Listen, if it can happen to the best of writers…
Becalmed By Neil Hamelin
I am becalmed,
I cannot write,
I feel no wind,
No ships in sight.
When words come,
It is a blessing,
But when they don’t
It’s so distressing.
Just need to relax,
Keep my sails steady,
And when the breeze comes
With my pen I’ll be ready.
Some couples can never find interesting things to talk about, not us, we talk about the silence of the k’s…..
We were sitting around aimlessly talking last night,
The second glass of wine was tasting so good,
Just chatting about the quirks of our language,
You know, in the way that old couples should.
Now we all know that the English language
Is such an incredibly hard language to learn,
But last night, as we poured our third glass of wine,
We had only one pressing concern.
We asked ourselves why the k before an n
Is always kept silent, not usually heard.
And as we discussed this a conclusion was reached,
The English language was simply absurd.
On a silent night our silent knight,
Silently around the castle grounds walks.
And on silent nights they talk about our silent knight,
Saying he’s the knight who at night never talks.
But then is it night-night, that we say to our kids,
As off to bed they sleepily go?
Or is it knight-knight, or maybe night-knight?
It’s something we surely should know.
Which takes us to need, or maybe it’s knead?
Depends upon what you are doing;
Because if you need to knead the dough my friend,
A career as a baker you should be pursuing.
A knots not a knot if it’s not tied right,
As soon it will become undone.
But now how do you know that it is not the right knot?
This language game really is fun.
And if you knew it was new, then you couldn’t say
That you knew it was old, that’s a lie;
But what then if you knew that the new knot was not new,
What a tangle we’d have to untie.
The knell sounds for Nell, she was still in her prime,
Discovered a nit in her knitting and died.
Been out shopping that day, bought new knickers for a nicker,
But the knot in her new knickers won’t now ever be tied.
Now what about not knowing knowledge about a ledge?
No, surely that be must be a useful thing to know,
As armed with the knowledge that there was no ledge
Out of the window you just wouldn’t go!
We’re thinking of starting a world-wide campaign,
That the K should once again be spoken,
A knotty problem is it not, we know some will say no;
Perhaps another bottle of wine we should open!
“Your call is important to us; please stay on the line until it is no longer important to you!”
Talking to voice robots is taking over so fast,
As personal service becomes a thing of the past.
“It’s to improve customer service” – are they being funny?
Answering systems are installed just to save money.
“The system will help us to redirect your call”
That is such a big lie for which we all fall.
Can’t think of anything that gets more on my nerves
Than the endless menu of options a robot serves.
“Sales or service? Enter your customer code.
Sorry, not recognised, you need to re-load”
You navigate that maze and then what do they do?
Tell you your call is now being held in queue!
“Don’t hang up”, says the robot, “your call is important”,
To not giving a damn, what an endorsement.
If your call meant so much, then surely they’d choose
To personalise their service and those robots just loose.
At last a human voice might eventually appear,
By which time the phone’s become a part of your ear,
And you’ve a headache, you’re stressed and feeling quite rotten,
And the reason for phoning you’ve completely forgotten.
And as robot services are not actually customer driven,
A name or direct number you’ll never be given,
So if you need to call back, you’ll have to start all over again;
Communicating via robots will drive you insane!
Perhaps getting up every morning at sparrows fart, just so you can sit in seemingly endless queues of traffic isn’t the best way to start your day after all……..
Imagine starting each day
In the way that we do,
Breakfast on a stoep
A great mountain view;
Sitting there chatting,
No need to be rushed,
The smell of fresh coffee,
As the plunger is pushed.
Fresh creamy yoghurt,
Nice and thick, not too runny
And drizzled all over,
With local raw honey.
Eggs sometimes scrambled,
As the routine gets changed,
With tomatoes and bacon
For the yoghurt exchanged.
Our day being planned,
Or then again not,
Discussing the weather,
Is it going to be hot?
Watching orioles and drongos
At the fountain drinking,
Planning garden improvements,
Gets the grey matter thinking.
Just chilling out
Before the day has begun,
As we sit on our stoep feeling
Life’s jackpot’s been won.
The quality of the vast majority of corporate mainstream media reporting is both disgraceful and disturbing. Often acting as an insult to the collective intelligence, the corporate mainstream media succeed in stupefying countless millions with their daily doses of uninformed, often inflammatory, ideologically driven propaganda,opinions and views, masquerading as “news”. In particular Sky News, with their smug arrogance and often complete misrepresentation, or just plain ignorance, of facts makes me so angry I can no longer watch.
It’s 6 o’clock,
Thank you for tuning in,
Our latest session of indoctrination
Is about to begin,
Another dose of propaganda,
Of our opinion and views;
We’re dumbing you down,
You’re watching Sky News.
Each report is a crisis,
It’s just how we present,
If there isn’t any crisis
We’ll find one to invent,
We’ll whip up panic and fear,
If that’s what we choose;
We’re dumbing you down,
You’re watching Sky News.
Our team of ultracrepidarians
Are used everywhere,
With little or no knowledge,
We really don’t care,
A stream of journalistic porn,
Designed to mislead and bemuse;
We’re dumbing you down,
You’re watching Sky News.
Everything is “unprecedented”
How we just love that word,
We use it in a context
That is totally absurd;
Thrown in with video footage
That’s edited to confuse,
We’re dumbing you down,
You’re watching Sky News.
With the utter climate nonsense
Our whole team is infected,
And if anyone dares disagree
We say the “far right” is suspected,
But after all it’s our choice
If your intelligence we abuse;
We’re dumbing you down,
You’re watching Sky News.
We may not promote misinformation,
It’s just that our “news” is not always “real”,
But as we hold the moral high ground,
So we can say what we feel,
We know that critical thinking
Is not what our viewers use,
So we’ll just keep dumbing them down;
Thanks for watching Sky News!
Perhaps the top of the hill is the best place to be?
I’m over the hill now,
Soon I should be picking up speed,
But a life somewhat faster
Is not something I need.
Most things are still working,
Have my own teeth, my own hair,
And at a finely turned ankle
I still like to stare.
I should really be grateful,
There’s no need to complain,
Old age has its benefits,
There’s so much that you gain;
If you sit there a minute,
Then I’ll write you a list;
But … perhaps a little snooze first,
They’re so hard to resist!
OK…. I’m back again,
Just a short power nap,
Too much thinking these days
Makes the energy sap;
Now something about a list?
First …. give me a minute or two,
I think I’ll just put the kettle on,
It must be time for a brew!
OK that’s better!
Now what were we saying?
(Memory’s not at its best,
At the edges it’s fraying.)
You were going to give me a list
Of what I would need
If I wanted to go faster,
If I wanted to speed?
No…. that won’t be necessary,
This slow life is fine,
I’ve found the top of the hill
To be a good finishing line;
So I think I’ll just stay here,
Not go over the crest.
Now …. a snooze or a brew?
Which do you think is best?
The world is full of sheep.
Better one day as a tiger
Than a hundred years as a sheep;
A promise I made
That I try keep.
True to myself,
Not following the crowd;
An independence of thought,
Of which I am proud.
Our freedom of speech
Is under attack,
Our own fault really,
Reflects the courage we lack.
Hard earned freedoms
Simply being taken away,
Be careful what you think,
Be careful what you say.
From history we should learn,
But not anymore;
The lessons of history
We choose to ignore.
Less well informed,
But with more information,
There’s no power in knowledge
For this generation.
I’m probably being targeted
In my poet’s role;
Not conforming to the narrative,
Not under control.
With my freedom of speech
Not politically corrected,
On the government’s radar
I’ll soon be detected.
They might try to isolate me
For the things that I write,
But I won’t be intimidated,
I won’t give up my fight.
Not an activist really,
Just exercising free thought,
In mainstream media’s web
I refuse to be caught.
Say what they want to hear,
Don’t dare speak the truth,
Don’t argue their reasoning,
Don’t dare ask for proof.
Free thought and opinions
A threat to the nation.
However did we end up
In this sad situation?
Time for a bit of personal nostalgia…..
It seems so long ago now when I used to traverse,
London’s famed streets, in elegant offices converse
With those revered professionals, who challenged my mind,
Sharing a respect for each other, ethics of a similar kind.
When my decisions, my actions, influenced a business’s fate,
With thousands of employees, a truly burdensome weight.
On the corner where St James’s and Jermyn Streets collide,
34 above the door, Piccadilly just a short stride,
At that prestigious location, as part of a professional team,
My opinions carried weight, I was held in esteem;
And over 8 challenging years, as my influence grew,
The City’s leading lights became the people I knew.
So much younger than my peers, sometimes known as “The Boy”,
A term of endearment that I came to enjoy,
Still in my early thirties, the youngest ever Board member,
I hope my skills, not my age, is what people remember.
An amazing time, before life took another direction;
I look back on those days with such pride and affection.
It was the feast of King Faust, the day of the joust,
And the weather was decidedly chilly.
The frost on the ground made a soft crunching sound
Under the hooves of Sir Lancelot’s filly.
He’d been up with the lark, and it was still somewhat dark
As he rode through Castle Camelot’s gate.
His earnest intent was to win the tournament,
So he was determined not to be late.
With sword and lance he was furnished, his armour well burnished,
All polished by John, his loyal squire.
They made quite a display as they set out on their way,
Both dressed in their finest attire.
Ahead lay a hard fight with the notorious Black Knight,
Sir Lancelot’s old formidable foe;
And as metal met metal, a score they would settle;
This day down in history would go.
The beautiful Guinevere, she was sure to be there,
Watching the contest from the grandstand.
Although they were not married, her colours he carried
And if he won he would ask for her hand.
Before that could be done, there was a fight to be won,
The squire had his knight to prepare;
With a hand that was steady, John got Sir Lancelot ready;
A horse and rider to make people stare.
The joust got under way shortly after mid-day,
The knights on either side of the tilt.
As they began to advance, lowering visor and lance,
There was no time for courage to wilt.
Charging now at full pace, the noise filled the place,
As the crowd began to raise their voices.
Where to aim for the best, at the head or the chest?
The knights had to make their quick choices.
First hit to the Black Knight, he got his choice right,
Striking Lancelot on his polished breast plate.
And with a crashing sound, he hit the hard ground,
Pulled down by his armour’s great weight.
The Black Knight quickly turned, chivalry was now spurned,
And he attacked Lancelot from the rear.
The crowd stopped their cheering, and now started jeering;
John shouted a warning, loud and clear.
At the sound of John’s voice, Lancelot made the right choice,
Swung around with his shield raised up high.
The Black Knight’s sword crashed, Lancelot’s shield was smashed,
It all happened in the blink of an eye.
The Black Knight charged again, another blow tried to rain
Down upon brave Sir Lancelot’s head.
But Lancelot’s blade flashed, the attack had been dashed,
And the Black Knight lost his sword now instead.
Still mounted on horse, the Black Knight changed his course,
And galloped away for to get a new lance.
But squire John, with great speed, caught Sir Lancelot’s steed,
Giving the brave knight just one more chance.
Even with his armour to straddle, he was quick in the saddle,
Reined his horse round to face the Black Knight.
With his sword now held high, he charged with a full battle cry,
It made such a wondrous sight.
The Black Knight stood not a chance, the sword dealt with the lance,
The pole fell to the ground sliced in two.
Grass sods got churned, as brave Lancelot turned,
And with his sword ran the Black Knight clean through.
So much blood now gushed, as the Black Knight’s horse rushed
Towards the stone wall by the side of the Keep.
At the wall the horse stopped and the Black Knight, dead, dropped
To the ground, where he lay in a heap.
The crowd cheered their approval at the Black Knight’s removal;
Sir Lancelot jumped down from his horse.
Climbing on the grandstand, he took Guinevere’s hand,
And so history had taken its course.
“Apathy is the glove into which evil slips its hand”
Bodie Thoene
It’s the story of our apathy,
That I watch unfold,
I’ve written it in rhyme,
That’s how my stories are told;
It’s a story of how
We succumb to pretence,
And how fear and ignorance
Defeats common sense.
A story about how privacy
And freedom of speech,
Will soon be just memories,
Taken out of our reach;
Of how with indifference
We are now so infected,
And of how we’ve become
So politically corrected.
A story of children
Being schooled, not educated,
Caught when they’re young,
Their minds impregnated;
A story of democracy
Brought to its knees,
Being ruled by world bodies,
Governed by appointees.
A story of falsehoods,
By politicians conceived;
Like man-made global warming,
How is that ever believed?
Brainwashed by propaganda,
The lack of understanding shows,
So many now spellbound
By the emperor’s new clothes.
An Orwellian future
Brought on by this apathy;
Our governments not controlled
In the way they should be.
Increasingly we’re indoctrinated
Into a minority’s way of thinking,
The foundations of our culture
Into the mire slowly sinking.
A reflection of our time
Of achievements reversed,
How by our ambivalence
We seemed to be cursed,
Our liberty just grains of sand,
Through careless hands poured,
We’ve abandoned life’s anchors,
So how are we secured?
To many out there
My story just won’t appeal,
Dumbed down and confused,
Can’t tell the false from the real;
But my story’s no fiction,
It grieves me to say,
It’s the story of our apathy,
It’s “A Story About Today”.
