FRONTLINE

Tags

poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry

FRONTLINE

the storm front raged
then moved on

nothing to see
nothing to say

nothing to write: put
away that pen

the hail falling as
thick as flak
point to make
hard as
triple A

night sky lit
over
Berlin
Baghdad

all hail to you too
rich, brave Crassus,
enough gold in your vault
to proclaim
you deity of thunder

more coins than there were leaves
on the trees cut down to
make Roman examples

all hail
to you Crassus and

in the trenches opposite to
the popular front
who threaten
to melt that gold
and make
him swallow

who amongst the Parthians
such a poet
to think of a correction so
figuratively apt?

and now
the Empire cannot hold, its fat
Emperor is tottering

this Empire premised on forever expansion
eternal conquest
is losing to history, just cannot break through

EVERYTHING AGAIN

Tags

BREXIT, Britain, British, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, satire

EVERYTHING AGAIN

“O clouds, unfold!”
William Blake, Jerusalem

Covid
stagnation
nuclear radiation

buckle up smartly
take it
on the chin

sing those old
songs that
took us through
Blitz and blunder
and end
of Empire

songs that
post Stones and
Beatles sound
fit for
imbeciles

but what did they know
those scruffy young men
drug-addled, trying
to reinvent us

give
new focus, new lens
swish of
psychedelic colour

did they not think that
the gray truth of the high street,
as written in our history
would not
find the words
to unspeak everything again?

RETURN

Tags

Britain, empathy, Hitler, Mafikeng, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, refugee, South Africa

RETURN

feel the dirt between your toes
and then tell me
what you think about empathy

my Mother, when she was
young and beautiful and
more free-spirited
(she could not have foreseen
the dementia that awaits)
worked in our little English
Pennines town (going by
the less than picturesque
name of “Mossley”)
told me how the woman
she worked for, a Czechoslovakian
Jew and refugee from Hitler
treated her kindly, but
kept that chapter in her life
as a unspoken mystery,
saddest of secrets

and here I am
on African soil, here
on the outskirts of the
famous siege town
where hinged the
entire credibility of
an Empire

sun-browned, hard farming men
with Mauser rifles
had their lines here
so close to
giving Victoria
the shock of
her nice life
and her smug, public school
Generals the shock of their
pith and khaki overrated
two and three stars

and they too
down the line
would have to
learn that
hard, hard lesson
of acceptance
and empathy

they too
of all people

history would reveal

and so
to those unsteady boats
ridiculously small inflatables
crossing where
the Conqueror trail-blazed
nine centuries (and then some) earlier
where
Hitler had hoped to follow

find poor Mrs Beck and
her quivering family

deal
once and for all
with that troublesome empathy

with it
at large
where would the men of iron and blood
and concrete
be?

Feel the dirt
same for all of
us
’tis common

only to be shared
when
to that great, final dust
we make our return

no refusal there
of space, of accommodation

POEM FOR METELLUS CIMBER

Tags

assassination, History, Julius Caesar, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, ROME, wordplay

POEM FOR METELLUS CIMBER

for a moment
you danced away
the doom
and gloom

showed the world
your mettle

but then
history downgraded
your role
reduced you
to postscript
after-
effect
most minor
of minor characters

no ideological interest
served in
recognizing
your honour

and with time
the plot
has thinned
not thickened

clear labels
have been applied
and the assumption is
they did stick

history the thing
that writes such
as you or I
out of the picture

assumes the dagger we
carried
was somehow least
significant, least sharp

we were
pure flow that

nobody
went with

an idea that
had its flickering moment

yet
defined its time
in the fullness of human irony

WITH THE VERY BEST

Tags

Christian, Empire, KFC, poem, poetry

WITH THE VERY BEST

This my little eulogy
my praise poem
celebrating the history
of secret herbs
and spices

which time devised in order
to preserve the condition
enhance the taste

of all that fall
under the heading of “mortal flesh”.

But as Cantos go
this paltry effort so thin
on ancient and Renaissance
aesthetic, on
sweeping socio political reference

things Greece, Rome
Italy
pinned its faith on

and other imperial dynasties that follow
of less artistic consequence
(unless pop the plastic weasel goes
stuck with shaky clone or
plain bad replicant

star and
strip stripe me
jack
me up the
union)

what herbs and spices burnt
into that cloth

when tomb yawned
when stone was blown like a bubble
from stupendous mouth

what
tomb
you ask?
and right that you should

this
preservation at
its very best

would enhance your soul to
bear that in mind

carry each day to truly remember
anoint you there with the very best.

SKELETONS

Tags

Augustus Caesar, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, ROME, satire, statues

SKELETONS

do statues
have skeletons

and if so
where
are the cupboards
for them?

I see, hear
of so many being
toppled
willy-nilly
and wonder:
what would
Octavian of the
House of the Julii
make of all this

as he managed
to commission
enough statues
to cover
every crack
in his great
Imperial legacy

TINY

Tags

BREXIT, Britain, British, Empire, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, satire

TINY

tiny
tiny

but the shadow
cast by
sun that
never sets
makes you feel

so much better
so much larger

makes your song
so loud, your
poetry spring
with such
well-
judged meter

but your
sun has
gone

burnt
out
entirely

no light
no
shadow

tiny
tiny

TIBERIUS

Tags

Jesus, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, riots, satire, Tiberius Caesar

TIBERIUS

Tiberius Caesar
tear-gassing away
the poor mourners

so he could
have a photo-op
next to Jesus
on the Cross

because, who
knows, sometime
in the future
the Empire might
become Christian

and then
for legacy what
a good
look
that would be

MARY’S SON

Tags

AC ience fiction, Crucifixion, Frankenstein, Humanity, Jesus Christ, Mary Shelley, philosophical, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, writing

MARY’S SON

Mary’s son
still walks the earth
did not die just
kept replacing parts

looked
a bit worse for wear

but now
there’s the promise of AI
and new technology
Age
of Aquarius about
to dawn

and as he
learns stuff about
humanity and
natural philosophy

or stares
at a leaf, configuring
the whole tree

imagines what unhappy use
such a tree might be put to

his species — or rather the parts
of the species from which
he was
first created and
basically is
still made —

deserving (in his augmented mind)
their bad rap for
deployment of slavery in
realization of Empire

LIBERO

Tags

Beauty, Consciousness, Creation, death, Fibonacci, Freedom, Humanity, Italy, liberation, Mathematics, meaning, Metaphor, metapoetic, perspective, philosophical, poem, poetry, postmodern, ROME, writing

LIBERO

drunk on the promise of liberation
I crafted this poem whose very premise,
if you would permit me to explain,
does to
this very topic
appertain

insofar as it proposes, argues,
steadfastly maintains,
that words
be the clay
out of which all
was made

not as complete fiat but
slowly, slowly: process
of trial
and error

the code pre-established, all
the systems set in place

(this
as sure as
triangles
are
triangular,
spirals
are spirals)

all done and dusted
tried and trusted
written into the
acid of
our DNA

and so
I salute you
creatures
of truth and beauty

and fib you not
Senor Fibonacci

loving the light in
your fair land with
its paramount city

leaving your own
carefully calculated
indelible impression

and
here is the very book
in which it is written
(the one we
contest, always argue over)

so much
blood in the
sand
of that arena

why is it
that beauty must
always contend with death

again
I hold up my
net
and trident

(or sword: for
pen
best metaphor,
best metonym)

so much
marble and gold
begging the eye
to look upward
redefine perspective, dream
of long-last freedom

drunk
on those
dreams
of
a future
on promise
of liberation

under which
eternal pressure
I do write
this poem

trying to
tie up
loose ends
get
opposites
to meet

square
all circles

such ironic that libero
the word I shamefacedly stole
is actually your own