NEW

Tags

corporate, economic, feudal, Humanity, Medieval, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, postmodern, satire, servitude

NEW

the new Medieval world
fully postmodern, fully feudal
no single, absolute authority
political or spiritual

just so many Divine Emperors
Godkings, ten-a-penny

and you
reborn into slavery,
resurrected under the
sign of the corporate logo
branded into
your flesh

no Christ
to save you

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POEM ON WORKERS’ DAY

Tags

poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, ROME, slavery, slaves, socialism, socialist, Spartacus, workers

POEM ON WORKERS’ DAY

so I pulled into Rome
on workers day
to debate liberty
with some slave owners

wore red
which I had difficulty explaining
would be our colour

not the colour of Empire, of
its soldiers and legions

there, within earshot, a Thracian gladiator training,
his sharp Greek philosophical mind
listening to the debate
taking

as he dies on the cross of ultimate rebellion
all that was said to its logical conclusion

SALUTE

Tags

Britain, Colonialism, Ovid, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, post-colonial, ROME, satire, Virgil

SALUTE

that dress uniform
so ill-fitting
looks quite ridiculous
this moment in time

perhaps, it
never did fit, this
you must be prepared at least
to accept

as I write, poet stashed in a border province,
no gleaming Virginian golden Imperial Eagle
whose lines
out of marble chipped
with proposed gravitas

that I find
preposterous

which is what I suppose you would expect
from one lounging Ovidian, my verse sprawling
like a jump-up township, “informal settlement”

but you in your uniform
defending an honour synonymous
with carnage

your lies on this Continent
in this country alone

should cost you nothing less
than eternal damnation

but who
am I, are we
to judge,

as karma would have it, you judging yourselves
with terrible irony, worst
of condemnations

some literary scribe of

post-
colonial kind

drafting your epitaph
(the English
so powerful, revelatory,
beautiful)

just stand in your scarlet
and give the salute

CALIBAN’S ISLAND

Tags

BREXIT, Britain, CALIBAN'S, Colonialism, Empire, poem, poetry, postcolonialism, satire, Shakespeare

CALIBAN’S ISLAND

haunted by ancient Roman ghosts
first triumphant Empire, now back
to the dictator Caesar

mighty Britannia
stands alone

determined (yet scarcely able)
to resist a new dark ages of
its own making

the island
itself setting sail

ready, if needs be,
to comb the whole ocean
for trade and colonial conquest
searching for things in
their native habitat
to commandeer

paint with illusions, fictions
and shadows
dreams of

power
and glory
creatures to demonize

THE VIEW FROM MAHIKENG

Tags

BREXIT, Britain, Empire, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, satire, South Africa

THE VIEW FROM MAHIKENG

I’m laughing at Brexit
from Mahikeng, the town
where Empire
was almost lost

no longer the centre
of anything, pretty much now,

dust-devils in Autumn
and the stones
still lying pretty much
where they fell

sometimes you scratch around
you find an old Martini-Henry cartridge
or one from a lethal Boer rebel Mauser

how the mighty have fallen
those old Mauser rifles
until Brexit
they were the unfortunate truth
that threatened to
rewrite the book
take down the flag

IN EACH LINE

Tags

poem, Universe

IN EACH LINE

wave after
suicidal wave

a war
of Empire

to teach the world
discipline, duty, and, yes, beauty

a simple aesthetic yet
here
so deadly

blood in each line
of your superb haiku

SPARE THE ROD

Tags

macho, poem, poetry, pride

SPARE THE ROD

spare the rod
and spoil
the little
Dictator, Empire Builder,
Corporate capitalist

playing on his
abacus

balancing power, privilege, pound
profit
against each the

need to
inflict quite
necessary pain

EMPIRE POEM

EMPIRE POEM

I am Emperor
of nothing read

Mandarin of the power
that is entropy
is social
dissolution

this is my
box of
fabulous tricks

watch yourself
shuffled into the cabinet
(keeping your eyes
on my assistant
with the beautiful tits)

and
cadabraabra
you have
disappeared
(you vote
now quite worthless,
stripped of
safety net
too)

I do not
have the touch
however

so live
with your scrofula

nor do I
convert to
gold
with Midas-fingered
alchemy

no my touch
is dead
and unloving

is sandpaper skeletal

nothing there
for the taking
yet

I will
take all from you.

JE SUIS ANGLAIS

Tags

poem, poetry

JE SUIS ANGLAIS

je suis Anglais
I’m sorry to say
(much désolé)

here at the
crossroads waiting
for a saviour, waiting
for the Devil
(eternal battles
over right of
way
in a
roundabout
way)

and now something rattling the closet
jumping up
from under the bed

could be our deepest nightmare, or,
wait a minute, just
a repressed bit of history
returning
for a visit

better go downstairs
prepare the
boiling oil
make a cup of tea

FORGET EMPIRE

Tags

poem, poetry

FORGET EMPIRE

forget Empire
it was a dream
it never
happened

it was a bad time in
a galaxy far far away
there was a
rebellion, war

we lost
even our commitment
to the Dark Side
could not save us