The radio towers died at noon, the screens went blank and cold,
And static ceased to whisper of the empires bought and sold.
Down in the deep concrete redoubts, where millions gasped for air,
The ordinary citizens were stripped of their despair.
But in its place came something vast, a terrible, clean weight—
The absolute, unyielding hush that settled at the gate.
For thirty days no leader spoke, no siren pierced the dark,
The automated generators left a silent spark.
Men stared into their calloused hands, unable to recall
The frantic noise that used to drive their backs against the wall.
The silence was a physical thing, a pressure in the ear,
That forced the crowded bunker-rooms to face their oldest fear.
Yet by the third long, wordless week, the madness turned to rest,
As heartbeat matched to heartbeat in the quiet of the chest.
They learned to read the shifts of light, the breathing of the crowd,
And found a stranger, softer tongue where nothing was allowed.
Before the silver wood reached down to claim the planet's lease,
The bunker citizens survived the suffocating peace.
Apocalypse
There is thunder, and lightning
The land is laid bare
The elements doing a death dance
Destruction in a frenzied dance
The trees trust the earth, the ground shakes
The mobile, helter skelter
The waters that give life, in spate
Uprooting everything meant to be constant
The lava flows here, acid rains there
The land trembles and disrupts elsewhere
Somewhere, a tornado swipes
While the Tsunami sweeps clean existence
The annihilation is defining
Yet a survivor stands witness
to an apocalypse manufactured
Now has to start all over again
The hunger, beyond the wounds, growls
Forced to hunt anything that survived
Carrion looks inviting
The last hunter is hunted
As the world turns…
Unfortunately anything’s possible
And so we must be monitored closely
And controlled thoroughly.
I’m sure this is happening somewhere
At this very moment
I’m sure it’s actually happening
In many wheres.
While outside that particular nightmare
My life is relatively perfect
And yet I can barely cope
With relatively perfect.
If we only stay on track
And live without question
Where will that deliver us?
Without question, a dystopian future.
(10/2/25)
Febrile Fog obfuscates palimpsest varnished promises..
Naysayers hoodwinked... deluded players peeling layers..denuded..
Deafening din of our chagrin...
Espoused by rabbles roused by mandarins’ sins..
Tarnished...pampered pilferers pickpocketing public purses...
Deploring the warring cacophony of citizens curses..
Ignoring the boring nagging nadir of nurses...
Corporate castles built without stilts on hourglass sands..
Placards versus lanyards..
Culprits preach parsimony from privileged pulpits..
Civic critics.. protests...pyrrhric..?
No tut tuts..relax…gluts of tax cuts for property sluts..
Licentious larcenists..lust for boom then bust..
Lavishly lacing our lives with lies..
Yet the more we holler...hanker..
Murky truths get darker...muckier.. starker..danker..
Avaricious arsonists torching our cries of why...
Leave us lolloping in a regret & forget.. leaking latrine...
Reeking of what could & should have been..
He knew the flower to be fair,
but he did not want to wait.
So he turned to the promises of the machine.
It offered quick solutions
-perhaps imperfect-
but they were on-demand.
Scalable.
Inexhaustible.
And they cried for nothing.
They had no need.
Perhaps there were flaws,
but they could be ignored,
and the machine was always improving.
But one day the man remembered the flower
and he realized the price of the machine.
Written 14:07-14:12 on 3 March 2025. Title thought of 9:35 AM that same morning.
I chose to love
Embraced bitter sweet love
My mind's patched
My heart's banded up
Yet it heals to be fibrosed
To never beat like before
All a consequence of loving
Loving has never been more difficult
But do I still will to love
You are damn right , I do
Cos it's my way out of a dystopian life
Love's hurts are like butter to bread compared to my dystopian woes
Finding love was always a daydream until I grew wings and escaped back to reality
You don't know how many times I died inside in loneliness
You can't fathom my heavy burdens
I have appeared all fresh superficially but deep down I dessicated multi-ply
Love was my savior, my guarding grace
this death will be the life of me
patches in the sky
we used to call them clouds
before the bombs went off
and canopied us in a toxic shell;
the artist swapped his brush
for a brick
and threw it in tantrum
from a distance
at some cheesy idyllic canvas
and despite our decaying teeth falling out
with clumps of hair and skin
you slipped out of your negligee
a little too easy tonight
The landscape has been clouded by dust
The skyline vanishes as the definition
Between the hope of sky
And the dismal reality of the ground
Pervades and creeps
The red luscious heart
Is tempered, not fully destroyed
Shadows creep in the debris
Thoughts of that past life
Flickering in the enforced dusk
Memories of suburbia
Laughing, chatting, walking
Discussing nothing
Meaning everything
Breathing in the freshest air
No dogs barking now
Some humans weeping
We have some work to do
Time may still be on our side
In the process of utopian restoration
I am being forced to live
With horrible malformations
On my body
In my body
I am stuck with them for years
For who knows how long
The people want me dead
Simply for existing
They claim it is in the name of the children
But I am a child
Being forced to grow up
And I am not the only one
There are millions of us they want arrested
Or simply put to sleep
But that is too nice a word
For what they want
They want us dead
In their claim of righteousness
We want to live
Without the horrible mutilations
That we had forced upon us
They claim it's in the name of life
Yet children are shot in the streets
And the places meant to be safe
Are hotgrounds of violence and death
All we want is to live
As children are meant to do
They let children be parents
But they won't let us save our own lives
We are too young to know who we are
Yet old enough to tell someone else?
There is no possible way
For me to afford a roof over my head
But if I were to take my chances
On the streets
I would be thrown in jail or shot
For the crime of being there
I am being killed
In the name of life
And all this was only
From one news report
Walk with Me
I made my way
Through the darkened streets
Past the hungry hearts
Where the enemy eats
I browsed through glass
At my dear old friends
Where their silent smiles
Replace love that mends
And I somehow feel
Like I'm missing out
Like there's something wrong
Like I want to shout
Your lips don't move
But I see your thoughts
Like you are crying out
For a hug, of sorts
We need hands to hold
We need hugs to give
Take the red pill now
While there's time to live..
And I wonder how
It has come to this
We have each replaced
True connection bliss
With a pocket world
That controls us all..
Making us feel large
While we shrink to small
So my prayer is this;
Stop us going under.
Wake our hearts, dear Lord,
From this walking slumber.
Jinjagoliath
11th March 2022
In years to come it might be said,
‘I never realised this is where it led,
It just crept up, I just went with the flow
Nobody told me how things would go’.
Nobody explained what I took for granted
Would be taken, by those who commanded
That I conform and do not speak out
About the injustices they openly flout.
I cannot speak my mind for fear
That the thought police will soon appear
And erase my person from history
Nobody told me this is how it would be.
They divided the public into two
To ensure a rebellion would not ensue.
Then little by little they erased the past
By promising the changes wouldn’t last!
They told us in order to be secure
Further restrictions we should endure,
As Big pharma, tech and the media folk
Harmonise, to justify the lies they stoke.
Those who snitch on one another
Ensure the success of big brother
Not realising that their own fate
Will not be spared by those who hate!!
Let’s not let nineteen eighty four
Replace the way things were before.
Our freedom was fought and won with lives,
For what? A world they would today despise?
A kaleidoscope of transcendent rhythms
Envelop my soul from the well-spring of a mystical
and majestic refrain.
Notes exalted in the heart of the awakened one
Only to be extinguished by the cruel masters of
memory and time, which give way to a dystopian
perspective incessant and ominous in its vexation.
The purposeful formation of songs leave an
indelible mark upon a hopeful spirit, wishing,
waiting for that promise in the hidden
recesses of the earth’s core.
Joyful melodies from the fifth dimension bring an unexpected
solace which soothes and captures an unshakable truth
behind her existence, beside the travesty of the scattered
notes from a wandering, wavering and diminished heart.
The final call from an ancient composition propels the exhausted
woman to continue on, to push, press, proceed, persist,
Advancing as a general, engaging in the warfare deep
inside her womb, expelling the myths and mythologies
which imprisoned her, cajoled her, deceived her.
And now, the final rhythm belongs to her for this joyful moment
The songs of a thousand summers burst forth and bring her
into a new dawn, a new reality, a new way of life!
Unity is illusionary,
A dystopia of thoughts and dreams
What is life but a fleeting thing in the grand scheme of things?
Freedom so precious and heavily bought
cannot compare to one loving thought.
Last Day of America
the last day of America
was the day we last voted
the last election we ever had
for on that day
a month before
the corona virus re-emerged
as the great re-opening
of the US economy
failed to stop the relentless spread
of the virus from hell
causing panic and mass confusion
fear kept Americans home
and Donald Trump
was re-elected
because his voters
believed that God
had told them to vote
for their new found king
the newly energized President Trump
declared a national emergency
martial law
and suspension of the constitution
Promising to restore democracy
when the time was right
he promised his followers
that he would restore Christian values
renaming the United States
the Christian States of America
on that date
we met our fate
Christian fascism
was here to stay
on the last day
of American
writers digest prompt - last blank
Shattered bottled up dreams
strewn in callous fashion,
litter those Tobacco roads
of man-made poverty
Cancerous amorality
is the accepted dystopian reality
Majority rule by the metal ballot law ...
second finger got a gun pressed to the jaw
Diablo destiny decree:
Dos digital corrects any uno analog flaw
This warped sensibility
is the venal logic served pucker raw
A lot of lip sizzle buttery undercooked,
a lot of dead bang thievery overlooked
Ash fault neglect
is heaped on the next generation
of social experimentation
Petri dish promises
are furtive cloned assertions
Silky slick politricking on the wifi
(why fi-nance poor citizens’ aspirations)
is a web of deceit ...
tax-deductible alm desertion
Roll the lively military drums,
let the drones deliver
a hollow incoming death hum
Victory is counted as being “less of,”
cull the bottom feeders of a wolfbane society —
This is the favorite poison ivy scheme
of the power pyramid builders:
Soulless architects
erecting a crooked obelisk dystopian reality
And this fractured,
motion picture reel nightmare
still ain’t murky half as bad as it’s gonna be
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