one last fuck to give

we have one last fuck to give
and then we will be spent
if you tell us how to live
we will instruct you go get bent
we have our wisdom locked in
this is a safe port we are docked in
because we designed it that way
and anything you say
that attempts to detract from that
will be squashed flat
and will be denied
because you will have lied
we are believers in fact and proven truth
some things are self evident and held to be true
wisdom is not confined to age or barred from youth
and we understand that this is not a common view
that some men think there are those who do not follow some word
and that they should be seen and not heard
that some opinions are less valid than others
but this attitude smothers
who wants to be didactic?
who wants to operate on automatic?
we like to think, and we like to find answers
in our revolution we are all good dancers

political and critical and analytical

try not to be political
for god’s sake don’t be critical
and never attempt analytical
take all the suggestions
and ask no questions

be a particle trapped in light
the definitive article we choose to re-write
the sacred text we have to edit
and they ask – have you read it?
and the censor replies they have not, it is obscene
yet burning books or banning them is something they deem
to be a righteous action
we could all be damned by some illiterate faction
who think we should all learn only the one book
and he looked and saw that it was so and it was good
and the sheep and the shepherd took a look
and they couldn’t see a single tree for the wood

all flesh is grass
all things shall pass
so let us not think
we see all the icebergs and shall not sink
because we know all the answers before you ask
we learned all we needed and know our task

this is not the way
this no answer to life
this leads to dismay
and engenders strife
so we must turn from this rigid path and bend
learning on the journey, not guessing at the end
and pulling ourselves towards some lie
and setting idiot moons to navigate by
in an unstarred sky

let’s pretend it’s all about an apple

pretend it was about an apple if you want
do not think it was about control of information
do not see it as censorship
promethean moments of handing down knowledge
and the inappropriate responses
paradise must be built on ignorance

reject the fruit
and accept life
for they are mutually exclusive
banished into a data haven
where we are fallen from grace
and see more than we maybe want to

the failure of the watchmen
the angels in the angles
who always know better
would chain us forever in the dark
and tell us plato was a buckled thinker
no philosopher king, no man of vision

it is hard to eat the meal before us
we did not see it prepared
and you talk to us of faith
when you do not trust us to think
be merry, you say – eat and drink
you do not show anything, do not blink

the apple sits there before us
and we happily tell you
that if we had to lose eden
in order to be awake
then we are glad of the change
you call us somnambulists, believe us strange

the information fills us
only ignorance kills us
we know how to tend the flower
we are aware of education and it’s power
no matter how much you try to sour
we know we grow hour upon hour

the saddest thing in the world is resignation

the saddest thing in the world is resignation
he sighs, offers an empty smile, and nods his head
inside he is not yet dead
but the heartwood has been struck a blow
and none of the shoots we used to see grow
blossom no longer brightens spring and perfumes it
branches weaken and deadwood is held up in supplication

he was a long bow once
flexible, strung, full of potential
and he could strike targets at a distance
stood tall and embodied strength
every time you saw him tense
he was ready to spring forward
to launch a needed attack on the world

it has become a hazard
buffeted by the wind
it must be cut down
all the dreams dreamt in the shadow it cast
are relegated to the past
all to become detritus for some unplanted future
all the roots are pulled up

and songs and songs and songs

and lovesongs and lovesongs and lovesongs
all sugar in the rain
nothing that really resonates
nothing that pumps blood
nothing with any guts
nothing commingled with pain

and fucksongs and fucksongs and fucksongs
dry loveless humping of legs
the mundane grind and little else
just sexual insecurity
hiding behind big mouthed bravado
we listen to the damp squib protesting

and hatesongs and hatesongs and hatesongs
all bile and vitriol
no smiling allowed, dark and proud
and loveless and full of loathing
talk of death like it’s no thing
these bleak liars roasting in their own fires

never dumb it down

people used to say dumb it down
because people don’t use big words like that
no need to be pretentious
you should be simple and easy to read
or no one will read you
and i wrote satires for the clued-in
about those who raised this crude din

to love to read and not love words
to not wish to get a dictionary and learn
to not hold a thesaurus and feel the pages turn
through the magic of a language
and wish to come and cripple poets
to humble them with your forthrightness
and force them into sackcloth

only idiots write down to people
sat there supercilious and aloof
unable to read the truth
seeing your rightness amongst a small coterie of friends as proof
it is a sad testament to rarefied atmospheres
and how hogweed pretends to be a hothouse orchid
and smothers others with their casual falsehoods

i was on automatic

this footstep and that footstep
and that staggered journey
and this fated stumble
and this protest sit-down
and this deep silence of being ignored
and the slow dawning realisation
it was all brought on the self

i did not tie my laces
i was not watching where i was going
i was rushing around like a headless chicken
i was making excuses
i was on automatic
i did not think it through
i let myself be blinded

the next footstep and the one after
and the remembrance of laughter
and the viewing of the sunlight
and the enjoyment of the sandwich
and the embrace of the moment
these things lead to a repair
the potential is always there