Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts

Saturday 5 December 2020

Tinsel.


        There is a pattern on a globe floating around in the milky way, and it is a macabre picture of poverty, destitution, wars, inequality, and injustice, the main species on that globe is engaged in a suicidal war with it's ecosystems. Some are forming groups and rebelling against this insane, self inflicted bloodfest, while those in power lash out with savagery at those who dare to break the pattern. I just sit in my wee bubble and despair, so turn and look the other way, and think of verse.


 Tinsel Cities.


In the city of tinsel and bright lights
midst the playthings of the rich
just beyond the champagne bubble
out of earshot of the butterfly people
in the dark shadows where no one looks
there you’ll find poverty and destitution
dance a macabre dance of survival.
In Mammon’s city of grand illusions
where rivers of wealth feed frivolity
in its twisting dark and musty lanes
where the light of hope seldom shines
an army of the living dead sweat and toil
polishing the tinsel, changing light bulbs
refilling the champagne bottles
nothing must stop the flow of frivolity
or the butterfly people will die.


A Dream deferred.

A dream deferred, where does it go?
Is it stored in some labyrinth of the mind,
does it fade and waste away,
gone, forgotten, lost,
or does it become a burden
that weighs heavier with the years,
a burden that breaks you,
poisons your thoughts with regret
like a fog clouding your mind
in that bitter taste
of what could have been. 



Visit ann arky's home at https://radicalglasgow.me.uk 

Thursday 23 May 2013

I Am The Crowd.


I Am The Crowd.

I am the crowd
I swim in the quagmire of poverty
its hooks, its barbs, tear my flesh
rupture my dreams,
I hold my breath for centuries
hoping to break through, gasp pure air.
Through the murky mire
I see bright things, shiny things sparkle
I see women in fine dresses, men in silk shirts
I ask myself
why do I swim in this cesspool?

I want the light and warmth of rectitude
to caress my labouring body,
seeds from my dreams to bloom
like wild flowers in a meadow.
One day, I will use my boundless strength
to haul this torn, battered being
out of the morass
onto the warm grassy bank,
when I do;
woe betide you, women in fine dresses,
woe betide you mister in your fine silk shirt,
should you ever try to get in my way,
for I am the strength of this world
I am the crowd.

ann arky's home.



Thursday 23 August 2012

THE WAY OF SLAVES.


THE WAY OF SLAVES.

Politicians living a life of opulence
paid for by other men’s dreams,
add to the lexicon of humanity’s suffering
weaving their selfish grandiose schemes.
Abusing privileges, grasping at wealth
egos blown like a hot air balloon,
preaching our poverty will bring
prosperity for all----------soon.
We tighten our belt another notch
accepting a beggarly slice of the cake,
while they bask in a cherry orchard
surrounded by a fine wine lake.
Pouring words, grand posturing,
as they unveil their latest plan,
assuring they live in luxury
while we struggle as best we can.
Poverty’s the price for allowing
others to plan our days,
when will we finally grasp
this is the way of slaves.

ann arky's home.