Rolling ‘Isms
by Carey Lenehan
Inspiration, expressionism,
as slippery as an oiled rope
or an iced eel,
as elusive as an alien encounter
and
equally inexplicable,
febrile and fluctuating,
so that every attempt
to clutch and secure it for nourishment,
admonition,
or rescue
is nullified
and fluttering fingertips,
stroke only the merest hint of creativity
before encountering,
empty space…
Idealism, as ephemeral as a notion
held in the head of an opium poppy,
or couched in the eye
of an insurgent child,
paraded in the hopes and dreams
of proud patriots,
trampled beneath burgeoning immorality,
no more now,
than a momentary glimmer
of human possibility,
eroded by reality
and the benefit of experience,
clouded by daily misery
or a sense that
no one is listening any more,
any effort to bring it into the light
fracturing the fragile fabric of conviction
before converting it to doubt.
Socialism, a downtrodden concept
of community,
embracing consideration and communal responsibilty,
derided and long undervalued
by a first world that refuses to diet
even though it is dying of obesity.
Sullying a sytem of sharing
egalitarian values,
demonised for suggesting,
that what’s yours,
might also be mine…and everyone elses.
God Forbid!
From this we scatter fearful,
and all the useful definitions in between
become blurred to insignificance
as we sink into a sea of greed,
or an ocean of self servingness
in its abject rejection
Capitalism, an ever turning wheel of torturous dispossession
carving a rut
through the fettered fabric of humanity
disavowing our intent
to do good
leading us astray with devilish temptations
Promises of endless richesse
beyond our wildest dreams
yet,
with surgical precision,
whilst we look the other way,
slicing and dicing the herd
determining who floats and who falls
by counting the zeros on a ledger
and saying
not only
that Greed is Good
but
that Greed is All
Nihilism, a moment of insanity,
a seismic fracture, sinking through mental structure
and a need to be noticed,
no matter what
because all that might once have been of value
has become meaningless,
and democracy
has failed.
The cost?
Broken dreams and shattered expectations
flying into the sun,
blinked out in a blaze of inglory,
rolling a fiery ‘Ism through the clouds,
towards the source of a pain that will never end,
sinking angry teeth into a world
that does not care
Desperate to be heard,
dying silenced.
Let Go Of War
by Carey Lenehan
Burn the guns, diffuse the bombs
Turn them into useful things for those they have wronged,
metal legs for the dismembered
coffins for the dead.
Craft the bullets into
little metal hands
for the depleted uranium children born without,
for the hacked and blasted babies
whose fingers lie in the rubble of hatred,
alongside
their futures
Take the gunbelts and the marching boots
melt down the knives and the bayonets to create
wheelchairs for the broken,
shelters for the dispossessed.
Recalibrate the munitions machines, set them to sculpture
To the creation of beauty
so that we can enjoy a world uplifting
not this maelstrom of blood
and dust
and broken bones
Fabricate a reality free
from needless aggression and political posturing,
from the poisonous gases
and the biological threats
Turn minds
trained to kill
toward the art of reconstruction and atonement
towards enlightenment and hope
so we might
learn how to love each other
and all that lives upon this world.
Let go of War.
And then we can truly call ourselves
Civilised
Farewell Steve Jobs 1955-2011
by Carey Lenehan
Goodbye then, Steve Jobs,
Intemperate genius,
misunderstood visionary, magician,
unqualified brat.
You shaped our world with
exquisite imagination,
created landscapes of delight
for the children
you knew we always stayed.
That bicycle in my head
grew booster rockets and took off
years ago,
thanks to you,
and I’ll never forget how
I sat before that old Mackintosh
for the very first time at school,
breathless with excitement, fingers poised
knowing, somehow,
that I was about to enter
the rabbit hole
and never look back
Thanks for the joy you gave a world
so used to invention for distruction
whereas you
brought us invention
for pure joy,
tools with elegance
stunning innovation,
technology that was fun,
ripping up the military ideal
that computers
were only good for war.
You brought connectivity
to art,
and teched up work until our toil
became a pleasure.
Defied, disregarded, evicted
by money men too foolish to see
that computing
was about magic
not numbers
Were you the only one
who really got that?
So, farewell then, old friend,
You did so much more
than simply touch
our monotone, earthbound lives
with your galactic, iridescent foresight,
You upgraded history
and helped us capture it in digital hi-def.
You built a whole new world
with new words
and new possibilities
taking us in Star Trek directions
with your shiny new toys
for big people.
Be sure,
that you are not forgotten
but live in every little apple
alight on a lap,
or singing in a hand,
gifts you gave the world,
that keep you looping here
eternally,
forever hungry, forever foolish
RIP Steve Jobs 1955-2011
Keep your i-phone handy. We may need to call you.
Think Of Someone Else Today
© Carey Lenehan 2007
There’s an old man out on my street
with bundled rags upon his feet
and a plastic bag of old tin cans,
but not a single thing to eat.
I can see him crouching there,
with his twenty-five yard stare,
with nothing to be hopeful for,
mutely daring me to care.
All the people pass him by,
but no one thinks to ask him why
he’s sitting out there in the rain
beneath a leaden, weeping sky.
I tried to show him that I see,
but he simply wouldn’t speak to me,
closed his face and closed his mind,
trapped in his insanity.
There’s a child crying raggedly,
a beaten, battered tragedy
of stolen hopes and secret fears,
that somehow only I can see.
A thousand babies died today
as I made my pointless way
along the path of my own life.
What am I supposed to say?
There are soldiers dying in a war,
who knows what they’re fighting for?
Oil or land, revenge or spite,
it doesn’t matter any more.
In a world I’ve come to hate,
starving people sit and wait,
forgotten in their poverty
as governments procrastinate.
We are the kings of greed and gain,
perched upon a world of pain,
obsessed by sheer prosperity,
convinced that we are not to blame.
One old man out on the road
with tattered mind and ragged clothes,
dying slowly in a world
where every, single door is closed
To stop this global travesty
we must first accept reality.
What right have I to feel content
when misery is all I see?
I am so utterly dismayed
that we choose to live this way,
and so, I ask you, please, just try
to think of someone else today.
To Be A Terrorist
by Carey Lenehan
Ask yourself,
What does it take to be a ‘Terrorist’
To put cities and nations, under the fist?
Steal a passenger plane, take a bomb on a train
Killing bystanders, enemies, one and the same
What does it take? Too much hate, too much pain?
Very brave? Very angry? Very stupid?
Mental strain?
Here’s another ask…
What can it feel like to be on that train
with a homemade bomb at the base of your brain
Sweating finger on the button
Of impersonal destruction
Just a man, just a woman,
following instructions?
Maybe think of the future, of waking tomorrow,
safe and unharmed, with no regime to follow
What faith does it take to obliterate
Yourself and all those in your personal space
Workers and shirkers, mothers and sons
Husbands and daughters,
The old and the young?
What hatred is needed to render deceded
Innocence, sucking it’s thumb?
consider this….
Maybe…
Someone coerced you, fed you a lie,
Convinced you of Glory, a place at God’s side
Taught you to hate, see non-believers as waste
To be wiped of the face of religious debate,
Oppressors, digressors, capitalist proffessors
Opposed to your opposite religious state
So you clench every muscle, use belief to placate
as the train nears a point
predetermined by fate
What thoughts clog your head?
‘Is it true, when I’m dead,
I’ll be safe? I’ll be saved? Do I believe, in my heart
All those things that they said?’
What strength does it take for your finger to move
Press the button and BOOM, end all thinking,
for good?
Smashing glass, rending iron, sending soft
bodies flying, twisting flames, faithful games
Good lives smashed into dying
for the Martyrdom gained and herewith applying.
Perhaps not ashamed, for there are
others to blame,
What does it take to be a terrorist?
My friends…
all it takes,
is anger,
fear
and Faith
