Words are not enough.
Those that are not meaningless
may simply lack importance
or else be capable of
myriad interpretations.

Let us set aside dissimulation
and deception by flattery.
Let’s put an end to empty words
or unctuous, or sanctimonious,
holier-than-thou, obsequious,
intended-to-deceive euphemisms.

Words that were the greatest boon
to civilization: that made it possible
for humans to engage in dialogue,
to see inside each other’s hearts,
to identify each other’s needs
and substantiate our own,
took on, eventually, another role.

Time it is to recognize
how words have now become a tool
for scoundrels to dissemble.
Time it is to liberate the human heart
from language that holds us in thrall.

Time it is to reconnect
with our humanity.

I remember when
our golden dreams
inflamed my heart.
But the earth is warming
and my heart is now
a block of ice.
The fires that you lit
were excessive
and I needed to cool down.
Cast your dragon’s flame
away from me.
Let my blood spurt forth.

If you can see within yourself,
to discover the nature of your being,
dislodge the shackles of slavery,
and know what hides the truth,
perhaps the way to freedom
unto you may be revealed.

And yet are there not those
who may enjoy their fetters?
Those to whom liberty
is nothing more than loss?
Those for whom freedom
may exist only in *******?

For such sad creatures
liberty implies responsibility
and if prepared to pay the price,
those others who would curtail freedom
may find the shackles not enough,
whilst being free is being lost.

The liberty in an instant gained,
may be abandoned in an hour.
A state achieved too easily,
inevitably is poorly prized.
Those who claim to favour freedom
must be prepared to give it up.

Freedom can, like power, corrupt.
The liberty to live one’s life
oblivious to temptation,
implies a generosity of love:
to say that “I will give to you
what I would willingly deny myself.”

Freedom is as freedom does,
the tree of liberty must be refreshed
as Jefferson informed us
with blood of patriots and tyrants.
Freedom has to be, it must be said
and must remain, unfinished business.

As I make my progress through life
I am aware constantly
Of the need for answers
and I am equally aware
that I have not been asking
the right questions.

When a fish swims,
what is its destination?
When a bird flies,
to whom is it flying?
And when you leave me . . .
when you leave . . .
Where?
Who?
Why?

Les mots que j’emploie
Ne sont pas meilleurs
Que ceux de n’importe autre poète.
Mais les espaces entre les mots
Les espaces alors!
C’est là où demeure ma vraie poésie.

The lies of Boris born
Were sent to mock us.
They fed us milk of Capricorn
And not the lactococcus.