Archive for politics

Political Dragons

Posted in poems with tags , , on March 30, 2013 by Phillip Barker

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How many more of your patriotic sins are you phoning in today?
Every jingo-loving bastard turns up to have their say
Right when I thought it was safe to come out from under this rock
Empress Julia and her team induce another bout of cringeworthy culture-shock
By a muddy river, rocked by the cars and Southern Comfort
Even the fish flee, the waterlogged filth spreads out
Dragon, rippling across a dark and troubled sky
Reflects my mind perfectly, small thoughts gurgling
As the huge ones flit by unheeded, to points unknown
Gorgeous, compelling lies stain our minds
Over and over, spin it up and make it LOUD
No relief from the heat of the day’s sad rhetoric
So, here be dragons, just… none to slay

 

Mar 13

AAAACIPF

Posted in poems with tags , , , on March 6, 2013 by Phillip Barker

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The ASIO guy’s
Been following me,
Eighteen months.
I saw the catalogue.
My petty misdemeanours.
Two thousand five hundred
and eighty two
weak sweet white
coffees,
give or take
a few hundred_
Well within the
statistical deviation
allowed by the Undersecretary
for Anomalous Antipodean
Archaeological and Astronomical
Configurations of Irrelevant
Pseudo-Facts

He sends me a message
superbly concealed in the
December 1997 edition
of the Entertainment Guide
of the Poughkeepsie Picayune.
It reads:
“There will be a reckoning”.

Gunther Palast, Special Agent
forty-seven allocated
to my case file,
makes contact
On May Twenty-eight, O Ten,
at the Belgravia Cafe
just off of High Street

He was the one.
Blue gardenia in his lapel
and a badge commemorating
his life of scarifice
to the
AAAACIPF
(Thornbury Chapter).
Badge number
94849390.

He carried a rolled-up
battered copy of the
third Thursday edition
of the Tallangarook Tattler_
the edition with
the line drawing
of “Amnesty” Ruddock
all set for his photograph
beneath the front gate
of Camp 93.
The caption reads
“The Pacific Solution”

Gunther opens his laptop
and takes a quick
shot of my profile
and prints me a sheaf
of superbly authentic documentation

The ID card placing me
as a former employee
of the Climate Deniers Commission
is a particularly fine specimen.

Steve Reich is on
the cheap transistor
behind the counter
“It’s Gonna Rain”
And a guy in an SUV outside
has “Hurricane” blasting
on his superb “in-vehicle”
MP3 included stereo.
“Whaddya bring him here for?
He ain’t the guy”.

Wilting gardenias
and bad news

He hands me
the final
piece of the puzzle.
A beaten up
cocaine stained passport
from an unspecified
Middle Eastern locale.
“Lionel Shriver?
Is this kosher?” I enquire.
“She won’t mind a bit.
Time to run, son”.

Back on the island
The sun slanting artistically
through the bamboo blinds
and a nice warm Horlicks
steaming on my desk
I calculate the distance
to the jetty
in half-step increments
and leave a short note to Annie
apologising for
the mess in the kitchen

Bouillabaisse and Lemon Meringue.

May 2010

The (Honourable) Panjandrum

Posted in poems with tags , on March 4, 2013 by Phillip Barker

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Mind shut , mouth open,
Through my thick blanket of thought
I do not see the sky

“Arghh” says old Rupert
“Them poets be dangerous folk”
tries to sell me a fox

The pale plague years
Great white wave of destruction
Spreading, shore to shore
Slow sunset now, for us all
As new heat brings ancient ice

Easter Island dream
embracing modernity
infinite stone faces

with little emotion
sea advances relentless
on a wide flung front
we swim or sink together
under the pure white poles

gasolene rainbow
spread out across the tarmac
no more whale kebabs

Murder, sport, weather
cheap home-brand food
TV and the dole
new bread, and new circuses
The secular opiate of the masses

The sad poetical whisper
drowned
By screaming political lie