I snuck into the party with an ID hastily made
and stumbled, out of step, into the poetry parade.
In this beautiful country club, I'm surrounded by my betters.
I wave my kindergarten rhymes to show the men of letters.
In the echo of the learned men who came this way before me
I hear the patterned minuets, that if followed, lead to glory.
I chafe in those traveled ruts and I long for something varied
and I hope to spark a unique verse, between school and the cemetery.
.
.
A song for this:
Time by Tom Waits
A man of blood, and gore and grief.' Maybe a puppet.? Certainly a thief.' With minions of dark demonic spawn, no hint of compassion, suchlike would have plaited
The thorns, in that crown of horror, with malice and brawn, lovers of bribery and power of lies, upon a relief
flotilla they've just metastacized.' High on drugs.? On hate and
Pain..The regurgitation of victimhood, is
More than plain.' They'll have a celebration
Right at gommorha its all so strange' ultra liberal values.' And many letters, as they lecture the world on how they
are so; its betters.? Just again and again..In a morbid
Refrian
Maybe because most countries; are
merely now debtors.?
("Blue Egg in Red Sea", 2020, original oil)
According to our betters,
The Karens who rule the internet,
We should all be aware enough by now
To know what is expected of us,
And so suitably clothed
In political correctness
Never offend again.
In this way each generation
Will leap and bound
Ever adapting
To the latest trend
All together now
In harmony all
Flotsam on a tide.
(5/16/26)
There was a polite society, in so many lands..It was regulated by capable hands
Sober people, would meet and discuss; at
Walks in the park.? Horse shows and such
Healthy larks..And there was that aspiration to rise even higher, maybe to a
Royal castle.? Where you might partake.!!!
Of an almost (holy fire?) Through rose tinted glasses some perhaps almost swooned at the thought.' Where all would be..? Almost perfection.! Only the best did
There resort.' Although there indeed were
Dungeons deep in their bowls they were mere relic's of past depravity..The betters had escaped all that now.' Here there would be awards given.' Amidst sighs of
Chiffon ans silks.' You could support wars
That spread democracy.? My how the imagination could be caught.' Up up up.!!!
Yet out all around , honest working people were being taxed into the ground.' While The climate god was fete'd..And damaged veterans took to tents, un-holy acts were being done its beyond sane Christian invent...'
So many lives lived
are unsubstantial
too many conversations
inconsequential
lifetimes of potential
unfulfilled
hopes dreams ambitions
killed
days wasted
nighttimes too
some held down by others
not necessarily their betters
accepting unquestioning
living a life in mental fetters
prisoners or prey
of the powers in play
Testa
Undone work
On a corner
Passing daylight
Timing in my afterlight
Caught between no canvas Pietro
Illustrations disappearance
Two see no other rain in sight
We passed true as our ghost lept
Fide et Amore
By faith in love
Fidelity as anul
Being Borrowed
For Film
By Another Woman
When We Come Aboard
A Military waited
In grasses tan, too low
Asnt in the future
Her return, ran from more
And in our time
All stood wide
Armed in rejection
Of a betters letters, above alls door
Oh stormy night
Dani Woodward,
Can we write tonight?
The nights editor
In The Times
Curtains of light kid,
Fall on my fold
Before you turn it in
Under the evacuation
She appears
It's easy cloth I fold for you lady
He's edited headlines besides it once
She's missed page before
Also why your wise.
Copyright © kevin mathenia | Year Posted 2025
Good Scene Sasha
A Military waited
In grasses tan, too low
Asnt in the future
Her return, ran from more
And in our time
All stood wide
Armed in rejection
Of a betters letters, above alls door
Oh stormy night
Dani Woodward,
Can we write tonight?
The nights editor
In The Times
Curtains of light kid,
Fall on my fold
Before you turn it in
Under the evacuation
She sppears
It's easy cloth I fold for you lady
He's edited headlines besides it once
She's missed page before
Also why your wise.
I write to the minds of naive
Honors of boring bathe
Less understanding than homage
Exactly exceptions students
Lackey of Britain
None request competent understanding
For my illusive quill, as Elizabethian
Mastering forms above fragile die
Pleasing peasants groveling
Yes again I am thus of betters
Swelling satisfaction
American Irish Jazz Women
Nubility afar
Daring silence
Squandered Scottish flem
Welfare is costly to my crown
Mr Churchill strolling nude, around his house and gardens
Include, servants inured to such displays. Getting on with
Work many bills to pay' Friends with alister crowly when
Young ( black mass rituals flirting with hell and some?) Pressing the
Flesh of many world leaders..?? Or were they really just
World feeders?? Tough enough in war and fiscal matters
Never paid the grocer whose buisness got battered.'
Con-fidant of presidents and field marshalls; popes and bishops galore..
A bricklaying pastime and whatever more.??
Is it a curd? is it a stain.? No its quyeer kharmer..! A true wef acolyte.! Yet certainly no real charmer.' A bender.. Of the knee; is He.' Ex-copper? Is such a certainty.' All lockdowns and
Letters and scraping to betters..Tough on freedoms and
The causes of it.! So uncertain of truths that are built upon it!
He holds a wavering lowered gaze.' A smirk?a grimace? is oft
Portrayed.! Many hollow actions..And so often made.!! He
Builds with straw..He gleans from you, he will miss-name!
A far right will do.) He'll use any means.' Its how he is' now
Get to grips people, he's just not the biz.'
Good morrow merry citizens
Here’s another Brexit gain
We may have our country back
But we can’t go live in Spain.
Record numbers now
Are all giving thanks
For the almost empty
Essential food banks.
The poor are getting poorer
The rich getting richer
In our Free New Britain
A sad disgraceful picture.
The papers are full daily
Of the unedifying sight
Of the squabbling royals
And their family fight.
The PM’s a Billionaire
Thanks to his wealthy wife
With little understanding of
The poverty of modern life.
The National Health Service
Is shrinking with each day
Just a rundown of our country
Sinking into moral decay.
As you dip your stale crust
Into your tepid weak tea
Just cast a thought to
How things used to be,
We British are at our best
With our backs to the wall
Tugging respectful forelocks as
Our betters openly nick it all.
But, be upstanding good people,
Celebrate the joyous thing
We can still find the millions
To crown our latest king.
Is this the land fit for heroes
Promised by the Great War,
Or, just one where those with
Take ever more and more.
I’m just a working man
Brought up to accept
My lowly role in life
To treat with respect
The privileged and wealthy
That so elevated band
Who, by whatever means,
Own and control this land.
I accept with gratitude
The remains from their table
Knowing I’ll be tolerated
Just so long as I am able
To labour for my living,
To earn my daily breads
And then, when unable,
Very decently be dead.
I have learned to accept,
Even accept with gratitude,
The behaviour of my betters
And their superior attitude.
I rear my children in humility,
Train then to take my place
To attend to and serve thoose
Masters of the Human Race.
I’ve got my beer and my footie
On the pub large plasma screen,
Tolpuddle, Peterloo, Orgreave
Might just as well not have been
Heres a man trying to bridge, a route to sanity along a ridge'
He's being hit.' with the same old twaddle'
As his so called betters loudly squabble'
I recall a board and stick' used 2020; they must think think us thick?
That with much mod tech, and breifing easy to do)
Thise ww2 methods, we would not see through?
It shows indeed utter contempt; of humans from the 50s'
The sacrifice, that they were first targeting shiftily'
It was gain the grandparents.' pull the younger in.'
One life lost was one to many, 'yet when the nhs needs some tin?
Lives are ten a penny ' they'll take the strikes and try to trash
As today the truth runs rampant throughought the land
Its aversaries have really now lost, the countrys trust.
Then some with spine stand; on the settling dust.'
Mr Bridgnd is Just one of many ' such people would incline to heal '
But all the liars; just aren't ready to' apologise, of genocides steal'
In the (long dead narrative) they, still strive to hide.'
I doubt that many, 'will' last out this ride.?
We were always a little ash white,
the girls always a bit cleaner;
the soap always green carbolic
the toilet paper always slick and hard to scrunch,
six year old bottoms always a little sore.
The nuns who ran these grey bricked barracks
called it the: Covent of 'Saint Hilda's Sacred Tears.'
There were lots of tears but no saints.
No black kids either, though there were many
seen on the grimed streets. They looked well fed and happy.
We were different. Our parents had sinned,
had broken the golden rule and got caught
birthing the unwanted.
Back then the birch cane was an instrument of love.
From here-on I must paraphrase...
Each Sunday, The scrawny priest
would look down upon us -
speaking thusly:
"You're all sinful
fit only for cannon or factory fodder,
forever doomed to poverty."
A pause while he did the sign of the cross
while mumbling to himself in Latin.
"The righteous must
resign themselves in good grace
to their natural place,
to humbly throw themselves
upon the mercy of their betters."
Such sermons filled us all with much joy,
and we were all briefly uplifted
until the hatchet-faced nuns
led us back to our own special hell.
This is the 21st Century
Where it seems the masses
Are still placed on this Earth
To serve the upper classes,
Feed their acquisitive appetites
Wipe their delicate arses,
And all in all perpetuate
That longest of running farces,
Respect for so called betters,
Eating crumbs from their table
Serving with dedication
For as long as they are able
Until comes that day
They can no longer try
Then have the decency
To just crawl off and die.
Its the same the world over
Every where you can go
The system is dedicated
To maintain the status quo
Is god still in his heaven?
Will we all get an entry pass
So we can continue serving
That heavenly upper class.
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