Death of The American Dream
by Carey Lenehan
Well, Hell, America!
What did you expect?
Did you really think things would be any different,
just because,
you backed a horse of a different colour,
because it said it would change,
the Unchangeable,
because you were promised, a status flux,
because it said, we can,
when it really meant to leave
the rest of you at the door?
What did you expect?
That prejudice would disappear
and find unity stabled in its place?
Really?
Did you think that the truth would out,
that the power-mongers would relinquish
their uranium grasp
and give the world back to you
on the heels of a fresh contender?
Did you?
No, I don’t think you did.
I think you all knew that,
what was started
could not be stopped by a change of bloodline,
that the greedy
had already stripped the meat off the bones
leaving a clacking, skeletal America
dancing frenzied,
all the way to the banks.
I think you saw
that relentless corruption
had murdered the American Dream
and become an irrevocable torrent
that would only overwhelm and submerge your lives
in an ocean of indebtedness
for a hundred years.
Not even Man O’ War could’ve beaten those odds
or overcome that handicap.
Here you are, America,
at the end of the road of opportunity
and self-fulfilment,
brought down by the rapacious appetite
of uncontrollable capitalism.
So tell me, how’d that work out for you?
And when you vote for the next horse,
don’t expect earnest promises
to change much about your falling society
because,
Only YOU can do that.
Like this:
Farewell Strauss-Can’t
Farewell then Dominic Strauss-can’t
Silver haired smooth talker
With your ready wit
And the wealth of nations
Under your thumb
You just couldn’t resist
That enticing rump
One rump too far
You might say
So no more then,
Great dreams of Presidency
Vive La France
The silver haired super bitch
Will step into your spot
Which is quite possibly
What this was all about
In the first place
One might think
And if prison is not where you end up
It should have been
Because any man
Who thinks he’s a stallion
Should probably be stabled
For the safety of unwary mares
Who unwisely turn their behinds
Towards him
And raise their tails
Enjoy obscurity.
Temporal Displacement Syndrome
by Carey Lenehan
Was I born at the wrong time,
unwanted, ill-fitting and out of place as I am,
in a world that doesn’t get me and which
I simply don’t understand,
Where death and cruelty stalk unchecked and I,
emotionally bludgened by endless injustice,
scream soundlessly,
surrounded by a herd
with such different ideas,
consistently flocking the other way
whilst I stay,
perplexed, on the open plain,
watching them go and wondering
why they want to?
Was I born too early,
meant instead for some distant era in the far future,
to a world grown well beyond the age of true enlightenment,
when peace is actuality
and common sense of the logical kind
is at last harnessed to a shining morality
of second nature to all, no matter
what colour their skin or shape their bible,
when respect for ALL life is a given,
and malice once and for ever banished from our
Oh so human hearts?
Because to me, anything but this belongs only
to a barbarous species
of which I want no part.
Was I born too late,
meant instead for a time of chivalry and valour
when the Gods and half Gods drew their places in history
on the edge of a sword blade,
eye to eye,
face to face,
not covertly through a long distance sight,
killing reduced to recoil
by dispassionless cowards incapable
of honest courage,
merely drone killers for a soulless elite
delivering death from the shadows
no longer heroes lining up
for an honest battlefield?
I dream of a time of real equality
with no differentiation between X and Y,
no rules seperating rich from poor that do not give
equal penalties and rewards to all.
Where starving children are a historical horror,
when profiteering and abject greed are no longer
our primary goal
When champions do not aspire
to base desires of material enrichment
but work towards the common good, unfailingly.
When we all do.
This is the world I was meant for.
Was I born at the wrong time?
Were you?
Obama’s Broken Promises
Oh Bama baby, oh drama maybe
You’ve lost your way, dropped the ball
Mislaid your marbles, hit your wall.
You over-estimate our surprise
At your recent admissions of political demise
For we remember all your previous positions
Your frank and honest new conditions
We remember you said that power wouldn’t change you
That the dreams we all shared
You promised to force through
That you pledged to keep faith with the grassiest roots
Not be corrupted by schemers in suits
Guantanamo Bay? Remember that pledge?
How did that priority get pushed off the ledge?
And what about an end to those unjust wars
To the broken boys and unsettled scores?
Don’t you remember that you promised us more?
That we will not forget the lies you ignore
Or the twisted words of those we deplore
Want my support for the next time round?
Yeah, right.
Like this:
UK Election 2010 Demo-n-Crazy
by Carey Lenehan
Change We Can Believe in, or More of the Same… you choose?
“And we’ll give you permission to own a shiny new car you can’t afford…”
So in a matter of hours, the direction of ‘Great Britain’ for the next five years – or at least until October…(it’s complicated) – will be decided by the fair and impartial (sic) British Electoral miracle of our ‘first past the post’ style democracy where we don’t actually get to choose who leads us, or even who doesn’t… the Media (and one ‘Gillian Duffy’ from Rochdale) does…
So ‘who cares’, if only 55% of people actually bother to vote and, ‘so what’, if the next PM gets to rule on the basis of a popularity contest within his own party and pushed on us whether we like him or not, on the say-so of less than 20% of the population? Who cares? Well everyone it seems, except the politicians who like things just the way they are, stacked to keep the status entirely quo-ed.
I am one of the 3 out of 4 people who will probably once again be more or less un-represented by my nation’s political spectrum, because I want ridiculous things like no more waging war on third world countries, no more exploiting poor coffee growers in Ghana or diamond miners in South Africa… universal health care and equal rights for EVERYONE, not just white men and blonde women, fair pay for a fair days work, you know, stupid shit like that, oh, and trips to the beach for every kid who doesn’t own a pair of Converses… that’s a definite must…
Of course I won’t see the change I want and so, as ever, will wonder why I bothered caring at all, why I got excited, why I watched to debates or ever gave a damn about the election…. and then I will look out of my front door and be glad that I don’t have to live there any more…
I am an optimist at heart and have even dallied (if briefly) with the idea briefly of going back to live in the UK if things changed for the more reasonable and less capitalistically obsessed, but throughout the last five weeks I listened and listened and all I heard was waffle… Lib Dem, Tory, Labour, it didn’t blahblahI’mreallyrichblahblahblahIhavelovelysuitsblahblahblahI’mamillionairsowhyshouldIcareblahblahwaffleblah…
Repeat relentlessly and leave to set.
So we have suffered endless painful TV hours of the same meaningless minute-filling waffle. Not one of them appeared to possess so much as a teeny pair of balls although there was one chap actually called Ed balls but he was sweaty and didn’t appear to have any at all, nor principles it seems yet he got voted back in, so I guess he must be good at spinning himself up the ladder at least…
So all that choice and still no one worthy, nothing, de nada, rien de tout, that could be considered voteable. And now it’s done. It’s a mess. And I’m still predicting a Cameron seated on the British Political throne by Monday morning. Unless he isn’t. And that is that…
Sorry Gordon. Should have kept your mouth shut or your mike switched off, don’t you think?
So who to vote for? Gosh, I dunno, the one with the best waffle? The nicest suit? The cutest smile?
R.I.P
Well at least it’s food for poetic pondering. Of course, shutting the polling stations before everyone has cast their vote is a good way of making sure the undecided who could sway things and who often wait til the last minute to make up their minds, never get a look in…
So with that in mind, try this…
Demo-n-crazy
by Carey Lenehan
no chance for a genuine change of direction,
The sycophant wheedlers require our affection,
Democracy, does it again.
And so to the dance, by design, not by chance,
spin the doublespeak players who seek to advance.
These slayers, betrayers, smile-all-dayers,
chanting their tacky fortune-wheel prayers,
bang the skins of identical political drums,
singing identical policy songs
to the beat of many matching feet.
slot in a coin, watch the cherries fly
because, cherries are all that lurk inside,
even though those who float at the top,
might look a bit like pears.
Aristocracy found itself legless, headless, trashed into deadness
by the will of the discontent masses
so outraged by the gap between classes
who wanted righteous leaders not pompous deceivers,
depravity and bottomless taxes
that power should rest with men of good merit
One person, one vote, one majority voice
All completely agreed on the best man to lead,
all sharing the profits of choice
Yet now we are back where we started,
with good sense and democracy parted
Shared leadership a concept, too tarnished and dull
for the new pseudo-royals of our day
Touched with power by fate, they all want to be ‘great’,
Not listen and do things our way
so recklessly wielded and bound to contort,
Who among men can resist her,
can briefly possess and dismiss her,
can turn from the light so blindingly shone,
as if it were honour they sought?
How tempting a treat, this political beat,
this jewelled, voracious whore,
A siren of such irresistible force,
luring the wary to waters contrary
where ordinary men can, in no way,
keep their trousers buttoned before her?
All ideals and principles draining away,
blowing the myth that demo-rule isn’t reign,
but conceded in steady rotation
to posh wadded dudes with old-boy educations.
Demofashion dictates that our choices equate,
to a life of taxation and rolling inflation
to politics lead by stealth and deception
because freedom is dead and aggression uncivilised,
so instead we’ll be ruled by negation?
massage the gripes of those immigrant classes,
deny them the vote, keep up the pretence,
shoot them, uproot them, deem them sub-human.
Just make them get off the fence.
Stimey their questions with bland platitudes,
just remember to keep it light.
No specifics, no details, nothing to defend,
dissenters are no one you need fear offend,
the wrong colour, the wrong sex,
the wrong heart, the wrong mind,
You can’t please those people any of the time
in these demo-n-crazic days
of hand-me-down Empires and TV fools,
penny-a-dozen do-gooders more foolish than shrewd
Who might cost us our homes,
but it’s ‘for our own good!’,
who are we to complain anyway?
Modern democracy dodges all law
and the moral ideals we should stand before,
Because the ordinary men who lead us today
don’t wish to be ordinary any more,
and the masses must never, no, not never-ever,
really have freedom to choose,
just allowed to believe that they do.
NEMA
XXC
