Beware forced ideologies, hard run by trough-nosed believers At the bottom, the proles coached for implementing sell-up lies These schemes for thought denuding, brewed by willing deceivers Consumer etiquette (scams for profit) naked to the victim’s eyes And marvellous ways to empty wallets and flooded purses A potent mixture of smiles, slanders behind the idea sold A muttering breath evaporates into conditioned curses It’s a corporation run by bodies playing profit-mongering cold; And honesty, confronted by corporate values and behaviour Is daunted by the task of balancing work life pressures Oh karma, maybe now is the time to deliver that saviour! It’s a redefined work-life norm, turning cracks into fissures!    The ideological proudly rely on all those suitably dedicated    Enough time is allowed for the proles to suit up medicated.

The male had a wife, who left him for peace, From hog loud snoring, and late-night meetings, Along with other things he's turned to mud, Came the drinking, and the subsequent beatings. Her leaving shot his ego down with a thud, She cried out for the god who granted her release.   The male is all man when considered a bloke, Surrounded by mates like a game show host, And something else he's turning to mud, That part of his anatomy he loves the most. And his despair is profound, his erectile dud A brewer’s flopsy, his virility that is his yoke.   The loosely fitting male disguised as an adult man, Travelling down that same old irresponsible route, So everything he touches he turns to mud, An attention seeker, black fumes spewing from his ute. He swears at his critics, in an expletive flood His parents always told him, what he does he can

I was loved for the way I had expressed myself, With humour, with zest and with a spirit of enjoying. But some complain that my being offends them, That I am hurtful as though a thrown spear. I am a word whose meaning has digressed, From being as is, to what it cannot be, In the eyes of the hurt looking at me in a certain way. I have been delivered into the hands of new enemies; They have set my new meaning inside a victim’s space, I am deadly now; I am dismissed, The hurt I have caused that is perplexing.

All awhile a stream of questions pours over my tongue; My being seemingly possessed; And my heart feeling as if it would burst; And it does not stop until my words are as dry as desert sand; And a simple thought arose in my mind, what can all this mean? An inner voice tells of a spirit that is a helper for one’s infirmities; My body, imbued with melancholy should merely utter; Indeed, my heart is strong-beating; I am energy like any idea compressed; Meanwhile I remain unsure; For I am a troubled being perpetually unburdening.

Stupidity now contented, its fame spread across the socials Seeking not the condemnation of the righteous, of that sort, In evidence as proven destructive, in acts of proclivity, A comment here, an action there, none of renown eager, No desire to be cancelled by personal memory and media.

Experience and its remaking, and knowledge gained, That brings into action realms of intuition from in There, something and everything for the senses, To make judgement of an immediate circumstance, Sound, but no less heroic than the task ahead.

Among the many human torments not least is doom, To try to erase it with a longing for future happiness, And yet there are stories which tell of what is gained, From the whispers of change, apocalyptically driven, The great leap from gravity towards stars unknown.

Before them had the news arrived, and in the digital feed Were ten thousand turmoils to be grasped at, quickly Sent to willing eyes, the conditioned and the transfixed, The trivia astonishing, with the thought to question lost, All that was meaning, down to their existence corrupted.

Of war which must only beguile, compelling for nature To do its job, yet only known to humanity as ruinous, To die someway is still to die, the purpose of war as Varied as the human condition, its horrors documented, And the love of life being so dearly conjoined with it.

Abundantly, beauty’s gifts spread outwards and upwards, Melodies and images fair, vivid or subtle, created in grace, Attending to its seekers, with every sinew of its presence, Who feel empowerment is dwelling somewhere near, Their senses ordered to capture an essence, to be living.

Society has bathed regret with sorrow for the things it has done; Its decadence it combs with inquisitions; Its troubles it clothes with circumstance; Concussed with remorse it works to remain as part of the individual, the intimate; In the minutes, the hours, the days.