Sonnet 2,336

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I’m grateful for the muses in my life:
The war and terror tearing Terra down~
For what else would my conscience have me write?
And what else to explore, or to expound?

Thank goodness for the blood and pain and death;
Without those things, no need for rhyming art.
We’re lucky that we witness to such depths
The torture of the Earth’s still-beating heart.

How grateful we should be for politics;
How thankful for the fear of gods, and greed~
I pray that love and hope do not eclipse
The beauty of the war that poets need

I lie: for song, I’ve lost my appetite;
I’d love to have no poetry to write.

LMN

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2017/apr/04/syria-assad-white-helmets-torture-eu-prosecute

CHEMICAL BROTHERS

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My kids were sleeping in their beds
As other children cried
With dreams inside their little heads
As Mums and Babies died

Mine snored away right through the night
As other children fled
A dream of fun; not one of fright
As sons and fathers bled

Their dreams unreal and love unsaid
As kids died chemically
They slept all night: bound, blanketed
As hearts beat heavily

I checked upon them carefully
Whilst parents searched the streets
And here were mine all safe with me;
Whilst theirs had faced defeat

And still mine slept and still they breathed
As mourning families cried
All safe, alive and here with me
As little children died

Yes, little children died.

LMN

CLICK

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img-saving-lives-under-fireA pawn in an incomplete game of static insanity
Your blood-letting, tongue-tied grimace has you blind
While humanity’s serpents serp and singers sing
Of all the reaping things.
Madness’ descent pauses on this: it had no reason to exist
Until now, when it persists.
After spending too long in the half-life, you reach out and geiger-count your blessings
Tick-by-tick-by-tick-by-tick

Click
By
Click.

So you reach the total sum of zero
A clickless life, a tickless existence
Bricked up in the wall of political persistence
There’s to be no saving of your soul – it’s only morose code for you
This is a remorseless dry, brown experiment
White helmet knights would save you from the rubble
But trouble is, they’re under it too.

My January Wish

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I wish nice gifts for Britain for our Brexistential crisis
Like getting rid of bigotry – that really would be priceless
I’m sure the state of the U.S.Hate can just be circumvented
For my January wish is that they be unpresidented.

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Where the Heart Is

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So what will all those children do?
~Don’t worry child, they’re not like you.

And what will Syrian children wear?
~Forget it, son, they’re over there.

But what will those poor children say?
~You cannot hear, they’re miles away.

It’s Christmas soon, what will they get?
~I’ve told you, kid, you must forget.

But why, and how, what can I do?
~You can’t, it isn’t up to you.

But maybe I can teach my friends
~Oh here we go, you’re off again…

Perhaps I should just start with you
~What do you mean? What did I do?

You turned away, you shut it out
~But we can’t help – there IS no how.

And you gave up without a fuss
~But son, we need to care for US.

Oh, Father, won’t you ever learn?
~It isn’t us – it’s not our turn

It is! They’re us – and we are they
~You don’t know half the things you say.

I know I’ll never learn from you
The things you let this planet do
You make it hard to love and trust
With all the lies you spin to us
You say we’re different, us and them
But what if it occurred again?
If we don’t help them, save them soon
Humanity will go to ruin
We need to stand up, take them in
As refugees washed clean of sin
For if we don’t, then when it’s us
Then who’ll be here to make a fuss?
If we don’t help the folk oppressed
What happens if it’s our turn next?

~Just calm yourself, child, take a pew. This will not happen, not to you. We’re fine right here, in Blighty’s arms; our Queen and country won’t be harmed. Now settle down and go to bed, and sleep away what’s in your head.

What’s in my head is in my heart
And when I wake, I’ll make a start.

~Not everything is black and white, you can’t win every single fight. I’m sure you see in monochrome.

Tomorrow, Dad, I’m leaving home.

PLANET RED

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Here, Monolithic slicing has the edge;
Precision-cut as writ thus: One, Four, Nine
Too sharp for art, impossible to sketch;
Incisiveness makes space move around time.

Since forward-thinking processes took seed
-For matter always matters once applied-
Once travelling surpassed and broke light’s speed,
We broke all Universal laws prescribed.

And now unto the breach we go, dear friends,
Exploring all that’s hitherto unknown:
This Life up here, the stars from which we stem;
And death, our last bedfellow, down below.

It’s from this vantage point amongst the stars;
We see the reddest planet isn’t Mars.