Crisis

Overrun, swarming, swamped in vermin,
terminal's disrupted, mistrusting and disgusted.
Parasites stalk the tunnels, funneling, running,
headless and screaming, scheming leaving
nothing for the most of us, locusts,
supporters bewitched by their hocus pocus,
raucous, feeding with no other focus.
Scavengers, ravagers, pillagers
disrupting us quiet villagers,
riveted, diligent. They care not for their images.
They can afford to throw them away,
abusers, manipulators, nothing-to-lose losers,
cheaters, liars, red tape disruption ignored, bias,
cut through with purchased pliars,
urged on by crowds of supporters, deniers.
Slathered, frothy chops, all charges dropped,
wrongdoings ignored by feckless cops. .

That's the politicians, not the migrants.

Whatever Will Be, Will Be...

What was your bid?
Is a life really worth that little to you?
Did you take it anyway? You sure did.
Some say I’m morbid
but I kept my feelings, raw, hid.
You told me better stories than folklore did,
real, human and heart to the core. Amid
all of that you never once told me you’d be leaving nor did
I prepare.  My life will never play out as interesting as yours did.

The truth is I blew this, I screwed this up and there’s no way you knew this.
I threw this away because besides you no one ever told me I could do this.
The rumour is my biggest problem was a surprising lack of hubris.
I’ve been there, been here, King Lear, the King swears this thing here,
his crown, the division rings clear, he drinks beer to forget the stinged rear,
dissent and gin, freer, he considers what clings near and it brings fear.

Baptised by trials and chastised, at an age when elastic plasters
grazed knees and chapped thighs are cast iron. Rapt eyes,
I clapped eyes on you and you taught me the past lies.
In past eyes  their gasped cries of regret are the last cries
of chancers and those on their last tries with big dreams
and firmly grasped cards and cast dies.
Spirit lives on but, luck and experience? That dies.

I don’t think I ever said “Fuck the world!” before I knew you,
Your stories inspired me and, back then, I could live through you.
I knew too much, screwed up, at bad things I did lots and good I didn’t do much,
mulched and dumped, scrummed and pumped full of lies,
broken limbs with no new crutch,
told about how I’m scum and how success was a new touch
and well out of my grasp, bitten by the asp before I knew what an asp was,
but I was old enough to be held back, and I knew what that clasp was.

Prohibition, inhibition, society took its toll on me,
a hold on me, golden growth taken, my best years were stole from me.
Misery and joyless, history, pleasant but miserly, schism and mystery.
Tired of fighting, ousted mental jousting and physical fistery.
Black thoughts, black eyes, not taught, mind hives, harsh fights,
bleak hearts, fresh minds, moulded by savagery, civilisation was my last rites.
All past fights, present fights, unpleasant thoughts, scream-filled nights.
Anxiety crippled, political ripples and stipulations tripled for entitlement to help,
whelping and scalped, “Help!” enveloped in the sorry pelt of the hand you were dealt.

Where did it all go wrong? Bong! The clock ticks, the bell tolls,
as stock takes and roll calls let me know hell calls, tell all and sundry
I won, it is not for me whom the knell tolls and the swell falls.
I am still at the peak, my prowess endowed, by others enamoured
and powers are glamoured, stumbled and stammered but found my strength and health.
My odds the longest of the long, so tough I couldn’t even kill myself,
more than twice, the strongest of the strong.
Felt my wrath, not half – scathing – Daft I laughed and continued to walk,
the only thing I need to know is the destination of this path.
But fuck it, I’ll run.
Not knowing the destination is most of the fun.