GOLDEN AGE (IMPERIAL MEASURE)

Tags

Caesar, Empire, Imperialism, poem, poetry, power, ROME, tank

GOLDEN AGE (IMPERIAL MEASURE)

I traverse left
traverse right

not a reader
in sight
(as well, because
I’d machine-gun
the lot of them
orfire HE/AP
blow them
apart)

yep
keep your head down
here chuck, don’t come
running to me
in saucy surrender
waving white
peace lingerie
much
open-armed

bearing gifts
though indeed you
are goddess
though not
exactly Greek

for the moment
I am of a mind, in a mood
to put all
in my crosshairs

and here
taking my cue from
the great Imperial poets,
scions of Rome,
children of Mars

sublime both Silver and Golden Age at
picking off their targets, slaying theatrically

at behest
of the patron, in
service to the State

wedded to the pleasure
of tablet and stylus (not yet
quill and parchment) and
razor for escape clause if
invoking Caesar’s displeasure
the soothing final
warmth of the apt
blood bath

for who
can predict
the whim
of an Emperor
better than the
weather

we are all
tabula rasa when it comes to such power
however good we might feel
in metaphor
of battle-tank.

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.

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

MORE

Tags

Empire, Fall, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, satire

MORE

An Empire
is falling

but you could
yet hear it roar

were its mouth
and foot not
at the
orthodontist

where those
once razor, razor
flesh-
stripping teeth

are getting cleaned
and cleaned
and
cleaned
some more.

DIG

Tags

Empire, History, Humanity, Imperialism, poem, poetry, satire

DIG

the deeper
you dig
the less
the glamour

bust of marble
turned to
feet of
clay

the mighty
testimony of
the Colosseum

not enough sand
to swallow

all the blood
that came its way

JETSAM

Tags

Empire, Fall, island, Ocean, poem, poetry, sea

JETSAM

jetsam
between
my toes

washed in
by the tide

last remnants
of Empire unknown
too far
across the ocean

for me to
have heard anything
of its rise
and fall

to find in these poor
trace elements anything
worth reading
likely to
paint
a picture

all we
can assume is
that
it outlived it’s purposes
lost
its logic

sacrificed one
last gamble on a
failure of (so-called) intelligence

how it is
always with history

(as we
are always forgetting)

the machine
that is time

washes, rinses

subjects
to recycling

ROME

Tags

Empire, Humanity, poem, poetry, power, ROME

ROME

the golden greed of Rome
marble knuckle-dust
of her high achievement

template of how
it is done
how it
has to be
done

a power standing in the way
simply burn that
city, annihilate
a people, dissolve
that civilization

no words, no trace,
the text of a history
reduced to ash

reduced to what
the victory column says it is

in business of war, in
business of
State you
came such a long way

shining example of
what an
Empire
must be

WHEN I RETURNED

Tags

BREXIT, Britain, British, decline, Empire, Ending, entropy, poem, poetry, Postcolonial, postmodern

WHEN I RETURNED
“entrenched and calcifying
class stratifications”
Gary Younge

when I returned
everything was crumbling
but not in that happy
melt-in-the-mouth sort of way

a land of
broken statues

historical memories
grown ever more painful
with each passing year

once this
machine worked

once it ran on ahead
outstripped the pack
at full steam

but now how bleak
how dour
cement coloured skies
divulging near toxic rain

that somehow, magically,
stays within official limits
and so no one gets sick
no
discernible ailments

and there the images
that once rejuvenated
reminded us of
the great musical hall and
other popular traditions
feeding into
the great Beatlesque
transformations of identity

anarchy in the late 70s
along those stone cobbled streets
where my grandad
returned from war with
dream of starting a family

chipped, cracked
whose face is that
did they ever see this Britain, this
England coming

not just rejuvenated, but
rising from the dead
(form an
all-star dead rock band
with John and Jimmy and George
and Mary and Percy
who wrote such blistering
odes in mode
of truth to power)

but now
not a whimper of
that poetry

cannot call it
a wasteland because it’s all
too hypothetical, digital and
completely plasticated

no memory of
what went blitz as it
streaked across
the channel

what went bang and

what Guy Fawkes cracker could

remove every stone, every blade
of grass
the name of every city

those names whose esteemed truth you cling to
when theIr failures shone brighter
than the brightest searchlight

why we
need the darkness

for their
power to grow
and grow

empirically, imperially, universally,
exponentially

until the
bubble burst

so fatally
expand

IN THAT AGE

Tags

Alice in Wonderland, Britain, British, Captain NEMO, Charles Dickens, Empire, Jacob Rees-Mogg, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, Professor Moriarty, satire, Sherlock Holmes, Victorian

IN THAT AGE
(for Jacob Rees-Mogg)

In that age
I would — no
shit Sherlock! —
be Nemo, be
Moriarty

put enough poison
in your teacups
see if that
will do for
your charity what
Dickens failed to

but here he is, a British
liege lord who claims
to Sasha Baron that
aristocracy he isn’t

but he rewrites
the Victoria text

with much (for a Catholic)
evangelical Empire steam

Oh puff away, puff away
drowsy Dodgson caterpillar
this very vaunted Empire
frozen for
all time in its
missionary position

you can cart it like a statue
shape it like true steel
except

we have no steel
no ways enough for
wars of imperial envy

the philosophers of Heidelberg
now having much wider sway.

MAN-MADE

Tags

Empire, Humanity, Mathematics, poem, poetry, power, spiritual, wordplay

MAN-MADE

once upon a time
I was a star
at Mathematics

might even have devised
my own ATM

or created algorithms to
compute secret numbers,
analyze linguistic
frequencies
in the Bible

answer once
and for all
the debate on design

everything gist to the mill
of my universe-crunching algebra

but that
was then and
a road
not taken

and at
that selfsame crossroads
my incompetence at woodwork

practice most bugbear
destined for
textbook fail

couldn’t even plane a
simple plain crossbeam with

which to
construct cross good
enough
for Empire

to elevate the populace
lift feet way
up
off the ground