All born equal?

A woman named Kate Middleton gave birth to a baby boy this morning, her husband William was by her bedside. It's their third child. As the BBC continues  its sycophantic fawning and it takes over the news agenda to divert attention from Windrush and Syria. Here's a really positive way to respond to the Royal Baby news. Donate to the Child Poverty Action Group.
Here's a link :-
http://www.cpag.org.uk
Remember any other family living this kind of life  at taxpayers expenses would be hounded  by the  press  as benefit scroungers. No bunting for me, but congratulations to the parents, but as we continue to face misery under the reign of Theresa May  I can't though find much reason to get over excited . It just serves to remind us all of the appalling inequality that still exists in our country, which is at the core of existence of monarchy. Nothing  quite symbolises stagnation, immovable social barriers  quite like the royal family.
Amid growing austerity,  these occasions should remind  us too, that in 2018 modern Britain the aristocracy still own more than one third of the country continue to hold onto disproportionate power.  This baby will have every need  pandered too, servants to make sure it goes for nothing, while others are born into poverty, whose  mums cannot  afford food or heating.
Behind all the spin and the fairytale nonsense, we should recognise  the sad fact that the gloss of inherited privilege, still shines,  I look forward to the day when, we are all born equal. Should not every new baby born, be headline news.
The upcoming May 2018 wedding of Meghan and Harry should also be seen in this context Austerity Britain and universal credit  verses a pageant of the rich with expenditure being no object.
There's a petition  at the moment too asking that the BBC is fair balanced and proportionate, and avoids  wild speculation and inaccurate claims about the royals and public opinion
You could sign it here :- https://www.republic.org.uk/petition/bbc-coverage

Privilege Verses Poverty

So a child is born
the silver spoons are near
for him to be fed,
with all the vestiges of power
that he could ever possibly eat,
while media overdrive in frenzy
gather outside, a life of privilege awaits.

Meanwhile
the poorest among us
born in chains,
our voices go unanswered
and in refugee camps across the world
children choked in shadows of rubble and dust,
their future already denied
they are seemingly invisible.

Innocent children killed by drones
the press ignores their story
and people consigned to poverty and misery
by tory austerity and welfare reform
are expected to fawn
whilst queing at foodbanks
running on empty.

Daily we are manipulated
and the benefit claimants, disadvantaged,
and the underpaid workers
are told to go to hell,
Royal sprog does not have to worry though
in the 21st century it seems, we're still born unequal,
will be looked after by nannies, sent to public school
look forward to a lifetime of pampering and advantage,
and his grannies had a bloody pay rise too.

After I'm Gone

( Some philosophical play, Rossetti never taught me punctuation. )

After I'm dead

I might be remembered,

A distant echo of memory

A soul phased for eternity,

Ashes scattered to the winds

Under a satin sky,

Sleeping peacefully

Please don't disturb me,

Look after my records and books

Keep on building another world,

Rid of poverty, inequality, destruction

With so much comfort, grace and appeal,

Deep in the valley, a bell shall toll

In a place where rests the soul,

On slate and stone poetry reimbursing

Beyond life's awakening curses,

This elusive dreamer will dream away

Flying on high in distant space,
In shards of broken time 

As birds  forever burst into song.

A Beautiful Silence

Freedom improvisations
Dense smoke, shivers down spine,
We travel on up to a blessed place
Drunk with possibilities,
Midnight we are lifted off the ground
I feel like staying all night,
Small town romances
Lead to wonderful occurrences,
Soft melodies sweep among the landscapes
Painting the world with happiness,
With satori breaths, and sweaty palms
We stretch out our mortality,
As the sun comes up
We are shapeless and crazy,
Dawns gentle caress, touches us sweetly
The returnless twist that shapes our paths,
As the morning comes on down
And boundaries are set aside,
Surrender, it is so effortless
" just like that! "
Could this be paradise?
No this is not the real word,
Adrift in a sky of random moments
All these things have a beautiful silence.

No apologies

Frozen moments preserve my presence
Time keeps tumbling on and on,
Slowly but surely I trip over the fear
Clouds are passing over wounds,
Medication soothes the brain
The rain releases the gift of affirmation,
Laughter escapes from the darkness
Out of this  trust engulfs,
To allow the cultivation of breath
Inner reason that speaks my truth,
Continuing journeys of navigation
Avenues of concentration,
To allow destruction to disappear
For peace to visit  sanctuary,
Though life will always be a struggle
Friends I will always  respect,
Mind occasionally exhausted
Will be rebellious, offer no apologies.

Crying out loud

I've been crying out loud

First thing in the morning

Every flipping evening,

But as a New Day stirs

Spirit is lifting.

I want to make a change

Not just for me

All of us together, forever free,

Releasing spontaneous kisses to the day

Against the torrents of social injustice

For hope and happiness, a lighter rain to fall,

Whatever the weather will keep releasing my poetry

Each sentence will speak for itself

Crying out loud. 

Poem for my Grandson : Five Years old today

I have thought about this little one today
spared hardly a thought for the Queen,
though one is five today,  the other 91
this one pictured far more important,
I got him a little place of adventure
Thunderbird's Tracy Island,
previously owned but in good condition
with lots of figures and machines,
came with rockets  and sound effects
even included  some trees,
a perfect playground for a super kid
my beautiful rascal grandson,
turning  5 today getting rather big
and very smart  too hope he has a treat,
unlike her royal  highness
I hope he inherits the world,
and in the future bright
finds himself living in a republic,
maybe he could get himself elected
and become the head of state.

Some Respite (After visiting Druidstone Inn, Pembrokeshire.)

The world, was filling me with sadness

In its woods' I could only find darkness
But deep within  a simple hope still resided
And after a friend took me to  a special place
With two ales and the glance at sea
Inspiration quietly returned
At home, scattered  more seeds for the bees
After  grateful, friendly encouragement,
Turned  Linton Kwesi Johnson up loud
On the edge of life, energy returned
Between one thing and another
Dubs deepness delivered passion
Soothing heartbeat and inner soul
Allowed me not to completely surrender
Listening to riddim allowed  me to smile
Beyond some bitterness
And oppressive forces
Nourishment was delivered
I Inhaled some magic
Released dancing feet  again
From moments of  hesitation
Respite was released
Like forces of victory
Spirits rised.

After an echo

                                         
The following poem dedicated to the memory of my beloved Jane Elizabeth Husband ( 9/5/ 60 - 8/1/17)  today marks 3 months since her passing.

After an echo

Last night, I heard an owl hooting 
from not that far away, 
releasing its comforting call 
I sipped calmly from a glass, 
before the time of sleep beckoned me
to paddle on the waves of dream, 
in the names of yesterday
and the chords of tomorrow,
in undulating scrawls, put pen to paper 
life is a memory, I thought, of days gone past,
songs in the sunshine,dances in the rain 
the smell of alcohol and smouldering devotion,
converging through darkness in sweet seduction
constructing sentences that flowed with wine.

But I don't believe in miracles any more 
because luck seems to run out all the time, 
yet outside the moonlight guided
and as thoughts got crowded and perplexed,
released some sense of power
carried me drifting, along meandering streams, 
swimming again with lullabies
and untethered emotions,
against the currents, thought of sunrise
as head went dizzy, I plunged under, closed my eyes,
let visions call that took me again, to a place of safety. 

Rejoicing in old image of the past, the magic released
allowed me to catch breathe, to look up to the the sky, 
and sigh as the beauty of an echo called 
sailing on another horizon, but still by my side, 
filled my soul with gladness, chased away the sadness
made my face glow, my heart to beat,
allowed me to listen once more
to the tranquillity of a deep blue sea,
the trees blowing gently in the breeze and clouds
faraway spirit, floating freely across a satin sky, 
in the distance there is a rainbow
a prism of colour, ever so wonderful,
as I row on into the world shining bright
with enough comfort and grace left to bestow.

Strength to Love - A poem for Martin Luther King Jr ( 15/1/29 - 4/4/68)

Just after 6 p.m. on April 4, 1968, Martin Luther King Jr was  fatally shot while standing on the balcony outside his second-story room at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tennesse. The civil rights leader was in Memphis to support a sanitation workers’ strike and was on his way to dinner when a bullet struck him in the jaw and severed his spinal cord. King was pronounced dead after his arrival at a Memphis hospital. He was 39 years old.
 For his entire adult life, until the very day he was assassinated in 1968, he was under constant surveillance from the federal government, under constant threat from millions of people who actually hated the causes and ideals he stood for, and, in his last days on earth, seemed to frequently suggest to his closest friends that he was aware he wouldn't make it much longer.
King also  fought against police brutality and actually even mentioned it by name in his celebrated speech. Dr. King did not just vaguely fight against the idea of poverty, he fought for equal pay, he fought for better work conditions in cities across America, he fought to protect workers who were regularly abused by corporations.
He did not just vaguely fight for peace in the world; he stood up and spoke out against the Vietnam War when it was still tremendously unpopular for a man of his stature to do so. He did not, in fact, fight for integration, as much as he fought against segregation.
 In  the months before his assassination, Martin Luther King became increasingly concerned with the problem of economic inequality in America. He organized a Poor People’s Campaign to focus on the issue, including an interracial poor people’s march on Wahington and in March 1968 traveled to Memphis in support of poorly treated African-American sanitation workers. On March 28, a workers’ protest march led by King ended in violence and the death of an African-American teenager. King left the city but vowed to return in early April to lead another demonstration. On April 3, back in Memphis, King gave his last sermon, saying, “We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn’t matter with me now, because I’ve been to the mountaintop…And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over, and I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight that we, as a people, will get to the promised land.”
One day after speaking those words, Dr. King was shot and killed by a sniper. As word of the assassination spread, riots broke out in cities all across the United States and National Guard troops were deployed in Memphis and Washington D.C On April 9, King was laid to rest in his hometown of Atlanta, Georgia. Tens of thousands of people lined the streets to pay tribute to King’s casket as it passed by in a wooden farm cart drawn by two mules.Martin Luther King  is now best  remembered  for his ' I have a dream ' speech,but we owe him more than that,  this man  of great  purpose, humility and wisdom was also a radical and revolutionary by both deed and action. As injustice continues in this world of ours , we can still find the courage to stand up and say enough.

 " Power without love is reckless and abusive, and love  without power is sentimental and anemic. Power at its best is  love implementing the demands of justice,  and justice at its best is power
correcting everything that stands against love.”- Martin Luther King Jr

Strength to Love

Martin Luther King had a dream
That still today stirs our conscience,
He rejected violence to oppose racial injustice
Spread a message of peace, love and understanding,
His only weapons were his words and faith
As he marched in protest with his fellow man,
A force for good, but radical with intention
Pursued civil disobedience  but was not afraid
                                            of confrontation
We are all born equal under skin
This noble struggle never stops within,
The causes of division must still be eradicated
There is so much more room for change,
As fresh iniquities call, lets keep hope alive
Standing firm let our voices ring out,
Keep sharing deeds of deep principle
In the name of pride and in the name of love,
We are all still citizens of the world
Let's stand up for the voiceless all around us
As Martin Luther carries on reminding
His words echoing down the corridors of time
“Oppressed people cannot remain oppressed forever.
The yearning for freedom eventually manifests itself.”
We must continue to resist and overcome,
One day soon, all our dreams will be realised.

Seeking Nirvana- Jane Elizabeth Husband (9/5/60 - 8/1/17)

The following poem is the only piece of writing that I have left of my beloved faithful departed, and reminds me that she had a deep creative bent  and a rather cynical sense of humor, this was written back in the day, before i'd encountered her, after she herself  had come to Wales seeking something, ironically she discovered me, a Welshman who never escaped, who had somewhat dropped out myself, adrift in  a haze of dope and brew, before she helped me move slightly in another direction, well she certainly awakened my senses . I miss her incredibly. Cheers mighty furbster x.

Seeking Nirvana

They came from the East in their Buses and Vans
Seeking fate in the bottom of stale Beer cans,
Over the border belching woodsmoke and pot
This place is cool man, here we must stop,
Pagans, witches and God knows what
Long hair and beards all in a knot,

The great unwashed clad in Rainbow hues
The Welsh very wisely took to their pews,
For 30 odd years and it's still not over,
The hippy invasion still trampling Welsh clover,
"Hey man it's heavy, that rat race at home,
Here's hill and coast where we might roam,
Let's move to Wales the New Age Eldorado
The Welsh have considered a complete embargo,
"Seal the borders! No more must come here
Stoned out of their heads and reeking of beer,
The hippies pursued by personal fear
Many of them shedding the occasional tear,
A different problem chasing each one
Their grip on humanity almost gone,
They came to forget and sort out their heads
Now they just spend all day in their beds,
Passing their time sloshed or stoned out their mind
Nothing gets done, not a brain cell to find,
It only takes 2 minutes to have a wash
And now they're all complaining they've got no dosh,
They're not happy here and trying to move on
Can't raise the money, motivation gone,
Because they're all followed by personal ghosts
And now the Welsh are sick of playing the host,
The Benefit agency have had enough
Of all this New Age Hippy stuff,
The problems they will never solve
Because their world will always revolve,
Around blotting out their troublesome pasts
And still they haven't found a solution that lasts,
If they'd just stay sober and face their Karma
They'd have no need for Eden and feel a lot calmer. .

To the Politicians

The following poem can also be found here :-

https://iamnotasilentpoet.wordpress.com/2017/03/28/to-the-politicians-by-dave-rendle/

They will offer you
a handful of inflated emotion,
tie you up in knots
having eaten their fill,
will not do anything you ask for
whilst continuing to deliver soundbites,
eager to show that they do really care
will carry on giving you handshakes,
full of lies and deceipt
with warped sense of logic,
as the pain frosts over our breaths
offer us scraps of austerity,
whilst  hours draw by keep us unsatisfied,
continue their games to bend and shape us
apart from a few, most of collassal self-importance,
with their rhetoric full  of emptiness
deliver to us, utter complete disrespect,
it is up to us to stir their will
in sweet sheer defiance,
carve a new domain
into which, us they must serve,
instead of corporations and lobbyists
and others with a lust of power,
deliver us human foundations.
built on concepts of truth
that can be seeds of future's rebirth.

Not yet broken

There are times of trouble and stress
Just look at the state of the world,
It really is in one hell of a mess
Humanity repeatedly smashing itself into pieces,
Tension drowning us in sombre melancholy
Discordant notes dispensing division
Crushing hope and ambition,
As beauty and strength fades away.
Spring returns calling at your door
Bringing the flowers to bloom once more,
Can help  put back a smile on your face
This game of survival, this seasons annual race,
Allows us stop a while, let our minds reflect
As friendship arrives again, never to tired,
Without hesitation we can set course on  new
                                                        destination
Experimenting with home made cures and lotions,
Recording, adapting new dimensions of meaning
Mind awakened can carry on, not yet broken.

Defend The Sacred ( A Poem for Standing Rock.)

"The Indians knew that life was equated with the earth and its resources, that America was a paradise, and they could not comprehend why the intruders from the East were determined to destroy all that was Indian as well as America itself." - Dee Brown, author of Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee; April 1970.

On the heels of increasingly severe human rights violations against the water protectors of Standing Rock, the Army Corps of Engineers released a statement that on Dec. 5 that they plan to shut down the Oceti Sakowin camp — the primary camp where water protectors and allies have been resisting the completion of the Dakota Access Pipeline for months now.

Gov. Jack Dalrymple of North Dakota has stood in agreement with the plan by ordering the water protectors to evacuate the camp.The water protectors have been standing strong in the face of police assaultswith  rubber bulets, concussion grenades, tear gas, and water cannons in freezing temperatures, and the risks are threatening to become worse.
As a result, the camp has issued an emergency call for others to stand in solidarity on Dec 4. 

Defend The Sacred ( A Poem for Standing Rock.)

Water if life, oil is poison
one is a creator, one is a destroyer,
under angry sky proud people stand
defending ancestral burial ground,
in a battle for survival  treated so shamefully
pleading for sanity in a state of distress,
daily faced with disrespect and intimidation
rubber bullets, intruders threatening,
invaders returning, stealing and encroaching
in a thirst for profit, means of fairness hidden.

Let us  pray for all the tribes of Standing Rock 
deprived of joy and laughter, a means of survival,
grant safe keeping, peace, love and many blessings
respect the water protectors for courage and brave heart,
release them from oppression, free from corruption
offer peace, love and many blessings,
worldwide unity as they battle to save our planet
people before needless, senseless profit,
souls drenched, not from water, but tears
grant power to the people, united so strong.

Those at Standing Rock remain steadfast and free
peacefully trying to erase enormous pain,
armed with the truth, waiting for justice to call
sorrow and sadness to dissipate, healing to return,
to escape the bonds, flee the enemy
to be at one with mother earth,
indigenous resistance we must celebrate
honor and protect their sacred fight,
let our warmth melt their fears
allow their magic to forever flow.

The above poem, can also be found here :-https://iamnotasilentpoet.wordpress.com/2016/12/02/defend-the-sacred-a-poem-for-standing-rock-by-dave-rendle/

The Spectre of Fascism is haunting the World

( Earlier I heard that Thomas Mair, right wing extremist had been found guilty of murdering Labour MP Jo Cox, a mother of two young children, a wife and tireless campaigner. The following unashamedly raw poem is dedicated to her memory and all other victims of the ideology of fascism.)

The Spectre of Fascism is haunting the World

They call themselves the 'alt right'
they are given a platform by sites like Breitbart,
now they're in the bloody Whitehouse
fascism that's swapped its jackboots for business suits
if you're not worried yet, you're not paying enough attention!
on the brink of World War Three
do we ignore lessons from our history,
as the spectre of fascism haunts the world again
Le Pen, Trump, Farage  all cut from the same cloth,
bringing no fresh light for us to consume
complacently deciding who to pick on next,
aiming at all they consider, less than them
hatred breeding, running amok.

The fascist logic is cruel follows all seasons
knows no reason it is inhumanity's  curse
orders genocide and feels no remorse
asphyxiates and destroys freedoms torch,
lets the cruelty of abuse loose
for truth to be buried and hidden,
tears to flow with the weight of knowing
as they blame their victims, insisting they are grateful,
we should always listen to the voices that survived
tortured and abused, tongues of masses silenced,
threatened, shaken, shackled,shat upon
corrupted, stamped left crying in rain,
women and children raped to stigmatise
left abandoned drowning in vomit, smeared in blood.

We all place ourselves in danger
when we refuse to condemn,
viruses spread when not confronted
and authoritarianism is a very ugly disease,
from flag waving  bigoted fascist bastards
to right wing suited neo-liberal managerialists,
their free speech treats you like a subhuman
teaches others that you should not exist,
remember terrified people are easily controlled
easily abused, easily conquered, taken over
so inhale the future, exhale their poison
resist them with all the strength you've got
all of them can be beaten, they shall not pass.

This poem can now also be found at I am not a silent poet  https://iamnotasilentpoet.wordpress.com/2016/11/24/the-spectre-of-fascism-is-haunting-the-world-by-dave-rendle/

Phone Pest

(Increasingly I am being bombarded at home on telephone by cold callers, asking me to respond to lifestyle surveys, despite being ex directory, and not being subscribed to any of their services. This is a poetical response.)
 
I lose my head often in the midst of thought
I feel no sudden loss or unexplained pain
The telephone rings, disconnects the silence
Are they tapping into my attitude
As I lose my resolve in the middle of day
Answer a cold caller going by the name
                                                   of pest.

Good day sir, he says
I'm with opinion research
I would like to ask you a few questions
It will only take a few minutes
And then we will be done
Promise wont ring again
But its never really that simple
Because once bitten, they return again
Usually at a time of most inconvenience.


I simply have no urge to participate
Or time to lose my patience
Its just another boring distraction
They want to know what I consume
What  flipping things I like the most
As the world continues to burn.


But there's nothing new to be said
I tell them not to worry or fret
Try not to lose too much sleep
Every day is full of surprises
Consumer lifestyle choices
Really are not my bag.


In the face of social decay and vast corporations
Eating away at the future of humanity
There's enough pesky problems in the world
From birth to death, bitter pills to taste
So please can you stop pestering me
as the phone line goes dead, peace is restored.

This poem can also be  found at I am not a silent poet

https://iamnotasilentpoet.wordpress.com/2016/11/22/phone-pest-by-dave-rendle/ 

These Words

(some words for National Poetry Day)

I make spontaneous verse
I am not very good at rhyme,
I am often non-conformist
my visions speak against injustice,
words released like a slow burning fuse
to fill the air with crackling alarm,
I have felt emptiness, exhaustion
witnessed forces of distortion, 
the politics of empty gestures
shaped by the hands of jesters,
I hurry on, follow tides of innocence
try to swim beyond rivers of ambivalence,
these words are my swords & ploughshares
clouds of abstraction, in intervals of time,
whilst  breathless, I try to run free
empty pockets of contemplation,
share my conscience into  night sky
with each season's passing cry.