"bureaucrats" poems
look me in the eye and tell me that you love me
or was it all a sad story that you unconsciously believed
while you raided the fridge and fornicated wildly
too late is not really an acceptable position
and later on is usually an example of indecision
and sometimes specimens reject their predicaments
especially if they are eventually going to be your dinner
i am sure that i am here to usher in a new authority
resurrected like a phoenix i must be stronger than before
so even if forever is often equivalent to never
and september is the month of seven (or was it nine) serpents
that are to be reborn in the dawn of Time's obsidian
as our minds have spent oblivion in the forges
of turgidly engorged shores, torn from their former continents
as forms are always gripped in hands who choose intolerance
take administrators, lawyers, bureaucrats and clerks;
as examples of this; par excellence
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
Fever-flushed children and
Broken bodies
Litter hospital halls like so much
Human refuse
….Wondering why
their need for care is treated so tepidly by a
Society which worships
Profits
Power and
Prestige
….Waiting while
they wallow in anguish as
Privacy
Paperwork and
Payment are
Debated by bureaucrats in cubicles
….Wanting to be refreshed and
restored to some measure of usefulness
….But
Free to Pursue Life on their terms in exchange for
Silence
Acceptance and
Despair
Huddling for warmth and in
Fear of discovery
they assemble in rag-tag formation
having scaled formidable fences
Seeking freedom from
Poverty and oppression
Searching for work of any sort
….No matter how
Humiliating or
Hard
….No matter the
Cost or
Conditions
Disparaged and despised they labor
in hope that their children will have a chance for success
instead of suffering a similar fate
…..But
Free to Pursue Liberty
in a land where their presence is
Ignored if not Denied
Unkempt in camouflage
One-legged and
Vacant-eyed
he rolls his rickety wheelchair along grassy median with muted effort
displaying cardboard sign
childishly scripted
in one weather-worn and gnarled hand
while clutching a decapitated jug in the other
Forgotten
Forlorn, and
Discarded veteran
Victimized far more by country than foe
….But
Free to Pursue Happiness while
Begging on street corners as
Upright citizens dispense
Unwelcome opinions or
Pocket change with equal
Self-righteousness
Life
Liberty and the
Pursuit of happiness….
Ideals that slowly incinerate on the
Altar of Capitalism
….Songs forever lost in the
Cacophony now
Played on the
Instrument of Politics
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 7:17 PM UTC
Bureaucrats and clergymen
differ only in doctrine.
But their altars steam
with the blood
of untold innocents.
The Pope, Stalin, and ******
all canvass the people
with warped visions
of Paradise.
(Oh, Celan, you saw it
too well.)
Bloodletting for peace...
Pitchforks stoke the fires
to make dainty foot warmers
for Moloch and Midas.
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 8:57 AM UTC
Dr Manmohan Singh is the most honest Prime Minister
Ms Sonia Gandhi is his dearest sister
India is proud of Her Silvery Himalayas
And her Inestimable super scandals
If She is able to progress with such a large scale corruption
Which is as vibrant and furious as volcanic eruption,
Every foreigner must be jealous of her glorious future
If the politicians become a bit patriotic in nature
G2 spectrum is the greatest scandal in India of incredible magnitude
The politicians and the bureaucrats need to be complimented on their fortitude
Mother India is a benign Goddess of great treasure
She can withstand any arson , looting,robbery or exploitation beyond any measure
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 2:18 AM UTC
Mad politicians threaten nuclear war
While madder religious maniacs
Send suicide bombers to **** and destroy.
Bombers brainwashed into believing
That vestal virgins await them in heaven.
Children starve
While adults fight
For bits of land.
A world divided.
Plagued by hate and distrust.
Governments killing their own people
Except when tied by nameless bureaucrats.
Forests and wildlife being cleared away
For the sake of gold or drugs
Or other means of making Money.
It’s a mad, mad world.
In which everyone is born to die.
What use is that?
Perhaps already we are living in
Hell.
Just Saying.
Paul Butters
(C) PB 1\5\2017. 2 new lines added 8\5\17.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 9:02 AM UTC
The wind is curiously silent tonight.
Nothing disturbs the deep darkness,
but the wafting scent of madness.
In the desert, captive children
toss and turn, whimper and sleep,
the government their souls to keep.
They will wake to razor wire,
and the company of strangers,
caught in concentration camps
of unknown bureaucrats and guards
blamelessly following the orders
of distant, calculating masters
who play political chess
with the lives of the innocent.
The country that separates
mothers from their babies
will rise and ask no questions,
going about its business,
buying, selling, grasping at more,
untouched by this insanity,
kissing its own kids good morning,
unwilling or unable to feel or see
the malignant cancer eating its way
through the complacent, rotting soul
of what, once upon a time, used to be
the home of the brave,
the land of the free.
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 7:09 AM UTC
I know what is killing the reef*
the bureaucrats are just lying
they know why it's coming to grief
and, before its time's up, dying.
When you consider just how much
is being made through tourist trade
those ill effects of human touch
you'll understand what evil's made.
Sure, there are other things as well
it would be foolish to deny
and of ignorance not to tell
but the main one is a fare's pry.
The reef's a large ecosystem
that's been here for millions of years
many creatures from it do stem
human pollution gives no cheers.
The wonders by sight that it gives
won't allow a stone left unturned
causing harm to it as it lives;
another problem by man churned.
Nature's real gauge of climate change
has now been rising steadily
making the weather appear strange
and the reef languishing to be.
It will be required for a while
to leave it alone and help it
recover from the human guile
that's only destroying to wit.
If we don't recognise this truth
or cause of the problem at hand
it would only deny our youth
of them ever seeing it grand.
Too much of a good thing can be
turned into something bad for all
if those involved but fail to see
the damage caused and so forestall.
Just think of what life would be like
if we could now do something to
prevent such a disastrous hike
but failed to act or carry through.
----------
To reverse the trend, where possible, of an adverse condition or situation
we must take certain specific opposite measures with due consideration.
S.O.#128 © 2019 George Krokos
___________________
Jun 3, 2019
Jun 3, 2019 at 8:35 PM UTC
Who put the “sub” into “subversion” and “subculture”?
Was it the same people
Who built schools:
Those prisons
Where kids are tortured
And brainwashed
Into being “good” conforming citizens –
Factory fodder
Trained to sit in lines
Labouring at meaningless tasks,
Questioning nothing?
So still we are ruled
By Tory Grandees and Brussels Bureaucrats
Keeping us in our place:
Social Control
Over Job Centre slaves.
It’s the same the whole world over:
The rich wallowing in luxury
While the poor starve to death
Exposed to pitiless winds.
For once words fail me
About our Unfair World.
Children dying everywhere
While fatcats feed in a frenzy.
No wonder people talk of Revolution
And terrorist plots.
Our air is full of carbon
While trees are cut
Down
For seas of palm oil.
We need to reconsider
What we do
In all our ways.
Enough is enough.
It’s time to nurture nature
As denizens of Planet Earth.
Paul Butters
© PB 23\11\2018.
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 6:35 AM UTC
*i've been to kenya, all that these "charity" adverts are fuelling
is ignorance, they're presupposing
all the african nations are like kindergarten,
they're insulating them... it's like that:
give a man fish or give him a fishing rod,
i.e.: give a man money or give him a
method creating & subsequently circulating wealth:
these charitable companies are insulting
african nations to be at a loss,
they're only feeding european bureaucrats
who are really the only worthwhile
charitable pay-cheque givens, odds 4-5.*
a retired lady selling poppies
for a feeling
committed suicide
being hunted by ninety-nine
charity organisations...
charity organisations...
start-ups akin to apps of
cue: shaved face, young, eager
****** venom ****** statues
of jealousy...
all the bankers' wives have
a tier system, the origin of
charity companies
(surely a wife can't be as pristine
as her husband):
first two don't count,
third: modern art "collector",
fifth: philanthropist,
seventh: possessor of an O.B.E.
and as one bemused englishman said:
king arthur and the zimmerframe table
of knights with walking sticks rather than swords:
money made people lazy, less adventurous,
let alone less tribal and communist,
adventure just became predictable,
tourism...
the modern shopper is envious of
the hunter gatherer... so envious
he wants to look the part, but live as modern
lazy allows... after all... all the gym sessions
can't go to waste... got to run standing still:
hey! don quixote! leave the windmills!
check out the treadmills... you see a caveman
anywhere in the sweaty parlours?
i don't.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 7:31 PM UTC
Of Mice and Men
The mice in Belgium do not eat fine chocolate
They scoff at imported Swiss cheese
And have only contempt for a left- over bacon burgers,
they feast on plans of roads and buildings
I blame EU for this the mice have bureaucratic
And go through stacks of programs especially those
About repairing tunnels and roads
Bureaucrats of any hue are working overtime
Try keeping up this losing battle against mice
So many cars choking up the roads Islamists
Have to go to Paris when blowing up people.
The British demand for special concessions will
not last long the mice will see to that.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 2:21 PM UTC
perhaps we do not wish to admit,
that the majority of the words we speak,
the conversations overheard, even without intent,
leave us not awash, not suffocating, but
mesmerized in an awful way
squelching tirades of banality,
humdrum housework life's tirades of
meeting basic needs, functionaries of life,
bureaucrats of our domestic affairs,
accountants calculating marginal cures,
overridden by the occasional impulse,
which delights until it too
is humdrum-ed out of existence
a passing blazing ambulance
begs to contradict,
reminders that there are
crevasses on the city streets,
that in minuscule moments,
life becomes twisted making our lethargy,
a course 101 introduction to tragedy
but this is not the norm,
this imbalanced equation,
1X = 99 whys,
to survive,
to justify,
to mediate
between these un-counterbalanced weights,
I write poetry
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 6:57 PM UTC
Prayer Before Birth (1944) - Poem by Louis Macneice
I am not yet born; O hear me.
Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat or the
club-footed ghoul come near me.
I am not yet born, console me.
I fear that the human race may with tall walls wall me,
with strong drugs dope me, with wise lies lure me,
on black racks rack me, in blood-baths roll me.
I am not yet born; provide me
With water to dandle me, grass to grow for me, trees to talk
to me, sky to sing to me, birds and a white light
in the back of my mind to guide me.
I am not yet born; forgive me
For the sins that in me the world shall commit, my words
when they speak me, my thoughts when they think me,
my treason engendered by traitors beyond me,
my life when they ****** by means of my
hands, my death when they live me.
I am not yet born; rehearse me
In the parts I must play and the cues I must take when
old men lecture me, bureaucrats hector me, mountains
frown at me, lovers laugh at me, the white
waves call me to folly and the desert calls
me to doom and the beggar refuses
my gift and my children curse me.
I am not yet born; O hear me,
Let not the man who is beast or who thinks he is God
come near me.
I am not yet born; O fill me
With strength against those who would freeze my
humanity, would dragoon me into a lethal automaton,
would make me a cog in a machine, a thing with
one face, a thing, and against all those
who would dissipate my entirety, would
blow me like thistledown hither and
thither or hither and thither
like water held in the
hands would spill me.
Let them not make me a stone and let them not spill me.
Otherwise **** me.
Louis Macneice
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 4:09 PM UTC
*The world shall fall as they fall
In their ruin, everything will follow
And so it ends
Bring in the seraphim
Tear the pure clouds, reveal the gods above
If doubt is a stronger virtue
Then I am its paragon
Women fall at lofty feet in a harem
Gorging on peasants' spines 'till faces turn mauve
Fear is the new moral breakthrough
A scale higher than the utmost echelon
The world shall destroy as they destroy
In their ruin, everything will follow
And so it ends.
The snake bite no longer stings
Calloused as a tyrant's compassion
The purest hands do grow relentless weeds
As they laze on the filthiest plots
Kings and hearts mount to slings
Foreboding most malleable deception
Blood spills bright on their letterheads
As truth gets set by red-handed bureaucrats
The world shall burn as they burn
In their ruin, everything will follow
And so it ends.
Marksmen are wealthier than diplomats
Golden bullets to the golden rule
The trend is to laugh at our silence
The principle is to break lives not dictates
There lies no purgatory for these aristocrats
On to the vile ember cesspool
Until then, they fawn in worldly omnipotence
And not one revolts, not even conscience
The world shall end as they end
In their sceptre,everything follows
And so it goes on.*
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 2:41 AM UTC
Dames dimeless during durations of
duress, unless uniform wardrobes
in cuneiform earlobes eloping in last
gasps of breath, breathed by an opposite
*** on a raft drafted and crafted by
bureaucrats that sat upon rat traps.
The fat cats gasp under last laughs.
They can yap about the fallen all day
and paid based on grades in a vicious
cycle of buy - sell - trade. They caved in
as Persians sigh at the fading world
hurled beneath convuluted swirls of black pearls.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 2:34 PM UTC
To all the churches
To all the picketers
To all the bureaucrats
To all the
Sinners
Don’t you know?
God is kindness.
That’s all.
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 12:43 AM UTC
#*‘Tis but the flapping of the sail,
And not a rent made by the gale*!
H. W. Longfellow
When bureaucrats, with obfuscation
monotone in data-speak
and mumble to their mutinous nation,
bloodless vessels spring a leak.
Scan in vain the rolling breakers;
leadership is out to sea.
Overscripted undertakers
claim to speak for you and me…
The Ship of State, adrift, becalmed
floats on; a most ill-fated craft.
The body politic, unembalmed
begins to ripen fore and aft.
The crew, grown callous to the rot
and numbed by such expediency
with one last desperate cannon shot
forsake all hope of mutiny.
While computers spit statistics,
crewmen spread the expectant word;
(no more trust in mere ballistics…
hope delayed is hope transferred.)
“Make ready to abandon ship !
The captain’s just a talking head.
Lower the lifeboat, let her rip –
before, like him, we end up dead…”
The Ship of State is rent with breaches
data-leakage, data driven –
the lifeboat flounders, coral-riven
seeking distant wave-washed beaches.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC
Power...
the power of health bureaucrats
has never been more
greatly exercised
since the advent of the
pandemic in our
daily lives
Control...
governments have taken
full control
by which they can stop
us from freely partaking
in an outside stroll
Greed...
big phrama being granted
exclusive rights
to sell millions of jabs
world wide
thereby excluding other
forms of treatment
oh yes
power control and greed
in these recent times
have become
the cardinal creed
Sep 23, 2021
Sep 23, 2021 at 12:44 AM UTC
When common sense prevails
And Whitehall gets demolished
Once politics has died a death
When voting is abolished
The world can then recover
From an era of attrition
But mindful of the wandering
Redundant politician
For safeguarding the public
And ensuring that our nation
Is free from slimy bureaucrats
With dodgy legislation
Is vital for survival
So we’d better reemploy them
And here are some suggestions
As to how we might enjoy them
They could bungee jump volcanoes
For the National Geographic
Or lie down in a busy road
To calm the morning traffic
We could shave their glossy hair off
And turn it into wigs
Then pulverise the rest of them
For feeding to the pigs
If you’ve just made a coffee
And spilt a little drop
Then grab one by the ankles
And Presto! It’s a mop
Just roll one over nettles
If ever you’re impeded
And stand them on the riverbed
If stepping stones are needed
They’re great for hanging coats on
And extinguishing cigars
They’re useful safety dummies
For testing foreign cars
If hollowed out and quilted
They make a fetching scarf
And quite the conversation piece
If pickled, cut in half
The list is almost endless
And I’ve mentioned fairly few
There’s a myriad of ****** jobs
To find for them to do
But first they should be rounded up
A vessel must be chartered
To send them to the front line
Of the wars they ****** started
Sep 14, 2019
Sep 14, 2019 at 5:09 PM UTC
They **** the Earth
And take
Its Riches
Killing Mother Nature’s things.
Corporate corruption crushes
The common people
As Euro Bureaucrats
******* the Nation-State.
Religious Fanatics,
Who shall be nameless
Seek to impose their Laws
On every Land.
Beheading anyone who differs,
They let their brainwashed suicide bombers
Wreak havoc
All across the world.
We know they’re wrong
And know we’re Right.
But what can we do?
It’s time to fight.
This world is mad.
All craziness goes on.
Another breaking-news.
Wot?
Paul Butters
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 9:12 AM UTC
All distinction is gone, and we are doomed. No representation exist, it will be over soon. Clones of each party reflects the other. Nothing is new under the sun. Once a clear distinction existed between two factions, now they both grumble and tell lies. All are awash in money while the unwashed masses starve. No help can be found in the seat of power, the chair is one size to fit the posterior of whoever happens to sit in it at the time. Rhetoric abounds but says little as dysfunctional bureaucrats shuffle endless reams of paper from one box to the next in a pretense of accomplishment that would fool even the wisest of the Greeks. At last the utopia is in sight. All persons have one point of view whether they like it or not. Society is reduced to numbers of the haves and the have not's with the former being less than the latter but of a greater status. Reaping all of the harvest and leaving little for the unwashed masses, as they close ranks in androgynous politics that mirror the same thing.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 6:32 PM UTC
I glanced at you -
an expression of calmness.
You hold your alcohol well.
You hold yourself better.
Art holds me together,
but it's all a waste.
Paint left to crack,
sxx, expended energy,
words that will fade,
alcohol pxssxd away.
It's all a fxckxng waste.
A taste of escape short-lived.
Some hands were made for rings,
others to wave goodbye.
Love is art of a devilish kind.
Survival of the fittest became
a game of Russian roulette
in the players hands.
And we play forgetting that the bureaucrats
are masters of counting cards.
The barrels will fire either way.
Sobriety will not save you
and wine will deceive you.
It's best to leave them for the masters
and play your hand anyway.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 12:23 AM UTC
I worked at the Ministry of Transport
those days,
a mere employee in a workforce of
three thousand
barked at and moved about
by bureaucrats and faceless executives
but we the meek had our ways
to assert our power some days
that day the drab announcement
came over the PA system
a speaker above each corner
snapping an order at you:
*“Will all personnel
parked at Sector 4
remove your vehicles
to Sector 5 immediately”*
And half an hour later
while I was having a smoke
with my friends and they with theirs
came an order from the speakers above:
*“Will all staff who went to remove their cars
return to work without any delay…”*
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 8:13 AM UTC
Amongst robes of satin and gold,
Stood three men of stories told.
There a wise man, of no reputation
Holds before them, behold! Such elation!
In his hand thrice a curious box,
So the men exchange in outrageous talks.
"What joke is this? Off with your head!"
And forcefully arrest him in his stead.
But this man of origin ignoble,
Without struggle of position immobile
Surrenders each a box to these bureaucrats
For each in size of one cubic inch at that.
And before the sound of earshot fades,
"Beware when you open of what cascades!"
So the man is silenced into his tomb,
Leaving mystery lingering upon the room.
Each a man such such ferocity,
Inquires upon the box with curiousity.
Without caution the first man tears it agaze
So the mind's eye bursts into bountiful blaze
*And so, what ** It is with your haste! Your pompousness, your distaste!
I shall pry your sight to show you light, yet ne'er a way into your heart's blight!
So much so even the sun's fusion surrenders in succession to stiffly cold ice,
Forever forgotten, forever forewarned of your fervent fear and greed and vice.*
So his mind comes about, facing reality
Shrugging his fate of ultimate finality.
Such the second man tosses it aside,
Yet it flies open, where he cannot hide
*So you, your apathy, your content in nothing! Shall you idle forever true.
Knowledge has tainted you, pride stricken you, you stand tall a pillar of stone.
For stone you are, and stone you shall be! So much a pillar of salt of the the sea.
Tossing aside the weak and the encumbered to cares of yourself outnumbered.*
Fear is struck in the heart of this,
No longer for such a heart in bliss
And the third, the final acutely aware
To open the box with everso care.
*Thee the third, the final, your pleas! Absorbed and plowed by evil's devotee.
Hold your heart true, all prayer endue a baby's flesh shall imbue thine heart!
For I know your deeds, and you unlike no other! Yet let them smother you not.
For seek and you shall ascertain, knock to make the truth before you naked.*
So fallen in reverence upon the knees
A chill rendered without cold breeze.
And the three transformed by man ignoble
Yet not simply here, but to judgment global.
Alas, remember this time of year,
A time to hold dear and cheer.
The time to recount first breath,
Yet a time to celebrate death,
Defeated.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 12:41 AM UTC
In my dream I usually
make it to the bar,
it's a particular bar
an odd bar
It's at the end of the shopping mall
In my dream
just past the book store,
the bar front looks like some
kind of Irish pub
no sign
no windows
oak doors
rock walls
fine finish,
you walk in
your shoes so perfect
with it's fine carpet
of red silk,
to the left of the bar
sit the politicians
the lawyers
the bureaucrats,
they all laugh and spill their drinks
sloppy in corruption
smirks and disgust
powdered ******* noses
glass eyes,
to the right of the bar
is where I sit
and also
sits the average freaks
the 9 to 5's
the norms
the ones that still hold on to a dream
but work to survive,
a dream
for a dream is the only
hope left worth holding onto,
I drink and laugh
at the ******
staring next to me,
I blow cigarette smoke
In their face
"what the **** are you looking at, aha?!"
******* ******
they stare at me with their
blank dead eyes
and
their ******* sag
ripping out of their
musky ripped blouse
almost knocking over their drinks
in sorrow
and their *****
their ***** hang
over the bar stool
coming down like a quake
an avalanche,
the China man to
blows smoke in their face
and we both laugh
in cheers
and on any given Sunday
at any given moment
the little blue man escapes from
my heart,
the little blue man then guzzles
down what's left of my drink
and the China mans drink
then leaps across the bar,
the little blue man glides across
the silk red carpet
like some kind super human mutant freak,
the little blue man jumps and slaps the politicians
slaps the lawyers
and gnaws on the skulls of the bureaucrats
like the cannibal they had made him,
eating the flesh
as if it were his first taste of meat,
the hunger of a man trapped on an island for twenty five years,
a conscience that has been trapped in a soul for twenty five more,
in my dream I usually make
It to the bar,
It's a particular bar
an odd bar
and tonight I didn't,
maybe they were closed
maybe they weren't,
"tell me something little blue man,
is there a heaven in hell?"
"only for the saints." -Shane Book
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC