what is it?

what is it of the brains of Man?
who can’t,
though they think they can…
to raise on high
and bellow thoughts
of nothing
but a string of noughts
and stand on boxes – “vote for me!”
“I am the one to set you free!”

and one by one
they fall from high
the stench of flesh that fills the sky
of lies
and promises
seeping through
like the stagnant effluent
we’ve become used to

but on and on the charade parades
painting pictures of better days
vanity,
ego,
dripping through
spit drenched slogans
vomiting lies
on me and you

but fools will turn out
in their numbers
queuing like flies
to repeat the blunders
in hope bereft of any reward
of promises kept
on any record

the lies of liars
will ring on in our ears
and our children’s children
will vomit their fears
and of the end

who can tell
of this “Rainbow Nation”
living in hell.

do-be-do-be-do

why are we like we are?
why do we like we do?
why be we like we be?
why see we like we see?

there is no spoon
the fork won the day
the empty plate
simply won’t go away

artificial intelligence

° artificial

made or produced by human beings rather than occurring naturally, especially as a copy of something natural.

° intelligence

the ability to acquire and apply knowledge and skills.

Opposite:
stupidity

Why would I want to become someone, if I am someone already?

Why would I want to become something, if I am something already?

Why would I want to be somewhere if I am somewhere already?

I am here now… it is enough.

isn’t it?

apparently not?

The bark of the yeast

The footprints of a wayward glance
aimed at establishing an illegal stance
the postures of impure pose
looking at others…
for why?
no one knows

But yet they all join in…
the trying to be
where I don’t fit in
not near there
nowhere near we
but form we must
as it’s all do or die
to sign our name up in the sky

to create a faith in what we want
with jagged shapes of inner and outer solid font
to forcibly create mood and flood
the atmosphere of solid blood
life spilled in vanity unfair
yet we queue so long for our chance to dare
I will, I will, I do not care
just to make my name great out there

the policies of rats

Do you have any collections?

men of plans,
and the plans of men
all flowing
from a bloated stem
floating precariously
knodding to and fro
deciding decisively
on which way others ought to go
down to the highlands
or up to the flats
decidedly indecisive
the policies of rats

but it’s we who cheer them on
and give them guns to shoot
to plunder other’s riches
and feast on illicit loot
to steal from the needy
and plunder from the poor
and celebrate the greedy
by feeding them some more

so we’ll vote them in next ballot
get a t-shirt and a box
and stagger home to emptiness
another promise is all we got
another lie upon the last one
and their pictures on our shelves

O’ God help them…
…no need, we’ll do it all ourselves

know better

I’m no better than anyone else
but neither am I any worse
We are all dealt a mixed plate
to start with
plus a double sized entrée of mirth

Equiped with both hindsight and foresight
We journey all over the earth
It’s when feet warm the ground in our journey
that the pudding is proved of its worth

the I that I am

the I that I am is not really me
I do what I do,
it is me, yes, it’s me
but the things that I do
though I speak for myself
are the voice of the ancestors
invisible on my shelf

those who went before
even before I was there,
those of the past
in both joy and dispair
who laid down the tracks
on which I walk today
and echo the songs
in the same ancient way

from fathers to sons
are the deeds that we do
it is we, not just me
it is they, not just you

what I say, what I do
though I choose to be me
it is not I alone
it is them that you see
of those who speak
both silent and loud
who shout out in deeds
from behind the dark shroud

from fathers to sons
are the deeds that we do
it is we, not just me
it is they, not just you

what I say, what I do
it is easily done,
it is me, it is me
I pray I’m not being undone

There’s no time like the present

there is no time like the present
it’s a gift, but don’t wrap it up wrong
it’s here, then it’s not …all in one breath
as it came, just as quickly, it’s gone
to live the present even once more
is a waste, one more breath that’s in vane
the present clearly waits for no one
and nothing will ever be the same

I try not to say

I try not to say without thinking
but every time the bell goes ‘bong’
like an old frustrated, bent triloquist
it usually just comes out all wrong
I feel depressed because I can’t get any taller
so I stand on my toes, but it hurts
If I walk I just become the next faller
maybe I should stick to bad jokes instead?
now I boldly say without thinking
that the things not a thing but a thong
it sounds tight but it’s looser than ever
and now I can’t even finish this song

the walk

being is calmly doing in clarity,
doing is being in rest…
North, South, East, West,
its time alone that scores the test.