It Doesn’t Wash Does It?

Are we the British public on the brink of becoming like Americans? Does Brexit signal a change in Opinion or just more headlines for the newspapers to feed on? Does politics in the twenty-first century actually have anything to do with targets or are we supposed to happy and content with the shore leave rhetoric of British politicians?

Army cadets the once proud members of our fighting forces. Now lackeys for unpaid work.

High Streets the once proud burger bar now a snivelling place for delinquent dole dodgers.

In my youth there was only one Britain. You left school and then somehow magically got a job and got married and got a pension. Magic. Gullivers Travels more real. Poetry more real.

Being a Politician is not an admission of guilt

of Media savvy and the punchline photograph.

Nor is it the ability of having the right friends

to open the right doors at the right time. It’s instead a free pass to celebrity of the kind bestowed on Morecambe and Wise. Comfortable, cuddly people whose opinion we don’t care about so long as we see them smiling at the camera.

If they are the managers of our country then why not hold interviews for the jobs and then rate them on performance instead of on imponderables?

But that involves defining what it is a politician is actually supposed to do. Do we pay them to speak about whatever problems are happening? Or is it that we want someone to complain to when things get badly wrong?

Now we have multiple Britains aided in no small part by technology which the current establishment seem woefully inadequate in.

Anyway. I must do what I am good at (I hope) and stop rambling. So. Limerick

There was an old-timer from New York

who was bored of the name on his passport

So he looked at the seal and thought ‘I could do a deal.

and went on to become in charge of it ALL.

 

Hammond.

Brexit, Brexit, Brexit, I wonder thought Phillip

Will I be here long enough to see what passes

or will I be presenting to Nigel Farage, King of New England

and savior of Britain Kind next year in the new world.

What does this mean for a seventy-year-old WI County Board Member?

What does it mean for her disabled son living in the gutter? (metaphorically at least)

Depressing monologue cum soliloquy which we will skip to concentrate on the news.

Anyway.

Where was I?

The news. 

 

Something Else Hard

There are some things that are harder to write about than others. Emotions are complicated and transparent and reflect light drawing you off down alleyways that although they may be full of words do not result in the subject what you had intended to write about. Suicide is one of those things that conjures up all sorts of stuff and while it may be true that it is the number one killer of men under a certain age and that facts like this can make interesting or at least, readable copy I feel it does not do justice to a problem of society that is literally killing people off.

I tried to tackle this subject in my head prior to beginning writing but found a feeling akin to being hit by a two by four instead of the empathetic considerations I usually reserve for the subject. Why is there this block?

Am I alone or is it just me?

Why does suicide elicit the response that all roads lead elsewhere?

Unless you are famous a suicide is not treated as a news event. Why?

Is it because suicide point the finger at society and ask difficult questions about the way in which we live our lives?

Is suicide sanitised by the media and explained too perfunctorily as something to do with poor mental health rather than the result of preventable social causes?

Why does society allow people to get rich from death, cool from depravity yet ignored for giving up the chance of success on the ladder of riches promised to us as children by voluntarily taking their own lives?

Is society twisted enough to kill our most talented artists who at the peak of their powers decided that to end it was the only viable option? Think of Kurt Cobain.

Could the media do more?

Is suicide ever the answer?

Is It The Hair?

Is It The Hair

That makes you stare

at me upon the stairs?

Is it the elbow that I give you

in the side forcing you to

suck in a breath that makes

fools of us both?

Would you care if there

was more hair?

Does the violence

matter anymore?

I can see you bleeding and broken.

What words will be spoken

afterwards?

What cares worn?

Whose hair shorn?

Will you walk as naked as the day

and discreetly forewarn

those who suffer in silence

and witness the violence

of our modern society?

Such bravery, such discretion

Airforce One will bomb you

off the planets face so that

you will not see all that glory you seek.

(So you will instead hide) And meekly hide your pride.

Isn’t it a fact that where it’s at is forbidden territory

lest you step on a landmine and set off a cluster bomb

killing four innocent families?

Is it for the torn, the lost and forgotten that

you will wear your hair long?

 

A poem questioning dumbfucks,  hair and violence and destruction in society. :o (Eek) Waaaah! OK! I’m touching a nerve.La la la la Oh no I’m standing on my own toes. This is not about Islamaphobia but I did think about how Muslim women have to keep their hair covered but couldn’t steer the poem, That is the poem did NOT WANT to include that. Maybe another time.CURSE YOU!
Thanks for reading.:D (Big Grin)