Sunday, 2 June 2013

Dreams Of Happiness And Bliss

I wrote this poem over 10 years ago, while I was acting as a carer for my parents when they were very old and fragile, but re-reading it yesterday made me think how relevant the content is to what is happening in the world today, with a virtual mainstream media blackout on stories which show up governments in an especially bad light. I'm thinking especially about disabled and extremely sick people in the UK who have suffered as a result of the Work Capability Assessment as conducted by ATOS on behalf of the DWP.

 
Dreams Of Happiness And Bliss

We all dream of happiness and bliss,
That the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Will grant us this
But I am tired of how haphazard
And how erratic all this is.
I do not want to know celebrity gossip
Or who is in the A-list
Or to learn about the details
Of their phenomenal wealth.
It makes my stomach turn
When I’m confronted with the fact
Of the ailing health
Of those of modest means
Whose lifetime of honest toil
Invokes little gratitude
Or concern.

© Geoff Davis

Monday, 1 April 2013

The Powerful Slave

Give me control of a nation's money supply
And I will control its people
But I cannot control my greed
So I am not master of myself.
I am a slave to my greed.
I am not free.

I cannot control my arrogance
So I am not master of myself.
I am a slave to my arrogance.
I am not free.

I cannot control my bogus sense of superiority
So I am not master of myself.
I am a slave to my bogus sense of superiority.
I am not free.

I cannot control my negative reactions
So I am not master of myself.
I am a slave to my negative reactions.
I am not free.

I cannot control my habit of self-justification
So I am not master of myself.
I am a slave to my habit of self-justification.
I am not free.

I cannot control my unconscious manifestations
So I am not master of myself.
I am a slave to my unconscious manifestations.
I am not free.

I cannot control the indifference to suffering
Fuelled by my subjective opinions
So I am not master of myself.
I am a slave to the indifference to suffering
Fuelled by my subjective opinions.
I am not free.

I cannot control my violent temper
Rearing its ugly head
When confronted with opposing points of view
So I am not master of myself.
I am a slave to my violent temper
Rearing its ugly head
When confronted by opposing points of view.
I am not free.

I cannot control a sense of false pride
At my prestigious position in the big society
So I am not master of myself.
I am a slave to a sense of false pride
At my prestigious position in the big society.
I am not free.

I cannot control my willingness
To send people to their deaths
Rather than concede that I could be wrong
So I am not master of myself.
I am a slave to my willingness
To send people to their deaths
Rather than concede that I could be wrong.
I am not free.
I am death itself
Even though I walk and talk and breathe.

© Geoff Davis 2013



Saturday, 9 March 2013

Holy War



I was inspired to write this poem after watching a TV documentary "la guerra Santa" on the History Channel last night.
 
Holy War

There is no such thing as a Holy war
For no war is ever Holy, nor
Can men, who are more
Than mad machines, ever kill
Or commit indiscriminate mass murder
Then rejoice and shriek, “God is Great!”
That is the ultimate blasphemy,
The ultimate heresy,
The ultimate apostasy.
Such creatures are the true kafir,
Light-years away from Seeing,
Light-years away from Being.

Who can cure
Their psychological blindness and paralysis?
Whatever you conceive God to be
God can only ever be Great
When “men” struggle with their capacity
For hatred, hostility and contempt.
God can only ever be Great
When “men” struggle with their tendency
To judge while justifying
Their own words and deeds.
God can only ever be Great
When “men” struggle with their capacity
For vanity and misplaced self-confidence.
God can only ever be Great
When “men” struggle with their tendency
To be impatient, self absorbed and intolerant.
God can only ever be Great
When “men” question their certainties,
Stripped of objectivity, those certainties
Which all that is false in them
Holds dear.
Those two words: Holy War
Were never intended for the ears and minds
Of mad machines and literalist brutes.
Perhaps we should change our language:
The Inner Struggle is a term that suits.
 
© Geoff Davis

Tuesday, 6 November 2012

Atos Kills (A Sort of Sonnet)

Since I left the UK for Sardinia I've been keeping in touch as best as I can with everything that's going on back home. Few things have touched me, or made me as angry and indignant, as what appears to be happening to very sick and disabled people who are having their benefits taken away as a result of a very crude test by ATOS called the Work Capability Assessment. It astonishes me that very senior politicians like Cameron, Grayling, Osbourne and Duncan Smith are turning their backs on the fact that a large number of people, who have been found fit for work as a result of a WCA test, are dying shortly after the test (something like between 32 and 73 a week depending on what figures you believe.) It's as though these politicians wish to pretend that this tragedy isn't happening. Here's a poem I've written about it:-

Atos Kills (A sort of sonnet)

ATOS kills, or so they say,
The tragedy and distress,
Subterfuge, unholy mess;
It's like a William Shakespeare play.
The laws of decency can't apply
To sufferers of cancer, heart disease
Or schizophrenia, if you please;
Found fit for work and then they die.
"Zero points. Go get a job!
If you die it's hardly worse
Than sponging off the public purse
You weak, pathetic, scrounging slob!
Just think of all the dosh we'll save
While you are resting in your grave."

Geoff Davis © 2012


Friday, 11 May 2012

Opening Stanza from Choruses from "The Rock" by T S Eliot

To date I have been using this blog in order to share my own work but there's something so profound and beautiful about these words of T S Eliot that I felt compelled to share them -


Opening Stanza from Choruses from "The Rock"

The Eagle soars in the summit of Heaven,
The Hunter with his dogs pursues his circuit.

O perpetual revolution of configured stars,

O perpetual recurrence of determined seasons,

O world of spring and autumn, birth and dying

The endless cycle of idea and action,
Endless invention, endless experiment,
Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;
Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;
Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word.
All our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance,
All our ignorance brings us nearer to death,
But nearness to death no nearer to GOD.
Where is the Life we have lost in living?
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
The cycles of Heaven in twenty centuries
Bring us farther from GOD and nearer to the Dust.

T. S. Eliot (1888-1965),
The Rock (1934)


http://www.wisdomportal.com/Technology/TSEliot-TheRock.html 

Saturday, 2 July 2011

Che cos'è Dio?

(This is a translation into Italian of my poem What Is God?)


Che cos'è Dio?

Dio è dove
l'ego non ha voce,
dove la Coscienza ha una oggettività
più di una coscienza
culturalmente o religiosamente condizionata,
dove l'umiltà ha confidenza e innocenza e perspicacia
che appartiene a tutti e a nessuno.

Dio è dove
ogni pensiero, sentimento e movimento violento
sparisce in Silenzio,
dove non c'e polemica
nè spiegazione nè analisi.

Dio è dove
le parole e i numeri ballano,
si scambiano i vestiti e i significati
in un Universo che insieme confonde e delizia.

Dio è dove
le etichette che affibbiamo agli altri
e a noi stessi
non hanno valore,
è dove noi persone
stiamo provando a Capire e a Essere
tanto quanto le nostre limitazioni permettono.

Dio è dove
i pensieri che girano in circolo,
e ci tormentano,
rinunciano e ammettono la loro propria impotenza,
dove la reazione è sostituita dalla riflessione.

Dio è dove
il personale e l'astratto,
l'allegorico e l'attuale
si uniscono.

© Geoff Davis. (Translated from the English by the author and M R Selenu)