Drone Strike

I don't wanna be your drone
And I don't wanna work from home
I don't wanna end up all alone
So I'm on strike, I won't answer the phone,

 

And I don't wanna be remote controlled,
Mindless, lifelessly do what I'm told,
So I'm outta the game,  I'm leaving the fold,
This drone has a voice and it won't be sold,

 

I don't wanna chase your pot of gold,
I hate what you love, I detest it's hold,
Nothing has changed from days of old,
You gain the whole world,
But forfeit your soul,

 

I don't wanna live for a Web of lies
I don't wanna become what I despise,
I won't be kept down,  my soul will rise,
You pin me to the earth,  but I'll reach for the skies,

 

I don't wanna work anymore for you,
I reject your terms and conditions too,
I've seen their effects and what they do,
I'm telling you now,  that's it, we're through,

And you can chase me down the street,
Take me to court, I'll take the heat,
I'll keep walking to where sky and land meet
Even if you nail my hands and feet,

I don't wanna be your pet,
The treats you offer, I never get,
You stroke my ego, I take the bet,
But the winner has never materialised yet.

I don't wanna be your wage slave,
Or live in the land of the broke and the brave,
I've seen your success and what it gave,
The cess pit, and not Aladdin's cave,

No, I don't wanna be your slave,

I don't wanna make the noise
The drone of complaint from the girls and the boys,
When within the pram, we keep the toys,
We satisfy ourselves with such trivial joys,

No I'm on strike, here's what I'll do,
I sit on the bog and write a haiku,
on the wall to say why I am leaving you,
So you can read my resignation when you're on the loo,

And now that I have left the hive,
You will still go on and thrive,
You can replace me in less than five,
With more dead drones,
But at least I am alive

This drone is on strike, that's it, I've gone,
You'll barely notice, you'll carry on
It's hardly like I dropped a bomb,
Whilst here, It's hardly like I shone,
But at least I left with some aplomb,

No, I don't wanna be your drone.

I won't live for a Web of lies
I won't become what I despise,
I won't be kept down, my soul will rise,
You pin me to the earth,  but I'll reach for the skies




 

 

 

 

 

The Next To Me Person

I am Your neighbour,

Of whom your scriptures teach,

The one you so often wont reach out to,
Although I am easily within reach,

And you ask,

Who is my neighbour?

All the migrants & refugees ,

The next to me person,

And the person next to these,

Trafficked people who reach out for help,
Those whose voices are silenced,

Not a whimper or yelp,

Someone who needs me.....

The next to me person,

You only live once,

And there's no rehearsin',

A neighbour is literally someone next to you,

Close in distance, akin in feeling,

Symmetrical in understanding,

So my neighbour is everyone....

Even the worst person in the world,

And the most demanding,

They are not my neighbours ,

They are my brothers and sisters,

Listen to me mister,

As the children of God,

We are family,

I am their brother,

I am their sister,

 

I am Your neighbour,

Of whom your scriptures teach,

The one you so often wont reach out to,
Although I am easily within reach,

Who then is my Neighbour? ,

The rich young man demanded,

To justify his lack of care,

To weasel out of being reprimanded,

Who “THEN”, is my Neighbour?
For, who 'Then' shall I serve?
For whom shall I labour?
For he who is worthy?

For they that deserve?

 

Tell me who!

who then is my neighbour?

Someone in need, anyone in need ,

Anyone less fortunate than me,

Drug-addicts, Junkies and those who smoke weed?

People who have been sanctioned,

Victims of greed?

Who Then is my neighbour?

People who surround us,

Homeless, refugees over here,

We may or may not like them,

Those we may distrust or fear?

They may be the person we envy,

But should be pleased for, congratulate,

When you stand their frozen, hateful,

And starting to stagnate,

 

I am Your neighbour,

Of whom your scriptures teach,

The one you so often wont reach out to
Although I am easily within reach,

My Neighbour is,

The next to me person,

This isn't a play,

 We are not rehearsin' ,

People who we interact with in every way,

The Atheists, the Muslims,

The straight and the gay,

The people who wind us up and irritate us,

People who have wronged us,

Day after day,

 

The next to me person,

This is not an act,

You are not rehearsin',

Good teacher,

Who is my Neighbour?

 

I am Your neighbour,

Of whom your scriptures teach,

The one you so often wont reach out to
Although I am easily within reach,

My neighbour is the one that's in need of my help, my care, my attention,

The one with the skin condition that we barely dare to mention,

My neighbour is the person next to me,

Without a smile on their face,

The one no-one sees,

The person too stubborn to ask for help,

When you can tell they are desperate for it,

The one who's hoping you will see,

And hoping too, you wont ignore it,

The person without a shoulder to cry on,

Or a friend to talk to,

The one with no-one to rely on,

The one who doesn't need your bible quotes,

Who wont hear the word,

But maybe just a hug,

When Love is the loudest sound you've heard,

Beyond the talk,

Beyond rehearsin',

The far off, far away, near to me,

Next to me person,

 

It is the person you do and do not see,

And in as much,

As you have done it unto these...

Every day family, friends, acquaintances or complete strangers,

All are neighbours to me,

 

So then,

In a Global village, is this something you could savour,

In our global age is the whole human race your neighbour?

 

In a day of technology and easy flights,

In a world that recalls in an instant, a web of horrific sights,

In a world of resources from an agency,

One woman stood in a kitchen , in Birmingham , cooking tea ,

May not be able to jump on a plane to comfort another,

Shivering-in-a-tunnel, escaping-a-war kind of mother,

But she can pray, for release of those who can, .

And She can stand with those who give a damn,

Neighbour cannot any longer be confined to people we meet,

They no longer reside only in the house, either side, along our street,

So many people are our neighbours,

But when I'm overwhelmed by the plight of ALL,

Of them, who I connect with through the media,

When my feet should be racing,
But my heart starts to stall,

I remember, somewhere, somehow,

That God has put me, where I am now,

And he gently reminds me

Not to overlook,

The "next to me person".

That this life is real,

And I'm not rehearsin',

That he is in heaven & here, and he sees us,

And in loving friends and enemies alike,

We are really loving Jesus.

I am Your neighbour,

Of whom your scriptures teach,

The one you reach out to,
 I am The One, who is within reach,

You Are Here

Red dot upon the map,

The words etched in black,

This is the place you feared to come,

And came to fear,

Worry and Don't worry, 

"You are here"

You pinched yourself twice,
But no spoonful of sugar can make this nice
So swallow down the medicine my dear,
because every way you look at this,
You are here.

And lost along your way,
When paths had gone astray,
And betrayed your feet,
which dragged you far from near,
You thought you'd never reach this point,

You thought this day would never come, but, Now You realise,
You are here,

You thought you'd never sink this low,
But here you are my dear.

It's worse than being lost
This facing up to cost,
So, let me whisper the price into your ear,
Yes this is what you've done,
This is what you have become,
And yes,well and truly,
You are here.

But worry and Don't worry,  now,

My dear, 

It's kind of reassuring, 

To put your finger on the map, 

And be able to say that 

You are here. 

From here you can get to there, 

When before you were nowhere, 

And drifting year on year,

When you know you're down from up, 

At the bottom you can see the top, 

And finally acknowledge , 

You are here, 

Before, it felt like mystery, 

Like you barely existed, 

Like you were a figment of some childhood fears, 

Like your soul was in the ether,

Like your body was all numb,

But now, connecting to the pain, 

You know you're here,

And pain is just a signpost to the lost,

And shame is lost upon the found 

The signpost points to another place, 

Where joy and honour will be your solid ground. 

Red dot on the map, 

The words etched in black, 

This is the place you feared to come 

And came to fear, 

But be Worried and yet don't worry now my dear, 

Because there you were and you were there but now for real,  you can say that, 

You are here. 

So trace your finger 'cross the contours, 

Dig your nails into the earth, 

Take one last swig from your glass of beer, 

Get your feet back on the road, 

Leave behind your load, 

And leave behind a note that says that, 

You were here, 

And leave behind a life that says that, 

You were here.  

Flotsam

Look what got washed ashore
The Flotsam and Jetsam of some foreigners war,
And no. No dead kids on English beaches, that's for sure,
But then this is only an inadequate metaphor,
And that Turkish beach, is just as much mine, as "theirs" or "yours",

I will tell you now, as I told you before,
They beg for shelter, and we slam the door,
This is none of our business,
This is not our War.
These are not our kids, being washed ashore,

You can't throw anything away, when there's no such place as away,
And what the tide takes out this morning, will return sometime later today,
And we reap what we've sown, on the earth, and it returns to us in the serf,
And with shame we cover our eyes, this "Jetsam" was human by birth,

Not Arab, nor Black or Caucasian,
Not Latin, American or Asian,
Not Egyptian, nor French, Nor Haitian,
Not English or Jamaican,

But Human,

Not Muslim, nor Hindu
Not Buddhist, or Christian or Jew,

But Human,

And the Human race is not competitively run,
Tripping others to hold onto the prize you've won,
When we all have to live under the same sun,
We all stare down the barrel of the same gun,
Of Hatred.

Look what just got washed ashore,
The Flotsam and Jetsam of some war we caused,
And no. No dead kids on English beaches, that's for sure,
But then this is only an inadequate metaphor,
And imagine that child is just as much mine or yours,

I ask you now,  David, as I asked you before,
If they beg for shelter, will we slam the door?
This is all  of our business,
This is all of our War.
These are all of our kids, being washed ashore,
Because this garbage is real, and no metaphor,
Because there is a real human being, behind the closed door,

Flotsam and Jetsam of our times,
The returning evidence, of crimes,
Against humanity,
To do nothing, is simply insanity.





05/09/2015

Dedicated to Aylan Kurdi

Fanfare for the Common Crumpet

Trumpet the crumpet
it deserves fans and fanfares
like it or lump it
with marmite to comfort you, in your cares
from tarts through to strumpets
no one would dare
pilfer my crumpet
they're too good to share
If Iron Mike took my crumpet
Though I may lose my life there
I'd just have to thump it
If you're holding my crumpet
Son, you are going no where.

Trumpet the crumpet
Warburtons' best
till the butter runs down
my chin to my chest
and till  my tummy
silently swells under my vest
the golden crumpet of comfort
has got me, in handcuffs
and under arrest
I'm slave to the crumpet,
I'm at it's behest
I'll take the crumpets
And you keep the rest.

Kite

The diary is clear,
The desk is cluttered,
Before a word, is thought, written or uttered,
The screen is blank,
Before it could rise, the word sank,
Falling from skies,
Into a sink tank,
An unthink tank,

And whom should I thank?
The bank is bust,
But think, I must,
Before my thought-wheels rust
And creak, squeal, squeak,
Gone to ground,
Ground to a halt,
No dynamite image,
To blow open this poetry vault,

Listless and in the beginning,
The lazy, languid and indulgent sinning,
Patience scoured, worn and thinning,
Impotence conceived, it's sperm are swimming,
The baby dying, inertia winning,

Words, words, everywhere,
And not a thought to think,
And drowning in words,
All but submerged,
And my time is starting to sink,
To shrink,
Creation is closing,
Receding,
Conceding,
And dragging me over the brink,

Beyond this desk,
And through the glass,
The stillness of the Sabbath cries,
And beyond my garden,
Hardened I gaze into the skies,
And through vacant eyes,
From below the houses,
I see it rise,

In the net of it's silhouette, I am caught,
Its red tail forking my thought,
Its curving crook beak,
Has proven a hook,
And I am helpless to write,
But sit,
And look,

As I wrestled and writhed, chained to this chair,
All the while,
The kite,
Was wheeling out there,
Arcing and swooping, and soaring free
As I had intended, a poem to be,

Never gone but just out of sight,
No ties that bind,
To limit this kite
As free and as easy,
As my thoughts ought to be,
But eyes on a screen,
Are unable to see,

And now distracted, drawn taught, and taunted,
Its freedom of ease, in the breeze, leaves me haunted.

Mesmerised, I sighed,
And like sighs sink,
And breathing chests rise,
I resign myself,
And stare after the kite, into the skies,

"Oh well", I say, though there is no one to tell,
Recoiling  after a while into my shell,
"I'll never write a poem now".

Etmol and Machar (Backs to the future)

laugh at days to come

don't fear, don't fret
don't look back with longing
or regret
don't stand on the precipice
of what is yet
toes tipping
over the edge
don't endeavour to forget

that the ledge is crumbling

stumbling backwards
through the door
way of what's to be
anchored to what's come before
past is an anchor
sunk into the floor
past faithfulness speaks of more

tethered to the eternal core

not letting the rope go slack
not focussing on what you lack
not looking  up or down, just turn your back

 and abseil into the future

two arms, the brackets are set in place
etmol faces machar in an embrace
and in the middle is the time and space
for you to be
caught in the grip
of faith and grace
in communion, face to face

the future is locked and the past is the key
to all you are and are to be
His faithfulness from all eternity
brings us such security
holding onto his promise's purity

"Most blessèd, most glorious, the Ancient of Days,
Almighty, victorious, Thy great Name we praise"

we turn our backs to the future
and abseil into the future



              *********************


Etmol and machar are the Hebrew words for past and future. "The Hebrew language has a peculiarity when it comes to the looking back at the past and facing the future - it has the two concepts switched up entirely. The word for yesterday, אתמול (etmol) is connected to the concept of being opposite to, or facing something. We are facing and looking directly at the past, not the future. Equally, the word for tomorrow, מחר (machar) is connected to the concept of being behind or after. The future is behind our backs. We cannot see it. We have our back to the future, so to speak. "

*Quotation and inspiration for this poem taken from the blog found at ;

http://www.oneforisrael.org/blog/105-the-power-of-Passover