Skip to main content

And so the end of spending

 

And so the end of spending

 

And so the end of spending

It’s gonna be tight the rest of my days

I won’t afford cafes or pubs

Maybe an art gallery opening for a glass of wine

Cheap cuts of meat, deal with the gristle

As long as I’m writing I’ll have my calling

My poetry is not extrinsically motivated like so many professional ‘artists’ today

I’m doing God’s & (hu)Man’s work

I just need warmth, food, water, some alcohol, internet, electricity

I’m going to be poor

I have fallen from the middle class

No war pension for teachers cast to the scrapheap

Though that’s really where the knowledge wars are fought

I gave it my all, was always feared & hated by leadership

Because my kids were activated & enthusiastic

They want drones

The whole economy is about drones

Drones to wage slave

Drones to spy on us

Drones to drop bombs

Poetry is despised because it is about the invincibility of the human spirit if activated

& so I will start my revolution from a trailer home

It is the glory & honour I live for

& when people sneer at me going by

Or friends greet me when we meet

They will say “there goes a poet”

In ancient Eire/Ireland my ancestral home

Poets were fed before kings

You of Britannia's rule have had poets despite yourselves

& the ones you commended, patriotists

But my Fenian heart, my rebel soul

I will liberate angels from your prisons of control

& beat the bodhran

& intone the ballads

& turn your herbologist’s gardens

Into shadow & light salads

I will reverse the tides & call it nature returned

& the order will crumble

& the tolls will bell

 

& the poor will rise

United black & white

Because undeniable it will be

Humanity set free

 

 

Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2024.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

‘The Garden of Love’

  ‘The Garden of Love’ (after William Blake)   Some young punk Tryin to be ‘hard’ Pussyole! with his mate Said “no flowers!” I was holding some wildflowers To put in my vase at the apartment I asked him “why not?” He said nothing That’s right keep walking bish! To bloodclot! I don’t walk around defensive So I’m not quick to attack I’d rather they think about it themselves ‘Without flowers there is no life’ He dreams Try that on for size ‘You say “no!” to flowers & you say “no!” to life’ Echoed on the wind 'You can’t eat money!' Unity & Devision He hears across the wires 'Not that way!... ... why have you forsaken us?' He feels the ancestors   & again I am reminded of Blake’s ‘The Garden of Love’*   Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.   * The Garden of Love By  William Blake I went to the Garden of Love, And saw what I never had seen: A Chapel was built in the midst, W...
Post a Comment
Read more

Apology for an evil word (draft)

  Apology for an evil word   by Malachi Doyle   I wrote/drew/painted this art book in Respekt for the child soldiers in Australia the British Empire AmiKKKa & of course Momma Afrika The French German Italian Dutch Spanish Empires Jesus Asia The Middle East South America Central America The Carribbean The Pacific Islands The former USSR countries The former Yugoslavian countries… My Nation’s & the world’s Asylum Seekers Child Detention Centres & the World’s poor country city neglected homeless  abused persecuted ignored ridiculed dismissed forgotten the murdered & raped mutilated totured  the beaten those who suffer the effects of Authoritarian & ‘soft’ Tyrannies skooling shitstems & other corrupt institutions Corporations in short the Vampires who suck “Earth Mother’s Women’s Child”rens’ blood,   I can’t express how I don’t wanna eat I have lost my appetite I wish ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Babel is beautiful

  Babel is beautiful   Covid really hurt Dad & me I was prevented from visiting him for two of his twilight years in Aged Care Which I do understand   Anyway, With his dementia By the time I finally saw him He’d deteriorated a good deal & death seemed to be approaching He was basically non verbal by now This dedicated ex-priest, school teacher & poet   One day at a visit soon after He seemed really ‘down’ He managed a couple of abortive monosyllables Over a few hours He seemed ‘not really there’ & then stunned me   He uttered “suic” I was shaken I thought my meditative father had finally lost out to despair As in “suicide”   For the next few days at work Teaching, following on from my father I had difficulty focussing & the word stuck with me Always in the back of my mind For his remaining 2 bedridden years & through the days of deep grief I received for him his death as...
Post a Comment
Read more