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Though the grass is burnt and gone and bees have wendt their way
Ideas in simple sentences have wrought their will to stay,
That axioms in paradigm have fled the room as wind
Since vacuumed words of ruefulness gave causal to rescind.

Yet, though the grass is burnt and gone futility took flight
Where those engaged in conversation, fled into the night,
Gone to leave us well adrift upon a mirthless sea
Where, but for motes of condescension, thee and I would be?

Grass is burnt, now sadly gone, skylarks sing no more
Our stage resounds in silence, due the absence from the floor,
Perpetration whispers soft and echoes to the still
And dryness blows encirclement, eternally, until.

Angela Merkel is walking away
The mantle swings to they,
Who  aspire now to replace her
And seek to win the day.
Pray now for the wisdom of Solomon,
Pray now that judgment won’t lapse,
Seek the best of hope to Heaven
That Germany won't collapse.

Collapse to the howls of the fascists,
Engage the undisciplined sin
Of disintegration's extremism
Where the origins of ISIS begin.
Pander to thugs, now demanding,
An end to immigrant days,
Through implacable acts of violence,
In hatred’s interplay's.

The fog of **** yesterdays
Hang cold, suspended there
Like ghosts recalling Auschwitz’
Implacable dead stare.
The chemistry repeats itself,
Thugs roam the street,
Fear, the key, reflected
In the eyes of some you meet.

Russia wields the key to heat
In leveraging the play
While France, as usual, vacillates
With Macron’s “non vouz parle”,
Boris waves his Brexit flag,
Inexorably, in retreat
Whilst Europe spins confusion
To the people in the street.

Choose wisely, now, replacement,
Ensure the strength is there,
Clear future pathways sagely,
(I beseech you now to care)...
Forge the way ahead in steel
And falter not, your step
For fate itself, is in your grasp
For Germany’s self respect.

21 September 2021
Germany is Europe's lynch pin. The wealthiest nation, the most powerful industrialized country who, through Merkle's astute leadership, has provided, humane progressive refuge to the teeming refugees of Islam.
This to the detriment of the racial sensitivities of the increasingly vociferous far right of the country. Opposition now spilling over to incidences of thuggery and violence, hate and death. Angela Merkle's firm leadership kept a lid on it all and ran the gauntlet of political sniping from neighbouring influences........
But with her, no longer at the helm and in the face of rising insurrection, can Germany's huge, unwieldy equilibrium be maintained?
Then how, Dear Sir,
Oh please explain
Why Wetbacks suffer
So much pain?
Why clear across
This Southern land
The Mexican,
With calloused hand,
Wears sweating brow
For little gain,
To endure
The Insults' searing flame,
When draped, nay clad,
In racial slur
To which, it seems,
******'s concur?

In response to Wint's magnificent write "Worker Man"...questing deeply, why oh why, the Latins occupy such a low rung on the socioeconomic ladder of American society?

( When they contribute so much?)
Humiliation touched me so
The feather touch of shame,
In having dwelt the weathered blow
Of embarrassment in my name.
From dynasties of ages past
My forebears strove to be,
Procurers of the portals in
The family names’ integrity.

Dank there, in the background,
Lurked a mystery of Jobe,
The riddle of impeachment
In the silken theft of robe.
A murkiness in origin,
The doubtfulness of frame
And the odour of a lie
Within veracity's dark stain.

Seeking through the archives,
Questioning those few
Old survivors of the family
Has left me here, adieu?
The recollections misty,
Most anecdotes, demure
And records from the Parish Church
Irritatingly, obscure.

Just can’t put my finger on it,
Or actually part the mists of time,
Or establish the candidacy
In this querulousness of mine.
But due to some portentous queries,
Innocuously made,
And some snide, salacious whispers,
Maliciously laid?

Thus, despite the searing,  livid flush
Of humiliations hue….
I’ll resume my quiet quest
To energetically, seek, anew….
The very confirmation sought,
Without a trace of blame,
In the voracity and honour
Of my good family name.

Foxglove, Taranaki NZ
6 July 2021
You can't imagine the convolutions involved within this matter, nor shall you be privy to the secrets, withheld.....Ponder thus, as shall I.
Combinations, badly put
Assume dimension, found afoot,
The very stuff of human kind's
Ability to see ... whilst blind.

For instance, take the last four years
Where insanity drove dulcet fears,
Keelhauling reason's rationale
Beyond the realm, beyond the pale.

Consider this, Sir, if you will,
Fascination's trough of swill
Where every man beneath the sun,
Under the pillow, keeps a gun?

Intriguing how, across the globe,
Despite sophistication's robe,
Pandemic rages forth, unchecked,
To foolishness's disrespect.

Futility of righteous flame
In seeking absolution's claim
By whispering in hallowed ear
Thy Catholic sins in shades of fear.

East / West drowning in distrust,
Wall Street terrified of bust,
California's deep disdain
Of climate change's promised flame.

Some you win, some you lose
Wisdom depicts those who choose
Sink or swim, the game decrees,
Observing mankind on his knees.

Combinations, badly put
Assume dimension, found afoot,
The very stuff of human kind's
Ability to see ... when blind.

Foxglove, Taranaki NZ
12 July 2021
In every day, in every way, with the Holy Grail within his grasp regardless of how little or how much he possesses, man, in his utter,  futile blindness, chases his tail in the pursuit of the more, the bigger or the better!
 Jul 2021 Terry O'Leary
The wick is fading, and I have no matches left
In this dark abyss where I sit depressed
My valiant heart has become a perch for crows
Smile shaped in stone
Each embrace stiff and cold from my marbled soul
My arms depict a grasping hand
Reaching for a world these etched eyes will never know
Trapped in the heart of a withered artist
His mad dealings mold and make me
A victim of his musings
Crafted in a candlelit madness
Delicate delusions and vague allusions
To courage in the many veiled faces of death
Carved and set at the base of the steps
Howling through this thrashing gale
Trees in tempest force, impale
Rain obliterating sky
Small birds huddle, fliers die.
Such is like across our sphere
Some feel joy, others fear,
As interludes of temperance slide
Through each mans fate as each man's guide.

Within this world of steel and stone
One would cringe if thoughts alone
Could render thus realities
To life's wild actualities.
But threading deep through habit's way
There sits an urgency to say,
Amid good fortunes willing path
There breeds creations' laugh.

Be that the way of every man
Induced, perhaps, to understand
Should life take on pedantic path
To such degree, that one might ask,
Wherein, wherefore this wayward tread
In whosoever feels the dread?
Impelled are they to weave the day
In flatulating care away.

But born, the one, who seizes life
He casts asunder worry's strife
To grasp the beating heart of day
Enriching stimulation's say.
For born is he who laughs aloud
Whilst watching rainbows chasing cloud,
In supping nectar's love laced wine,
To celebrate... this gift of time.

20 June 2021
So much time is wasted shooting ****, extrapolating reason for this and that, analyzing endlessly the meaning of all things, "woke". Breathing meaningless stuff into each others ears as a performance of altruism as representing an exalted form of Messianic logic...when really, all that has to be told, is the simple, unadorned truth.
And with the gift of time available to Hell with the consequences!
Dystopia holds the key
To this worlds future misery,
Coagulates the values old
Man, in times past, used to hold.
Flocculates the chances caste
To, wherein once, the Gods might ask
Why seek this path to empathy
In thy chosen, cold, eternity?

16 June 2021
Planet Earth
A response to Patty M's chilling verse, "Where are the Children?"

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