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Monday, 1 July 2013

Send us Ed – or we’ll cry

They seek him here
They seek him there
They seek that Snowden everywhere
Paranoia’s hardened their veins
Cold War blood runs hot again
“Traitorous scum” their vocal cords cry
They don’t want their filthy secrets hung out to dry
They demand the right
To have them tucked up tight
In a cupboard, next to their .45s
And anyway, it’s their inalienable right
To peer through your laptop screen
Monitor your being
Analyse your soul
They’re the land of the free – don’t you know?
And they get angry, spiteful and rude
When the universe won’t play by their rules
Or when some scared Ordinary Ed
Decides he’s got a conscience instead of a need
To break human law for greed
And right-wing creed
The US again turns its back on the Earth
Uses a prism to peer at the world
While a petrified man’s forced to stay low
Just because he had the guts to say “no!”.

©Simon Marks


My name is Simon Marks, I'm a journalist by trade, in my mid-40s, write non-journalistic stuff for a hobby.


1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Source - I

She is the source. I can know she is
the great source
on which everyone thought. When in the field
the clover was sought, or in silence
the night was awaited,
or somewhere on the peace of the earth
the warping of time was heard ---
each one thought on the source. It was a
secret and peaceful flow.
A miraculous thing which happened
obscurely.

No one spoke of her, because
she was immense. But everyone knew her
as the teat. As the goatskin.
Something smiled within us.

My sisters were smoothly becoming
women. My father read.
An acceptance of the clover smiled
inside me, a very chaste finding.
It was the source.

I loved her, painfully and quietly.
The moon was forming
with a subtle hint of ferocity,
and the apple took a beginning of
splendor.

Today sex has drawn itself. The thought
has been lost and reborn.
Today I know permanently that she
is the source.

Herberto Helder