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.