White frost

Drove from Leeds to Scarborough today,

and the hedges and trees along the route were white frosted lace,

a harsh frost covered all, hanging from the branches and the leaves,

a wondrous site, something I have never seen before,

in trees reaching up 100 feet or more,

sometimes white emerging from freezing fog,

at other times the sky a winter blue,

and along the hedges roes a white covering,

frosted edges reaching across white fields,

white on white emerging from white.

Temperature on the car thermometer was -5 to -7. Check out this weather page;

http://www.wunderground.com/weatherstation/WXDailyHistory.asp?ID=INORTHYO28

Un-sustainable weather patterns?

Is the cold spell and snow caused by the weakening of the gulf stream due to the melting of ice caps and the change in the salt content of the ocean water that drives the gulf stream-, it could also be the change and unpredictability of the jet stream; major cause of the flooding and heat waves we have had over Europe in the last few years, and El Nino this year is the strongest ever recorded in the Pacific ocean, the driver of air patterns across the globe, and our jet stream over the UK!?

banking fraud and political carpet baggers - debt crisis #3

A quick poem on the latest political smoke and the statements of powerful leaders and their cohorts.

A little ruff, but a quick response to some jaw droopingly callous political gaffs today and the responses that came on Facebook.

Life of Riley

Originally the name of a cow that roamed uncontrolled, that nobody would lay claim too, eating and ruining other peoples harvest, smashing their fences and robbing them of their hard graft and contentedly living happily on their labour, which then became a phrase associated with the officer class or anyone who escaped or was away from the frontline whilst drinking and flashing their cash. Also associated with a clan that produced their own money, and lived well on the cash they created

The Life of Riley

I think the political elite are leading a life of Riley,

The drug they are all on is power,

And the depth of their empathy is as deep

As the silvering on the mirrors they check their faces

And smug smiles with in the morning.

The mirror is cracked and their smiles crooked,

the promises made to be broken.

The drug power, one you have to be rich to buy,

they make sure they do not share,

but cut their politics with scapegoat rhetoric.

And they wonder if their conceitedness looks too big

And ask their media meisters if they can fit in

Some care and compassionate time on the media roundabout

Whilst playing the money making game with finances debt profit taking

Whilst the three debts continue their advance.

Finance, environment and energy,

These debts will take no hostages, of this I am sure.

The rich will fare better, and fairness will go to the wall,

As they make merry with the fruits of our harvest,

And contently cud-full wander and trample on the poor.

Progression?

Read this poem at a fairly recent open mike, and still quite like it, so posted it up.

It carries on the theme of sustainability, looking a little at how we as agents of society collude to bring collective avoidance into a shaded room, hidden behind the active parts of our minds. Together we passively let it happen.

The hidden always needing acknowledging, even if we choose to keep it hidden in our lives, or our comfy worlds.

So we make our lives sustainable, yet at the core lies this hidden un-sustainable trip hazard, which we have to carefully avoid; and in this case a sacrifice to allow us to mentally go on with our lives. Well something like that; so occasionally we do need to look at these hidden truths, and perhaps let them act upon the non linguistic, non verbal psyche; remembering without words. remember?

Oh and I do not like celebrity shows; what do they reveal about ourselves?

........................

‎Listen away if you can;

The corpse in the corner of all our eyes.

We squirm at spiders on the floor and some squeal ‘help!’

Rats make us hitch up our clothes and call out ‘something must be done!’

So unhygienic!

But we sit watching celebrities eating squiggly wriggling insects for star points,

And fail to stare at children starving; …………..that is too much.

A bad taste in the mouth; bad and inappropriate television,

Yet children die every minute, and warfare kills,

And squirming at nasty things is normal.

But diversion-rating wars are raging.

You may look me in the eye and ask me, am I any better?

But does that not say it all about us?

Communicating together to ignore the un-acceptable,

Embracing the trivial to our hearts to stop them hurting,

Bleeding from our mind’s eye that child dying,

The mother’s grief howls and whimpering,

Because we just can’t get ourselves to act together

As our feelings are too precious to see what’s real

And humanly, with media’s help

Together we arrange the curtains to hide,

The corpse in the corner of all our eyes.

I am no better; say this out loud!

“I am no better”

But that is no excuse for you or me,

The machine of entertainment the tank of trench warfare

Truth the infantry solders bogged down in a killing ground

Marked out by the media generals,

Spun by the patriots who live for the greatness of it all

And emote on the brave injured and killed,

To fight for the promise of desires that will be fulfilled,

Of wealth beyond that in which we are living,

If we battle on and build the common dream,

Sleep walking through a war we cannot even see,

But in our minds we still see peeping,

The corpse in the corner of all our eyes.

Humans over time have committed the heinous,

Atrocities, land taking, ethnic cleansing and killing,

Raping the pretty, killing the old, ugly and the babies,

Burning our souls to fight for our blood-lines.

But never before have we known the world width of injustice,

Never before have we Capital at our hand,

And stood quietly in the viewing big wheel high up above the landscape

To agree with the Third-Man, that down there they are all so insignificantly small,

That we can snuff out a few of them without worrying, noticing.

We are tightly muffled by the enormity of our own life problems,

We will all simply forget ‘Them’; it is far too difficult to remember,

The corpse that is peeping in the corner of our eyes:

“The corpse that is peeping in the corner of my eye”.

Remember?

Latest update,

Debt History
Sustainability Yours has gone on un-bloging for too long, and then this waking poem came to me whilst working up an old selection of lines, and I remember that I must trust this badly functioning brain of mine to come up with a twist through word sounds and an amalgamation of thoughts that have come up on the 3 debts of our present world (see previous blogs) to present myself with this, which brings in the history of how capital was raised on the abomination that was slavery and the then, and nows', western profit making conceit.

Clearly, although I continue to deprive that part of myself I value most, the unconscious creative non-verbal mind, it still forgives and finds the occasional gap in my life schedule to knock on wood.

The poem suffers a little from 's and s' and -, and is not quite finished, but the power and drive must not be lost, so I put it here for maturation and time's response.

Storm Ships of thought and economy

Blown by the thoughts of what could be done
Torn by what could have been
Weakened by the worn out weft of the cloth of our souls
Broken by the land-safe promise of the political crowd that stand
Bedraggled on the beach-back skeleton of our centuries-old slave-built economy,
The stepped-on white bones buried below and kept from sight, ‘best forgotten’.
Exploited of the further past civilisations and of today’s developing economies,
Old cultures picked clean of succulent convenient exposed value
Polluted by the breath fumes and trace poisons of capital’s amoral promiscuity
Float-bubble-blown by the infernal storm of our internal consumptions desire
Wind hewn and spirit strangled to a thin foam of itself,
Scum spewn by the phosphate spin of refined industrial entertainment
Meddled with, played with, defiled, groomed and dominated by digital media moguls,
Minds and emotions left storm thrown and immovable, gutted and exhausted,
Dragged to the breath-blown bottom by the drowning bankers’ debt crutch-hold.
Tossed back onto the pebble beach where once optimism stood,
Waiting to sail on to a new new-world, before the political crowded chorus formed,
All blown and spittle and impotent righteousness now,
As investment bleeds from industry’s body to speculators sure-bet vision promise.
Centuries of wealth, dissolving back into the beach-gravel
As capital’s waves sucking retreat
Leaves nothing to make a payment to the Crown Court of energy and pollution debt.
Bailiffs standing outside our flimsy homes, not bothering to enter,
As there is nothing of worth to secure against the planet’s injunction,
The wealth spent up by the thriftless wastrels of humanities breed,
Not available to be lent to the impoverished salt-killed spent-lands of tomorrow,
All that’s left of the storm-blown corporate-hijacked ship of prosperity’s dream
All that is left of the planet’s ship of souls.
Sail blown and rudder broken on the wave topped defences of capital’s rip-tide played dance,With only our lives as whim’s counters, to drown or swim, to wave or cry.