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Divide & Conquer is the rule

Divide & Conquer is the rule

that makes the Populace a fool.

Where finds one Solidarity

that to new vistas holds the key?

With Brothers, Sisters, side by side,

so few the times that it’s been tried;

the tides decay to us & them

and more division thus does stem.

The Universal is the aim,

and only this success can claim;

a better life for all, not some,

the Parts so fused, more than Whole’s Sum.

But those for whom the System works

believe in such a danger lurks;

they will not loose the reins of State

and damn but few to sorry Fate.

Where should one search for devotees?

Those at the Base, or Apogees?

The latter, if converted true,

they have the Means to see it through.

Beware the former’s blunt foment,

there’s danger in an Anger pent;

it seems without the Black & Red

Castes will replace those which have fled.

 

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Does our modernity ringfence

Does our modernity ringfence

and shelter from experience?

The other side seems seldom trod,

our ways ignore the use of rod.

What happened to egalité?

Where can we find fraternity?

What bonds still tie the common soul

and make from all a righteous whole?

The sum is greater than the parts,

community a love imparts;

a faction that cannot adjoin

no common currency can coìn.

There is a place where people meet

which still most know – it’s called the street;

each one who treads has rights & modes,

there is sweet overlap of nodes.

In many ways, pedestrian,

and too, egalitarian;

the pace is slow and marked with feet,

each step may follow, most discreet.

A haven from the walls that close

inspiring poetry and prose;

when public, private, overlap,

we choose the former as our sap.

 

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Each time i count myself as last

Each time i count myself as last

i meet a one who has surpassed

each woe of mine with ten of theirs

and makes of mine but idle cares.

Some cannot grasp such folk exist

who still the Evil One resist

and live on levels hid from sight

experiencing blight on blight.

The rich man sees them on the street

but would not dare their eye to meet;

conceptual blindness is his ill,

from luxury he takes his fill.

He does not see his riches cause

and must require division’s laws,

to cast some low to make his highs;

their deficit is no surprise.

So next you see one fallen low

remember riches ebb & flow;

no human soul can tell their fate

as lack does grow at such a rate.

Show pity: count no soul as lost,

for if you do, yours is the cost;

it could be you and yours you let

slip through the threadbare safety net.

 

 

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Empiricism is the mode

Empiricism is the mode

that should this century decode;

its span is vast, its might is true,

it should prevent a further slew.

But, within living memory

we’ve know a crisis, Banks at sea;

and still we suffer from results,

such wiles the common man insults.

To borrow seems the stimulus;

can we progress, junk bonds as thus?

Our cars are leased, lack ownership,

our mortgage lasts ’till death we sip.

With intèrest rates a hollow treat

the same again we but repeat.

The meat is not how reap such trends

but when the last depression ends.

Our State, it claims to balance books,

but check the sums, & cast your looks.

Our credit rating knows downgrade,

at increased rates the lender paid.

The IMF does disagree

with England’s stark Austerity.

The policy is said to ease;

one marks but more & more disease.

 

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Have we traversed a cul-de-sac

Have we traversed a cul-de-sac

so far there is no turning back?

Each liberty is owned by State.

What can we grasp? Is it too late?

All acts are caught — CCTV —

all phones have ears — The Force that be —

the rich — carte blanche to misbehave —

those less well off are left to crave.

This can be found in England’s shores

with rights and justice turned to whores;

one hopes the World won’t imitate

this damning of a once proud fate.

But could it be this is deserved

by acts which contradict The Word,

and have our standards of the deed

declined so far there is a need?

But no, one would hypothesize

that were the scales to fall from eyes

this Nation were upright, if free,

and saved from inequality.

The mace encourages the sword;

disgruntled servants made by lord;

so, if you rob a man of rights,

expect no garden of delights.

 

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I wonder where sweet truth is spent

I wonder where sweet truth is spent

as lies pour forth from ev’ry vent;

the Internet provides no news

and but elects upon a ruse.

The art of checks and balances

although it but served finances

was never bent to just one man

whose whim and lust the World seem span.

For less, those past have been impeached,

why is it now they can’t be reached?

The State, with its machinery

seems held in perpetuity.

Regardless of who warped your voice

the ballot papers heard your choice;

your will invested in mandate,

it could be said you’ve chosen fate.

But there’s a vanguard formed of those

who speed towards what does oppose,

and when the heights are filled with cant

they don’t retreat, they don’t recant.

And so as more does some oppress,

the struggle grows, does not get less;

sweet truth, the will of Nations found

whom none can grind into the ground.

 

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If glancing round, this World is wild

If glancing round, this World is wild,

choose not to kill your inner child,

find what is good within your sight,

create a garden of delight.

The opposite, to learn from ill

and let no deed your cold blood chill;

rehearse the seven deadly sins,

when climbing greasy pole begins.

So often on detecting wiles

the simpleton, he apes, then smiles,

akin to playing Death at chess,

the Master more, the World has less.

And so it is with language games

which hold the World within their frames;

the English English labyrinth

so chains each Nation on its plinth.

The multiplex of inference;

the art of sitting on the fence;

the innuendo’s biting dart;

the saying nothing off by heart.

One tries to say this crystal clear,

make accusations, not a smear;

if none the common Word defend

it’s far from sure where such might end.

 

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If we were wise when we were born

If we were wise when we were born

the Devil of his cloak were shorn;

proud youth might set this World to rights,

with Erehwon still in their sights.

One might not need to sell one’s soul

to save oneself from bitter dole,

one might not need to tread the way

that current modes have made mainstay.

Mankind is evèrywhere in chains

in spite of what the rich man feigns;

and but the artists, they roam free,

engaging all society.

But wisdom knows a motive part,

the springs and passions of the heart;

if they are black, then black does flow,

and black would seem the ones that know.

Without committal to the truth

one’s reasons are devoid of ruth;

so, if division is your aim,

those dispossessed reject your claim.

You have divided England’s might,

you do denude these shores of light;

one cannot help but prophesy,

but on the air to walk you try.

 

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It seems we need to stretch our mind

It seems we need to stretch our mind

in order new Pathways to find;

we need conduct Experiment

to halt this perilous Descent.

What short of Psychopharmaca

and trends of modern media

have we to lead in disarray

responding to what Powèr does say?

Can consciousness be so Hidebound

that in response it makes no sound?

Can opposition be so meek

that of its own demise does reek?

De Quincey wrote it fair & true,

one hears you ask ‘I know not who?’

He spoke of Dreams both wild and bold,

to Opiates the man was sold.

For evèry drug, there is a type,

ignore the ban, ignore the hype,

go forth and sail the Seven Seas

whilst you still can, & if you please.

But drugs are now within a Class

and prison windows have no glass.

In drink’s excess catch dying breath,

fifth Stage of anaesthesìa: death.

 

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One marks a pattern of disease

One marks a pattern of disease

in this a World where men but seize,

and if they have not clasped with might

they dream to do so day & night.

The common earth, a treasury,

is parcelled out as property;

no sooner is a profit known

than someone, somewhere, seeks to own.

It seems that man is but adroit

within a remit to exploit;

the word for lack of growth – stagnate –

this lust for increase must abate.

The love of money is the sin

that does explain this state we’re in;

is there a vaccine for this ill

and would it be a bitter pill?

A change must come, & come it must,

before this World is turned to dust;

four horsemen of Apocalypse,

they have the bits at their steed’s lips.

But on our side, the Graces three,

remain, Faith, Hope, & Charity;

and always in the darkest night

will new solutions come to light.