OBJECTIVITY

fireseed awoke suddenly from troubled sleep
rubbing his eyes
he stared in astonishment at the wall of his room
slowly letters were begnning to form
words began to cohere before his eyes
burning themselves into the wallpaper
and into his retina
SOCIETY HAS VARIED AND CONFLICTING INTERESTS
the first line read
WHAT IS CALLED OBJECTIVITY
IS THE DISGUISE OF ONE OF THESE INTERESTS
THAT OF NEUTRALITY
the message continued
BUT NEUTRALITY IS A FICTION
IN AN UNNEUTRAL WORLD
THERE ARE VICTIMS
THERE ARE EXECUTIONERS
AND THERE ARE BYSTANDERS
AND THE OBJECTIVITY OF THE BYSTANDER
CALLS FOR INACTION
WHILE OTHER HEADS FALL
the words burnt into his consciousness
fireseed fell once again into restless reverie
when he awoke again
the walls were blank
but on the bedside table
lay a piece of notepaper
scrawled upon in wiry handwriting
there were just two letters:
hz

TOOLBOX

an nvq (not very qualified)
level two
city n guilds
enviro-mental conversation
gcse grade d or e equivalent
apparently
grunt stuff
oink! oink!
mucking about in the muck
shivering on a cold n drizzly day
in mid january

struggling to make ends meet

on part-time wages

lashed together from four separate jobs

all well n good this student stuff
but where will it lead?
will it get ya a job?
a promotion?
more dosh?
is there any future in it?
look at the council
laying off half its conservation staff
swelling the ranks
of the long-term unemployed...
but me
i aint seeing this as a career move per se
i just had the urge to get out there
to stop talking
and start walking
to move beyond the theoretical
and actually do something useful
something hands-on and vital
dirt under the fingernails
a million miles away
from that stifling office-based environment
with its screeching phones

and its whinging ninnies

its glowing screens
and its deadening fluorescent lights
i clean and sharpen my tools
don my gloves
and get to work
cutting
lopping
snedding
sculpting out new habitats
harvesting materials
creating something meaningful
and beautiful
and all of this
adds a string to my bow
an arrow to my quiver
a tool to my box
throws another iron in my fire
and adds another poly to my math

FOR THE TIME BEING

what time is it mr wolf?
let's call the speaking clock
at the third stroke
the time will be...
five forty-three and twenty seconds
pip pip pip...
did ya ever ring that posh lady up?
i remember her voice
back in the eighties
droning on n on
intoning her timely update
every ten seconds
though it was the eighties
oddly it sounded like it was still the fifties
a dickensian world of black n white
i wonder what that lady sounds like now
perhaps they've replaced her with a younger model
or maybe she's still there
droning
on n on n on
time
it is sand in a glass
it is money
sometimes it drags
other times it stands still
it flies when you're having fun
it waits for no man
or woman
it is of the essence
we all spend it
a lot of us waste it
some people pass it agreeably
others try to kill it
over the years
us controlling humans
have gone to incredible lengths
to measure it
to standardise it
and then mass produce it
imposing it on the whole world
whether that world likes it or not
once time was tied to the spinning of the earth
the waxing and waning of the moon
now a gibbous moon
now a crescent
the dawning day and the darkening night
then armies of clever astronomers calculated years
divided them meticulously into months and days
hours, minutes and seconds
the months were a little irregular
especially february
but the hours, minutes and seconds
were perfect little multiples of sixty
which suited the lady on the phone very nicely
as it made her job nice and regular
of course they fudged things a tad
when time didn't quite add up
they threw in little tricks
like a leap day every four years
when the solar system refused to adhere
to tidy human demands
for these esoteric measurements
were all news to the earth
as it orbited inevitably around the sun
and indeed to all the other species that inhabited it
of course the colonial englishmen
had to have the final say
proclaiming the greenwich meridian and gmt
anchor of the world's time still
another of our exports
like our lustful language
thrust upon unsuspecting foreigners
british time can't quite make up its mind
but it keeps us pommy limeys on the hop
bst kicks us all out of bed an hour earlier
gmt gives us an hour's grace as the nights draw in
this artificial system
synchronises intercontinental human endeavour
to an amazing degree
where would air traffic controllers be without it?
but we are a slave to time
and enslave others to it
we clock in
we clock out
we fill out time sheets
we charge for our sevices by the hour
for time is money
and money is time
not quality
we set the alarm clock
next thing we know
we are leaping out of bed
to turn the blessed thing off
or hit the snooze button
we cast nervous glances wristwards
we will the hands this way and that
we set impossible deadlines
then break our backs to meet them
we set the clock deliberately fast
because we don't trust ourselves
we defy the yellow light to beat the traffic
we ignore the elements
we become oblivious to dawn and dusk
we stagger blindly from task to task
all for the sake of the old tick tock

LUNATIC DRIVER

lunatic driver
playing with speed
taking his chances
down a one-way street
lunatic driver
he's on heat
burning the rubber
down a one-way street

headlights blazing
no hint of fear
he crunches his joystick
into sixth gear
he owns the road
and he makes it clear
he's in an audition
for the next Top Gear

nerves of steel
at the wheel
anti-hero of a teenage dream
i climb inside his death machine
am i lunatic driver?

lunatic driver
there he is
he's on my tailgate
he's closing in
lunatic driver
no i won't be him
someone save me from that lunatic

and if i should die
bury me at the roadside
a trophy to catch the gleam in his eye
i wish i could fly
leave him far behind
but there's no place to hide
from that lunatic driver

lunatic driver
playing with speed
taking his chances
on a one-way street

DRIVING RAIN

i am transported to another place
the fragile calm of the snow
her delicate swirling flakes
her frosty embrace
her soft yielding crunch
erased
washed away
by the raw power of a different element

the pure white cityscape suddenly rendered naked

as incongruous as lady godiva on her horse

the rains have descended in gusting torrents
waterlogging the fields
flooding the ditches, brooks and streams
now all that remains of our garden snowman
is a bedraggled scarf-draped termite hill
yet this must come as some relief
to the food and water-starved creatures
precariously clinging to invernal survival
the moles that penetrate the unfrozen crust
the thrushes that tug at elastic band worms
the moorhens that peck holes in the cellophane lake
out of hibernation come us humans too
back on the highways and byways with a new vengeance
the sunday drivers displaying their creed for speed
who have no time for or interest in the here and now
as the tarmac blurs by beneath our feet
as the tyres spraypaint mud and gravel on a roadside canvas
as an oily patch reflects a myriad psychedelic colours
and then is gone
as the trees and buildings and fields and hedgerows
all speed effortlessly by
our minds are already fixed on other vistas
on what lies around the next corner
or over the brow of the next hill
on the next mile covered
the next acquisition or conquest
the next notch on the bedpost
but has it not ever occurred to us
that one day there may be no more distance left to run?

ELEMENTAL

there was once a large verdant island
that floated upon an emerald sea
humid tropical forests blanketed her curvaceous terrain
home to arboreal lizards and fabulous parrots
eagles soared with majesty
over her erect mountain peaks
lush fertile valleys spread out
across her flat warm belly
moist mangrove swamps
nestled among her fragrant groin
saltwater crocodiles and flamingos grazed plentifully
on the azure lakes and lagoons
that beaded her perspiring flesh
her bunched petticoat coastline
harboured numerous sheltered bays and coves
where one day a large vessel laid greedy anchor
the strange covetous pale-skinned gods
who navigated her waters
christened her hispaniola
though to her erstwhile inhabitants
she was known as ayiti - land of high mountains
as the old world encountered the new
as two far-removed human civilizations clashed
it was as if two adjacent techtonic plates had collided
ayiti never stood a chance
once the small-talk was over
her despoiling commenced
the avaricious gods demanded daily tributes
precious metal from her peoples
on pain of detaching both their hands
missionaries arrived to civilize the restless natives
flogging the children to cast out the devil in them
their numbers were ravaged by infectious diseases
a thousand sharpened axes
laid waste to ayiti's forested hills
her technicolour parrots and prehistoric iguanas
were exterminated
in their place tobacco and sugar plantations
were tattooed across her body
as far as the beady eye could see
there were sweaty open-air factories
worked by stooping black men with scarred shoulders
and a terrible look of fear in their eyes
decades and centuries passed
and as the old world self-imploded
in internecine warfare
the fearful black men
whose ancestors had been torn from their homeland
rose up and demanded sovereignty of their violated ayiti
still somehow remembered by her old name
though the blood of the ayitians
had almost all been spilt
and much diluted among their descendents
self-determination was fought for and won
but proved to be slippery and elusive
for yet more lustful powerful and greedy men
were keen to sublimate the fabled land of mountains
to their own needs and desires
a new occupation no longer in the name of christ
but under a more sophisticated guise
liberty equality and fraternity
good governance
humanitarian intervention
and so the dwellers of rich fertile ayiti
remained as they had been for so long
impoverished, disenfranchised and hungry
until two techtonic plates deep under the ocean
clashed once more
in a ferocious seismic gesture
that shook haiti asunder
and left her dying

SNOW JOB

b29 in whitest white
somewhere in a city lost deep in january
hard clanging civilization blanketed in soft silent snow
a deep-pile white carpet that urges all creatures to hibernate
to stay indoors
wrap up warm
hunker down and conserve energy
for food and running water are hard to come by
and survival cannot be taken for granted
all other concerns are mere frivolity
dangerous folly in fact
folly among the holly
foxes and badgers sleep deep in their burrows
butterflies lie dormant in tight crevices
little birds huddle together in their flocks
relying on their autumn fat
yet one species tries to ignore the elements
priding itself on maintaining busyness as usual
its upper lip stiffly curled against what Nature can throw at it
for it must worship its false gods
it must bow down
at the twin altars of Progress and Growth
that shall not be served by gentle hibernation
and so the wheels of industry grind on
the factories clang and grunt
the boilers and heaters are cranked up to maximum

the snow ploughs judder into action

the gritters show true grit
a million vehicles take to the streets
to do battle with the dirty freezing slush
their rush and roar pierces the air
so callously they violate the elemental serenity
some won't make it home tonight
emergency services emerge and are severely stretched
desperate downtown shop-owners pedal their wears
read all about it - 'retail therapy the new viagra!'
thoughts turn to summer holidays abroad
or last-minute bargains on an easy jet
a million phones beep out a million text messages
a million televisions blare out a cacophany of infotainment
a million red tops divulge jordan's latest conquest
or conquistador
a million office monitors silently hold their gaze
a million pcs compute trillions of digits
the whole shebang grinds determinedly on
the icebreaker pushes unhesitatingly forward
on automatic pilot
regardless

RESOLUTION

to search for harmony in mind, word, deed and spirit
to seek a way out of the havoc and destruction
our species reeks
to reject us and them
(whoever they are)
to rebel against Progress and Growth
to be watchful for mirages and false friends
to avoid the endless distractions
to harness positive energy and power
to galvanise realistic hope
to dispel unrealistic despair
to art-iculate the vision to others
in poetry, song and manifesto
to banish wrong-headed myths
and shape new ones
...very simple really