Immediate access code

I don’t know all the names
by which you are summoned.
Sensing the many-layered resonances
in the stillness between
this heart-beat and that nerve-pulse,
where the breath lies empty,
time is even weaker than gravity.

Wading through the torrential
outpouring of carefully cultivated
bits of data, coalescing into
a category we might call news,
I am becoming as one attuned –
the seer of mysteries and
the oracle of plutocratic expediency.

The keystone for every good joke
is misdirection, like that time
they drained the oceans and provided
desalination-in-a-box kits for arid lands,
quiescing the climate protectors
with seven generations of indenture
for the privilege of a drop of clean water.

The drunkard, drowning in a deluge
of his own illusions will do anything
to extract one last drink, ad nauseum,
spewing out slack-jawed solutions to
supply chain problems – fracks himself
some lubricant for the road to annihilation.
Mate, we’d better hide his bloody car keys
before he kills us all.

I don’t know all the names
by which you are summoned.
In this bottomless cycle of avarice,
the accretion of our histories is forged
in the bodies of children and tattooed
inside our eyelids. No matter how we’re
chained up, we have always been free.

Our immediate access code,
the soul-memory of our ancestors,
is written in the blood of love.

!

Sucker punch

Staring at this thing
Shocked by what is going on
Each new wave of understanding
Brings forth a greater passion

Falling in love over and over
At the very sight of you
At the thought of all the moments
We’ve shared, we will share

A deliciousness ascending
Straight into delight
Savouring all these sensations
Of such overwhelming intensity

Abandoning all sense of self
To the sensations of life
Thoughts reaching out to possibilities
Endless escalation of emotions

No. Feel the powerlessness
Frozen rabbit in the headlights
Staring at this society –
The antipodes of civility

Reality might crush every dream
Between forefinger and thumb
There is no escaping
The dearth of human kindness

Some of us are not passionless
When faced with oppression
Some of us don’t get on with things
As they might have been

For every new episode, event or extreme
Whether we survived it
Or heard it on the grapevine
– Becomes more intense

More devastating
More challenging
More unreal
Than falling in love

I’m talking about those times
When only one coherent thought
Slithers out from the mud
– Something’s gotta give

*

Fiction of violence

It’s a breathtakingly sweet sensation
That silence before revelation
You care about this information
I swear there was no indication

All these souls lit with pure emotion
Twice reflecting such dedication
Magnifying our mass devastation
‘Til the density overcame hesitation

Was that babe on the wings of an eagle?
Did he drown in an ocean of evil?
Was he burned from our hearts like the devil?
Laid to rest as a meme for the seagulls?

Now we’re done with silly expectations
‘Twas but a momentary lapse of devotion
To an exercise in overt domination
Paying violence and bombs in reparation

I find nothing civil in a civilisation
That willingly kills civilians of any nation
And oppressing the young through incarceration
Will not quell the human will to emancipation

Thus we preach from our privileged eyrie
About twice removed things we find scary
Looking askance at his face dark and hairy
Lamenting a fictional past that was carefree

*

Update: In particular, this poem is in memory of Alan Kurdi and Ali Saad Dawabshe, but as the day wears on my thoughts have progressed… we are losing so many children daily, I find it all so unacceptable. The very real impact of the pursuit of violence on innocent children flashes across our awareness for brief incandescent moments. A lot of us are outraged, a lot of us do a few clicks and type a few words. No one person can stop this from happening, it needs everyone to care, to maintain a sense of solidarity, to persist even when it hurts too much, until we change our course.

So I’m working on a list of children killed in 2015 due to violent oppression. If you have names or stories to contribute please add them to the comments. Perhaps their image and story did the rounds of social media, perhaps they were covered up or died so quietly that it seemed like they were of no value at all.  All I know is they didn’t die for our entertainment or polite interest, even if only one person in the world thinks they were important, from where I stand every one of them is a real and tragic loss for all humanity.

Seeds in the dung

There’s always more sacrifices
Coming down the pipe
Discarded lives and trusts
It all falls somewhere
Cascading, descending
Through the monocular lens of the history of people
Observed, absorbed
By those who’d never survive such a thing

In the cauldron of despair
We learn to breathe muck
We persist
Fortitude breeds what reality teaches
And we are cracked open by our quest
For that invisible tunnel
With the light of truth at the end
Or the fearless vastness of simple freedom

From the sacks of false emancipation
Lumbered around on quivering backs
Seeds drop into the dung
One day, relinquishing the struggle
For a retreat to past conditions
The next, bursting through the earth
On urgent safari to the sun
Unbelievably, inevitably
Startling those who’d never survive such a thing

Yesterday
What was one man’s garbage
Now wields the power of transformation
Yesterday
What was so much flotsam and freely expendable
Today has one word.
Peace.