what appeared to be poisonous was merely phosphorus
deeply tattooed into the warrior’s skin from an ambush
in the land of never-ending wars against imagined foes
with a myriad of causes cascading from power and greed
what does a Welshmen have to do in bloody Afghanistan
he used to have a lilt but now the speed impediment
was carved deep into the persona of horror shame and guilt
the snake had promised paradise not a distorted Adam’s apple
the stars had been bright connected by nebula and a waning moon
what an omen for the self-righteous soldier misguided of course
by fame glory and that now elusive war veteran’s pension
dole money merely covered the cost of the shack under the bridge
he attempted to count his blessings tried gratitude and the booze
which gave him some solace because blackouts were better than bombs
and the stink of his urine improved no end when vodka battled with vomit
but the protagonist never rose above the faceless evil of legalised slaughter
Travel is not a right
But a privilege, thus spoke Zarathustra
In his most late incarnation
Travelling is tied with applying
But it’s more than ridiculous to ask for privileges.
Especially since the answer is known.
Zarathustra's commodity is hate
I'm not tempted to support his drama
Let those who agree to pay
Have the privilege.
Though, according to Zarathustra's logic
The right to privilege is not legalised
Kneel down, travellers
Someday you'll be pitied
You’ll get the right to buy
The burning date for the bus tour
To the most privilaged holy places
There you may take some selfies
Get the table to eat outside
The same instant meal
That you can have in your hometown
At half a price
Afterwards you’ll get the AI reminders
Sort of “remember that day?”
She trembled in anticipation
Dressed in white the perfect bride
She was surrounded by people
Who nodded and who smiled,
They were all apart of creating this ceremony,
Even though she did not want this,
Even though she was under age,
The marriage ceremony and this bond
Had been created well beyond
Her power to control or resist,
She was here Powerless
And if she had run
And if she had hid,
Her family would have paid the price for it,
They would have to live, a life of shame
She could not allow this in her name,
Her groom who was so much older
Went to great lengths to let her know that,
There was no choice
And no way out,
Of this fact she had no doubt.
So married she was, though under age
Another victim of legalised child abuse and no doubt rape,
All of this against her will
No chance to appeal,
Or show her rage
It's a ceremony of shame.
A Pile of Rotten Cash
The world has become a terrible place.
I often ponder,
what is to become of the human race.
Everywhere there is poverty, and greed.
Of a social conscience,
goverments, seem to think there is no need.
Legalised murder is committed every day,
as thousands of unborn children,
are aborted, and flushed away.
Wars are fought over oil, the black gold.
In third world countries,
children into slavery are still being sold.
To commit every sin in the bible today is okay,
you can even get married,
when you are gay.
So mankind continues to sink,
into his own sticky morass.
When the final oblivion comes,
all that will be left of him,
will be a pile of rotting cash.
~Tango~
Raped of all freedoms, basic democratic rights
Restraints ever tighten casting underdog to fight
Sharp scratch of needle pierces State sectioned vein
I submerge to a world of the psychiatrists drain
Adult my dummy preventing tongues loss to bite
Held within induced seizures epileptic in might
I welcome the darkness, one silent scream
Memory the victim midst non-consenting scene
Consciousness awakens clouded mind to dull mist
Punch drunk I sit to chemical onslaughts new fist
Medicated features exaggerates hollowing face
Expressionless my return, a salivating disgrace
Emptied companions stare at floors, piped TV
We sit, we quietly stare at the nothing now to see
Surrendered manic thoughts, depression held at bay
Psychiatry cures tomorrow by destroying my today
This legalised torture, "Electro Convulsive Therapy"
A disproved mental abattoir of Victorian barbarity
Why erase future names from the timeline of mankind
Whilst celebrating all achieved by past great bipolar minds
Marijuana
Drug tests,
loss of employment,
Jail sentences.....
and even execution !
Medical issues,
and I get legalised,
Killing symptoms.....
of cancer and HIV !
I am marijuana !
Recreation
forget about,
That's illegal !
Killing of pain,
gain in disease,
Well that's legal !
Written November 29th, 2014
For Debbie Guzzi's contest 'Global poetry'
Theme-the legal use of marijuana
Awarded 5th place
WHAT MAKES IT
What makes it so perfect
that every one deserves it
what makes it so evil
that it ends in pain
what makes it so arogent
that it deprives other people
what makes it so manipulative
that people keep wanting it.
I mean MARRIAGE
What makes it so normal
that it is legalised
what makes it controling
that two will be made one
what makes it so scary
that you can not do it alone
only God knows what
A West Saxon King of Wessex and grace
He dealt with the Danes a convincing deface
Father of Navy and military blow
A legalised system the people should Know
Nation divided the Danes bowed to truce
Example in history for Robert the Bruce
Before this great stand 870 anon
He fought with the Danes 9 battles not one
Three elder of brothers fought till they died
Their wounds from the battle for Alfred did cry
During the wars in the marshes and mist
Alfred did hide and men did enlist
Athelney Marsh the bravest remained
A muiscal lyre for Danes he refrained
Marching and planning the lady of lakes
Thought and great planning he burnt all her cakes
Beaten by besom for burning the grate
She fell to her knees in humble prostrate
Stumbling on but lost on the Heath
Broach of gold lace that Alfred had sheathed
The Danes flag of battle broken and torn
A truce with old Guthrum eventually born
All is at rest for subjects now prove
Schooling begins and the hunger removes
His wife Ethelwulf with Nation at peace
Religion and taxes Westminister keeps
The Navy rebuilt and challenge at sea
Alfred for saint now rumoured by me
Ian Foley
Children's home reject
Left on a step
Couldn't control
The kid who wept
No questions asked
Why did he cry
Social departments
Never bothered to try
At seven years old
What could cause such as this
Tear laden child
Just drifts
Society drops him from home to home
Its a legalised criteria
For a soul to roam
In their budgets
They know they should
They say it's their best
And its all they could
This seven year old
Now known as Driftwood
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/me.php
It was
four in one
nine baptised i hear
You say
this is indeed
legalised fraudlence
In it
air-conditioned
highways,streets promised
as are
salaries and wages
without legitmate working
and easy
life made sweet
and very comfortable
all can
now join the
bandwagon of rigging
of shows,
adulating in Moonslide
and Marsslide victories.
Alas with
babies and peoples
ritually gleefully sacrificed
with joy
received by their
lord, god of poltricks.
Four in one, nine baptised,
I hear you say legalised fraudlence,
Promises air-conditioned highways and streets,
Salaries and wages without working,
An easy life made sweet and comfortable.
Now, all can join the bandwagon of rigging,
Of Moonslide Marsslide victories,
With babies and peoples ritually sacrificed,
Received with glee by their lord,
The god of politricks.
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