Category: Politics

Secular Commandments

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tablet
Neo-Babylonian tablet about Epilepsy at the British Museum, c. 9375 – 9462 HE

Secular Commandments

And Thou Shalt Not Murder, nor needlessly kill –
Thy life is too fleeting to shorten yet still.

And Thou Shalt Not Steal, nor undue extort –
Not objects, nor glories, nor notions bethought.

And Thou Shalt Not Greeding, nor proud eversuch –
As glutton-, or miser-, or tyrant-too-much.

And Thou Shalt Deceive Not, nor mislead by choice –
For whether by action, or absence, or voice.

And Thou Hypocrise Shan’t, nor thyself betray –
Believe not thy pretext, nor look t’other way.

And Thou Shalt Not Hatred, nor baseless decry –
Nor, even the guilty, redemption deny.

And Thou Shalt Respect Due, all those who doth earn –
Then labour thyself for esteem in return.

One Shalt and six Shalt Nots, one life to apply –
So can we achieve them, and can we not try ?

Moving the Goalposts

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goalposts

Moving the Goalposts

So much emotion invested
In teams over which we have little control –
So many loyalties tested,
Where happiness hangs on a single damn goal.
We buy into brands and we swear that we’re theirs,
But we’ve nothing to offer ’cept hoping and prayers –
So they win or they lose – and at least someone cares,
Though we act like it cost us our soul.

But all of that devotion
For an empty sporting rite
Must leaves no spare emotion
To our fellow humans’ plight –
There’s torture to be ending, and forests to be saving,
There’s justice to be tending, and freedom to be braving –
There’s too much needs defending to waste our flags with waving,
Let’s get our passions working here instead.
We need to get ignited for the good of all the blighted,
Regardless if they’re wearing blue or red.

A Hat that Lets the Rain in

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crowns

A Hat that Lets the Rain in

The king awoke one morning
And he couldn’t find his crown,
So he rang out for his footman
To bring forth his ermine gown,
Then ordered for the palace
To be hunted upside down –
And if it were still missing,
To send men upon the town.

His reason for such urgency
Was really very plain,
That if the king is crownless,
Then he rule goes down the drain –
For if he stands bareheaded
How will peasants know his reign ?
A king without a coronet
Is thoroughly mundane.

Fetch it !  Find it !
Capture it and mind it !
All your heads are bloody shreds
If someone has maligned it !

The soldiers rummaged ev’ry house,
And prodded ev’ry nook.
They barged upon the merchantfolk,
And half their wares they shook
Incase the prize was hid within,
Exposing crown and crook.
And if it weren’t, the goods were wrecked,
So clumsy was their look.

They burst upon the womenfolk
In most ungentle ways –
Their conduct was improper,
And their language coarse of phrase.
They entered ev’ry schoolroom,
Ev’ry salon, mill and maze.
But still it was not gainedfast,
And the town was all ablaze.

Search it !  Seek it !
Plunder it and wreak it !
All your eyes are filling pies
If somebody should sneak it !

The aldermen and dowagers
Were startled and incensed.
These worthies sought an audience,
Their grievances dispensed –
But found the King uncaring
Of the tumult he’d commenced.
They left with bitter passion
For the town to stand against –

“His majesty can issue
Any ruling or decree,
But that is all as naught to us
Who choose to disagree.
It’s time for him to realise
He’s just our employee,
And if we are unsatisfied,
It’s time to set him free.”

Pounce him !  Pry him !
Prison him and try him !
All our souls regain controls
If ev’ryone deny him !

The king awoke one morning
With his royal head uncrowned.
He spent that very evening
In cells of harsh surround.
He never understood it,
How his luck could so confound.
His coronet, in passing,
Was to never be refound.

Tillers of the Ground

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agriculture plant blur wheat
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Tillers of the Ground

In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat of thy bread
For here all the days of thy life,
And this is thy price when thou hearken instead
Now unto the voice of thy wife.
And the wheat thou shalt grow and shalt harvest and mill,
Where’erso the oak-tree may thrive,
Is fruit of the labours of farmers who till
To better the grains they shall scythe.
In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat of thy bread,
But sweet grow the grains in their ears –
For whilst thou lay pampered, they fattened each head
Since thousands and thousands of years.

Human Nature of the Beast

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jekyll & hyde
This looks like it came from a Jeckyll & Hyde graphic novel, but alas I cannot track down which one.

Human Nature of the Beast

We know that it isn’t correct these days
To dwell upon appearance.
We know we’re supposed to all scorn the gaze
Of probing and interference.
It’s what’s on the inside that’s worth all the praise,
If mutual respect’s to be more than a phase –
The package should never set eyeballs ablaze.
But have we the perseverance ?

We know this, we know this, we know it’s correct
That judgement should always be saved.
But on that first sighting, the verdict’s direct –
So tell our subconscious it’s badly behaved.
But in our defence, well, we must interject
That lust is a body that flexes unchecked –
So call it perverted, or lewd, or erect,
But still it comes grunting when craved.

We know that it isn’t correct at all
To dwell upon their beauties,
We know we’re supposed to quell the call
And concentrate on duties.
We know it’s absurd, but the order is tall,
And even the gentle and noble‘est fall,
And find themselves sweated and slavered of maul
At the hint of a glimpse of such cuties.

We know this, we know this, we know to our soul:
We’ve all of us bile and phlegm.
But don’t be ashamed, they’re a part of the whole,
A hangover from our primordial stem.
The things that’s important, to keep in our mind
Is that any such thoughts must be kept in our mind,
And to never be let out to leer or grind –
There’s more to our beings than them.

Us Too ?

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witch trial
A Witch Trial by Joseph Baker

Us too ?

The accusations may be true,
Although we know we’ll never really know,
Because they’ll never come to court –
So round and round the rumours flow.
Is it slander ?  Is it exposé ?
We guess, but cannot know for sure,
Though plenty tell us yes or no,
And brand the sinners from the pure.
Some will castigate victims,
Sniffing lies or madness in their act –
But others join the critical mass,
Until the fatally-named are publicly sacked.

But us ?  We must decide –
To believe or to ignore ?
There’s plenty point the finger,
And there’s plenty keep the score.
But are they not still innocent
Until beyond a reasoned doubt ?
Or are we so convinced
That unproved testimony carries clout ?
Is this then justice by the mob
That surely always ends in tears ?
Or are we now, collectively,
The jury of their peers ?

Either we’re waking up to reason,
Or else witches are in season.

The Star-Spangled Manna

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american flag on pole under blue sky during daytime
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The Star-Spangled Manna

To Anacr’on in Heaven, in bounty and might,
All night have we drunk from your wellspring of plenty.
But come, can you see by the dawn’s early light
How the cast-offs the shut-outs are bribing the sentry ?
With wearisome head, must quell this new dread
And face down the upstarts who’d stand in our stead,
Yet oft they look on’t us and find us supine –
They’ve come and they’ve seen us, much less than divine.

Vexillologically Vexed

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flags
A couple of proposed Russian flags in recent years by William Pokhlyobkin and Andrew Khlobystin

Vexillologically Vexed

Born in revolution was the Tricolour,
And suitably to radical design –
Oh sure, there were tripartite flags before,
Yet nothing like this latest Paris line.
And afterwards, we’ve trickies by the score,
As flagginess itself is redefined –
Back then, it showed a total break with lore,
By genius or accident of mind.
Felicity, simplicity,
Tradition would no limit be !
Their senses jarred by disregard
For all chromatic symmetry.
And so, unlike the world before,
You favoured grand to bear your brand –
Your tricolour said France for evermore !

Look on, you Russians, look and see,
The repercussions flying free –
For even in your own domain,
Napoleon has come again.
You took his classic of its type
And switched the order of each stripe –
And not content, we now discern,
You flipped his flag a quarter-turn.
I know, your old one had to go,
The flag that evry’body knew –
It still may shine in pure design,
But there was nothing pure on show.
And so, like Germany before,
You forewent grand for safe yet bland –
And tricolours are great for that, for sure !

De-rigging the Deck

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cards

De-rigging the Deck

“No more taking high tea with the higher-ups,
Your majesty,” they told the Maid of Cups.

“No more living fancy-free like landed thieves,
Your majesty,” they urged the Page of Leaves.

“It’s not enough to be a patron of the arts,
Your majesty,” they warned the Queen of Hearts.

“No more clearing crofters from their fells
For sheep as far as one can see,
Your majesty,” they scared the Dame of Bells.

“No more shall your eldest fruit-of-loins
Be favoured for ascendancy,
Your majesty,” they snarled the King of Coins.

“You cannot beat or crush us all to graves,”
They shocked the Knight of Batons and the Prince of Staves.

“You cannot bribe or threaten us, my lords.”
They spooked the Knave of Diamonds and the Jack of Swords.

“We may be only deuces, threes and fours,
But to the House of Roses we bring wars.”

“The Court of Acorns next shall we uproot,
And then the Clan of Shields can follow suit.”

“We’ll strangle with our tentacles the bonds of Wands and Pentacles,
Then flush the royal flush out with a poker –
So let our fingers ruffle to the revolution shuffle,
And show Arcana Major why it can’t contain a joker.”

“You may be fat on clover, but you’ll soon be eating grubs,
Your majesty,” they promised to the Queen of Clubs.

“You’ll feel our pique upon your neck when sharpening our blades,
Your majesty,” they goaded to the King of Spades.

“The pips are taking back our land,
So drop your bluff and fold your hand.
We’ll take the tricks and watch you fall,
For lowly aces trump you all.”

Credo

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picket line
The Picket Line by Max Ginsburg

Credo

Voltaire never said it,
But that matters not a mite –
He meant it, to his credit,
And he calls on us to fight.

The words may change, but we all know them,
Paraphrased through many pleas –
When times are tough, it’s time to show them,
’Speshly to our enemies –

“I cannot stand the crap you spew,
I find you ignorant and vile –
But I will pitch my life for you,
To keep you free to spread your bile.”

We do not have to like it,
But by deuce! we must allow it !
Let us strike at those who’d strike it,
Vow to never disavow it.

(Except perhaps when it’s horrific
Vi’lence that’s incited there –
But then those times must be specific,
And they must be bloody rare !)

So however hard they’re hitting,
We must build our hearts of granite –
Though we’re still, of course, permitting
Ev’ry speech that calls to ban it.

Rights aren’t only for the nice,
Or those with better words and clout –
So come on now and tell us twice,
And we shall smile and tune you out.

So say it with me, all of you,
And say it always, come what may –
So Voltaire never said it, true,
But we shall say it, ev’ry day !

Not saying I think strikers are ‘ignorant and vile’ – I just like the painting’s mood of conflict and speech.