VoiceUP!!

Write the letters! Write them now!

Make them loud and send them out,

Off to Senator Brown,

Senator Smith, CEO Clown:

The ones who generate trading fare.

Gain in profit, sell it everywhere.

Pressure and pump the political clump.

Unite our voices to protect all those,

Used in slavery as workhorses. You know!

Because my dear, that glitter you wear,

That meme you utter is a codetta to fear.

Sites are on you to enter the stage,

Whilst quietly, entrepreneurs lock our gilded cage.

 

‘Anti-Slavery What You Can Do’

http://www.antislavery.org/english/what_you_can_do/default.aspx

 

Inheritance Of Fear

Indelibly marked, it’s STAMPED into the heart.

Cycles of fear. Willingness to please you, ‘dear’.

Tortuous moments of ‘Will it be alright?’,

Chokes and layers this heart through the night.

Eternal springs of oppressive fear,

Stalks this heart’s living moments, always near.

Dark, inhumane outbursts of stress,

Blending perfectionism to the point of distress.

Abuse, it leaves its mark for so long:

For the whole life of this little heart’s song.

Synchronising, as the good heart does, entrainment,

Aligning with the rhythm of fear above.

Internalising this pattern so,

Emotional intelligence will surely grow.

Intelligence of abuse,

Affirmed through some denigrating excuse:

“To achieve ‘the best’ at your expense”.

Joining the Secret Army Of Oppressor Art,

We yell silently at this little heart:

“Work faster!

Strive long and hard, be the best!

Bring out the best for me, for me!”

Quietly this little heart dies with each stroke,

Effortlessly gliding from of our Oppressor throat.

Yet within we thoughtlessly grin,

‘Bring me more of that brand ag’in.’

Backstage inside an apparently gilded cage,

The masks are withdrawn, their faces so forlorn,

Souls lost, oppressed. We should mourn.! ?

Weary, tired, worn out distressed??

Feel the warm, sinister glove: of Oppressor love:

Undressed.

‘Anti-Slavery’

http://www.antislavery.org/english/what_you_can_do/default.aspx

Mother

I love the world

I love my mum

She’s been a special sort of chum

Not all are so blessed To have a mum

Who’s dressed with the classisest style

Who’s her own complete self

No sitting on a shelf

Not for this femme de ‘svelte’.

So fortunate am I,

She taught me about the skies

The heavens above and Hades down below

About Brahms and Bach, Braque, Renoir and so

Yoga and meditation and even civil mediation

She taught me to be myself Laugh when I want

And beware of hubristic nonchalance.

With care I do tread, every footstep in life,

Risks I do take, but carefully calculated: no strife J

If it wasn’t for mum; my special best chum,

My life would never have lived,

My face: stony expressionless and glum.

the demise of chronicity

I used to:

Look back at the gray blue skies,

Tears sometimes fill my eyes.

Ducts with fluid, salted but clear,

Wash away the grief I feel.

Days go by and no improvement,

Life’s aspirations make no forward movement.

Simple things I used to love to do:

Walkin in the park; sharing healthy times with you.

Gone long ago, ambitions of care

Hung up to dry, they no longer care.

Simplest things such as no exhaustion,

Such Small delights of joy,

Procrastinatin folks will never have thought of.

So sit here thinking again I do:

Would euthanasia suit you?

What Will I Call You?

I love to see the dogs asleep

On their blanket, oh so neat

Curled up cosy content and complete.

Calling them dogs Just isn’t right

They are family, four leggeds and never bite.

They talk differently through circles and wiggles

A Touch of their paw, a look in their eyes

A point of their head Blessings from the skies.

No dogs just isn’t right for them,

They’re akin to children, grandkids, family,

Friends.

When?

How many times do I write to you?

How many times do I think of you through the day?

How many times are my thoughts linked to you?

How long will it go on this way?

For one reason or another, I never do send.

For one thought or another, introspecting, twisting bend.

Subconscious understanding we met years ago,

Is this the reason our paths separately do go?

Was it that you were obstinate then?

Our old friend ego?

What’s her name again?

Riding high on the wave Posterity flies.

Forget us now benevolent eyes.

Maybe the next life we shall learn,

Pure LoVe never dies.

ToB or KnoToB

What do you do darlin’ When

I’m thinking of you, You’re thinking

Of Me?

Golden Entranced Full Moon,

A night, just we.

Deny oneself to access the email:

Nor phone, no postal, no text;

Fingers flail.

So what do you do darlin’, When you’re

Thinking of Me and I’m thinking

Of You

Let bygones be gone

And a future of we

Shiny and brand new? Is it

Possible to rekindle,

Troubled hearts discussion long overdue?

So what do you do darlin’,

When you’re thinking of me and

I’m thinking of you?

Catalyse

You brighten my spirit

You drive me totally mad

You lift my soul

You drive me up the wall

You fill my heart

You tear me apart

You bring me smiles

You make me cry

You make me laugh

You make me high.

You constantly cut

Me down to the ground

But inadvertently

I’m up from down

You strengthen me

But not with intent

On each other,

We are hell bent.

Love, we need to learn to manage.

Maybe it simply points to marriage.

LoVeIS It Really iS

Love is Love It’s in the heart

It is synced in there from before the start

Before your eyes meet the other way

Before your hearts are within 3 feet

Before you touch or kiss or caress

Before the first word is uttered your way

Love is Love It’s in the heart.

Combustion

Turn on the stove

We have something to cook

Mix it and blend it and see where you look

It’s vivacious It’s mellow

It will send you some thoughts

Turn on the stove

We can cook allsorts.