Tag: performance poetry

Coercion and Corruption

Holy Monday

It was riddled with corruption and guilt,

that temple in Jerusalem,

No one could come and feel beloved

excepting the moneyed leadership.

—–

The tables were out and wares bought,

in that holy courtyard,

In poverty they came where exploitation

capitalised on the hungry poor.

—–

Pitiful returns on money exchanged,

and the costs of doves were high,

seeking redemption they paid it all,

to appease the law.

—-

He walked in and saw the oppression,

in a place that was holy,

he felt their pain, saw the cheating

and stood for truth that day.

—–

He overset the tables, loosed the doves

in his rage at the injustice.

Breathing hard he spoke the word –

this is a place of prayer.

—–

The temple curtain trembled and shook,

while people flocked to see,

the gentle, healing man, zealous for action

fighting for grace and love.

——

The stones in the courtyard,

besmeared and trodden,

looked up and praised

that awesome judgement.

——

The great blocks of stone, in

the sturdy temple walls,

shouted for equality and opportunity

to be shared for all.

——

The dust settled, shock waves at peace,

he looked up and wept for the many

who always die contributing to 

corruption and coercion.

The Poor paying for the Rich

He looked into his wallet and then into the face of his children.

Oliver looked out from their faces, thinned and paled by hunger,

Their sad eyes looked at  under woolly hats and coat covered arm hugs.

—

His eyes watered and his empty belly grumbled as he opened

the last dull can of beans, cut the crust of curling bread into two,

watched the food disappear into hungry mouths opened like nesting chicks.

Not far away, plates were full with succulent salmon, rare steak, 

beef, chicken  vegetables, fried potatoes and mashed spuds, followed

by golden custard, french named cakes, apple pies and salted chocolate ices.

—-

Somewhere a mother scraped small crumbs from her sons bowl, sucking

them from the poor plastic spoon. In her head imagining the eggs tomorrow,

when the reduced Universal credit arrived, a meal, heat, then rancid bin search.

Not far away, a kitchen door ajar, while out of date food is thrown away,

in the waste; while far away, the icy hearted are having a party at number 10,

half eaten rich food slipped in a bin. They take from the poor to give to the rich.

—-

Clean, loved children crying themselves to sleep, hunger gnawing at their vitals,

holding onto the hope for tomorrow they’d be in heaven, food galore at the FoodBank,

bringing home food in plenty to be eked slowly to cover the schoolless, foodless weeks.

Miles away lives a callous rich man who can choose to give them enough or kill

them slowly by starvation and a rich woman minister who chooses to treat them as 

alien pariahs, ignores the council of the wise, ignores deadly hunger, abuse and trafficking.

—–

Truth may come, but already the lies hold sway, the government culled the media.

So, how will the hungry children have their voices heard? The starving, the weakened

the oppressed, hidden from sight, are crying out, lost in the lies trumpeted out by Tory press.

======

Yes, minister, the numbers in poverty are atrocious 

but we are doing what we can, watch us.

We’ve paid the rich and they are wealthy too. 

Tis tricky, the trickle down effect?

‘It won’t.’ A lie from long ago. 

The poor are always with us – but they

don’t

donate

to

our

party.

M

Mercilessly the virus pursues us and prunes life on earth,

Masks are worn and relationships torn and born on the net.

Massive queues by the hospital to see the overworked staff.

Moment by moment worsening ’til Covid conversations are

Mixed with Christmas Greetings and curtains closely drawn.

——

Many people are working to avoid the pyres, wreaths and woes.

Multiple hands crafting vaccinations against poisonous progress.

Measuring and creating the chemists turn to war on an invisible

Mutinous enemy who coldly challenges their clever craft, then

Mutates into something new, something vile, a calculating killer.

——-

Maintaining their arsenal governments buy their weaponry, 

Munching machines greedily tear down healthy trees and plants, 

Marksmen shooting innocent angry orangutans trying to flee.

Miserly we carve up our life, green space and wonder why it

Mercilessly bites us back!

——-

Must we fight nature instead of nurturing the glorious wonder?

Masterminds of the world unite to secure a future for the whole.

Moved we should change today not tomorrow bearing the sorrow.

Mother Nature calls us to be as one with the beauty of our world.

Mother Mary birthed Jesus who spoke then of saving all creation.

——-

Magi and shepherds hailed his coming and angels split the skies,

Moaning lips accused him. Shattering the hope of unity and progress.

Most times we occlude the truth that Christmas is the celebration of

Making us one with the creator who made each leaf and flower,

Multiplying shape and hue and scape. And true in steadfast love.

Save the Life of a Child

You look at the pictures of that abused child,

you ain’t no better than the one that did the vile

thing to that sweet innocent little bundle, that 

should be full of joy and you filled her with 

filth and degraded her little form, that ain’t norm.

===

You got them on dat computer of yours and turn

it on,

while those caught kiddies they done nothing

to deserve being brutalled and sometimes totalled, 

for you on your tech to insanely, sickenly burn.

====

Them judges don’t seem to realise, they summarise

your behaviour as less than that one what did the

terrible, horrible, vile violations to a dear little one.

You looked at them and paid, you did that thing to

===

that little face that cries and hurts, sick at heart,

just so that some sick pervert scans their photo.

So, if you be a judge, they be deserving the same

as those that stole that little child’s spirit and life.

—-

Those children are suffering, used for buffering

a bank account, that’s the amount they matter,

Look at their eyes, see the reflection and note,

You should be the one in correction and fighting

and righting the porn and scorn of helpless kids.

The Truth is no Truth at All.

It’s not time to ring in the truth because it hurts.

I have been scalded by the truth as it works into

my gut and leaves the guilt lurking nauseously,

clinging to my brain until I am rendered a kindly

repentant soul again and say those words so very

hard but oh so very healing and achingly appealing, 

—

‘I am so sorry.’ I did wrong.

====

Yet he clings to his lies and dominating ties to the

powers that abuse and misinform, misremembering

the things that happened, recorded in the press and

filmed for the television, so a mission for omission is

pressed ahead so that he can fib to avoid the gibes

of the journalists, newsreaders and nervous onlookers.

===

He stares and stumbles and cites, ‘We did not do right,’

But he did wrong, so we long for him to be gone for 

we wrote it in our tweets and it was heard in our claps,

cheering the NHS as people sowed up their curtains to

make PPE and masks while doctors and nurses sickened,

and without the cover caught the dread disease, and died.

====

Companies offered to make them double quick but he

said his friends would do it better and some would 

arrive from China, but now he says he lied for there

was always enough PPE for everybody. But sound out

the nurses barely breathing on ICU, staff battered as

Covid19 prowled and used the lack of protection to

—–

pollute and pick its victims, and so the fit shouldered

the burden til exhaustion and poor equipment and a pack

of Shylocks, as well deaf ears to the knocking on the door

by the wise, wilfully ignoring and saying they were boring,

failed to save their nation by isolation, and blocking

the locking  which soon was clocking deaths in their

—-

thousands. He gambles and it’s a shambles as he still

rambles on til thousands upon thousands died and now

people stumble through the night of their pain seeking

operations, chemo and the right treatment for other

diseases because they just wanted to ease their minds

and behind close doors grumble and mumble over the

—–

rising tide of anger as they feint and paint their actions

like children who cannot face blame, so they shame 

someone else and fail to tame their own greedy eyes

and those of their mates who got special rates so that

they could come in late and make the state pay money

for funny goings on, no guilt, they say we did no wrong.

#MeToo Reclaim the Streets

Reclaim the Streets

For Sarah.

Who made the streets the way they are,

lit, de-littered, guttered, de-rutted, tarred?

Motorists and macadam, shovel wielding

navvies? Contraptions stealing the earth.

——-

Now,  we walk, we talk and balk at the noise,

of the traffic, black gleaming lanes and kerbs

giving grace to a flow of varied vehicles on

their way to a destiny that others have made.

—–

Yet, in the midst of through and thorough fares,

walk women of the newest times, grimy years

of tears under male domination, correcting our

mothers, sisters, aunties, girls and grannies;

——-

they walk those streets in fear and trembling;

as I did when a car stopped at the kerb and 

then as I ran, he followed, nipped around and 

was in my face, til the empty roads and alleys

——-

became a labyrinth and my pursuer like a wild

animal stalking his prey, blocked my exits, he

terrifies me still. Running, hiding, crying, and

shouting, finding an all nighter, shrinking back

——-

to hide from his leering, ogling face and grim

tactics bent on what? I’ll not know. Luckily I

was not a police case, a race, a killer to trace,

learned to avoid the chase, spray the mace. Be

————–

aware of preyers. Take care! Go out in pairs! 

Male friend to walk you home? Or starve, take a 

taxi but they ruined that too. Have a pepper

spray. A mobile phone but they keep their own

——-

beastly distance as they cruelly chant, they

swore, called us whores and aimed at our

cores where we kowtow to a male society, that

never passes any laws, do the police even try

——–

to work for our cause, show them the iron doors,

close their jaws, and quieten their roars, for men

foment, they plot and plan, cos they can. Yet,

Sarah died and so did our right to peaceful

—-

protest?

—

Together with the true males we’ll take a stand 

turning to one another, and all those precious

names will not die in vain, cos you and I will 

kindle a flame, tame the male wilderness,

reclaim the streets, let justice be the pavement

and respect 

be the

attitude.

They have a dream.

I have a dream, one cried.

to subjugate and sully

the lives of all those 

who are not like me.

——

I have a dream, two cried.

to bully and bait each and

everyone who cannot be

treated in my equality.

—–

I have a dream, the third said,

to have power and control,

to be like the man at the 

head who takes all he wants.

—————

I have a dream, the fourth said,

to be at the forefront and free

myself from the shackles of

morality and dependancy.

———–

They each tread their dream

on the backs of others and 

ignore the cries of the child

and the downtrodden oppressed.

And they live fearful lives full

of lies and injustice and wars;

bringing unhappiness to their

greedy, opulent, grabbing hearth.

—————–

I have a dream, a voice cried,

where no one is less than, and

no one is stepped on and no 

one is abused, no one is bullied,

incited and no one is without.

——————-

I have dream, said another,

where each child has a childhood,

they each eat three meals a day,

they are safe and loved and 

become the best they can be.

————–

I have a dream, came quietly,

of a world where no one flees,

no one makes wars or weapons,

everywhere justice and peace 

meet together; and hatred and 

avarice are swallowed by love.

—————-

Trodden pathways of hope and

to those seeing the good in all

peace comes to comfort them,

as they seek to listen and learn

then truth will tread their path.

As they join against injustice

mercy will be their measure.

As they reach out hands to

those in trouble – then they will

find that truth, peace and mercy 

will dwell in their hearth.

A Little Child Will Lead Them.

I looked and saw thousands of children, spilling

over the land, their eyes all alight and shining;

bright as the sunlight on the bright blue sea.

——

They danced and sang as they came, and their

many hued faces laughing with delight – for

these are cheerful children favoured by fortune .

———

I turned and saw a a multitude of small folk

walking to meet them; their gaunt faces and 

stumbling gait, like flotsam on a grey sea.

————

Some covered in dust from mines, some worn

thin by slavery, some battered by abuse and still

they come,  looking for kindling for their hope.

————

They meet in a garden, fruitful and seed bearing;

all things are possible. And, I see the blindness of

the privilege – as the dancing ones dance on, as

—–

if their world is their right. And the grimness of 

loss unreal. Taught so well by their parents and 

the guardians of our governments. Their lashes

———–

hid their peeping eyes as they swerved to avoid,

a hand raised to ward off wretchedness and waste,

I watch it -weeping in my soul and praying. Then

——-

a courageous number stop and take the sad hands of

boys and girls, they look into their eyes and learn 

of the terrors and terrible pains they have endured. 

————

Then together they turn and walk into a future, where

children lead the way to justice, fair shares are for all,

and build a world where every child matters and, yet

—————-

still the others march on, ignoring their oppression,

fearfully, fleeing away from uncomfortable feelings

to a self-centred future where shame has died.