

Poison Tradition

Insidious
devious, demon-thing creeping beneath
the walls of wisdom, past the sentries of caution
dodging the death-blow it performs contortions
careful then
careful
‘ware giving it help
by company carelessly chosen the whelp
swerves and weaves and whispers in your ear, about-
fears and tears and pains yet to come
then serves up fresh suffering for its own food and fun.

Nourished on nonchalance
woken by weakness, this, weakness maker
shatters stalwart intention
ever the willbreaker, is-
known to many by its darkly dominant position,
the persecuting poison, practically tradition
known to me and many, as awful addiction.

A message to Man on the festive season

Hungry are the hearts of men.

The archytype of hunger, architect of greed
champion of the fortune feast, when many have the least
to give, to credit driven, to  financial servitude bidden
behind that empty laughter’s hidden
world’s of suffering, eons of grief
for which this consumer-god offers no relief.

See the idol of winter greed
see his straining belt
see his belly bulge with all the cheap lies dealt
see his coat of arterial hue concealing greed-grown bulk
see every skint bloke’s enemy, every poor child’s sulk.

Instead
show us,
a homeless man’s warm bed
show me real kindness, with some real risk instead
pass on something treasured
something valued, something made
with love and lots of effort, not something for which you paid
give goodness out this year, aspire to something grander
than feeding the consumer-god, known otherwise as Santa.

Meaning.

isn’t in the trees, nor the death blind beast
not the wildest wind
nor the tamest dog
has meaning beyond themselves.

Meaning is not purpose, courage or fate
nor is it life itself, nor death,
the why’s and how’s of living
provide it not, nor gain it by being, you cannot find it by listening, touching, or seeing.

To seek it is to see it, to want it is to find
see it now? many still blind, seek
meaning they try to wrap and bind, in words
in numbers, charts and dials ticking by, measuring their measures
little meanings man-made, hoarded up like treasures.

You won’t find the deer, nor the rabbit searching, for meaning to its life
with activities for thriving theirs lives are rife
learn from their example, then,  regarding meaning true
the only meanings that should matter, are the ones thought up by you.

Thanks again, friends

Followers, you fulfill this blog,
it is your attention gives reason to  slog
on with writing, word after word
typing line after line-
in the light or the dark
at uni, in my room, occasionally in the park, yet
best is the text
‘x, y and z followed your blog’ Yes!
just to know that my message is heard
by a few scattered ears is more than I deserve
so, clear of couplets, rhyme or pentameter, I say to each of you, thanks again.

your friend and  fellow human,
Ollie (the Whisperer)