poems

Twinkle Twinkle

08/09/2016

Twinkle, Twinkle little star

The news ignored all that you are.

Twinkle, Twinkle little star

How I wonder why you’re dead.

Up above the sky so bright.

A footballer scored they said last night.

Twinkle, Twinkle little star

We must bomb countries for their oil.

up above the world so bright

turn off the news it’s all just –

Fake, over elaborative money grabbing attention designed to advertise or distract from one class act to another, why are politicians on Big Brother?

N.A.S.A discovers 715 new world’s! Can’t save the one we are on.Justin Bieber’s new haircut……seriously son.

The web’s an immense place full of learning potential. Five minutes online I’m watching a raccoon fight with a rubber pencil!

Distractions from a poor universe.

You weren’t born free.

You were born cursed.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2016

 

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poems

Activist Writing

08/09/2016

My head spins with potential for activist writing.

The cause brought, the challenge – inviting.

How companies destroy the mini me’s.

That’s too harsh – they are beyond our deep blue sea.

It would be more accurate if I was simply to state:

Theresa May act swiftly!
Activate article 50!
We’re kept in chains, centre stage to turn cogs. Name your blame.War on terrorism, plagiarism, Islamaphobe reactions to decisive realism.

We are the media, the government, the law. The subtle nuances in mind control from Geller to Tesla.We accept compliance, work to fund our cause.
We’ll give you a blank obituary on the back page with no remorse.

Went to war for us? Wasn’t fun? Congratulations stumpy you’re a homeless hero son.

20,000 Syrian refugees, come to the UK we welcome you. we’re the land of the free.

We can’t say gollywog we can barely say gay. We can’t infer a difference in any kind of way. The council rapes the slaves (That’s you and I per se)  don’t hold on to bitterness – that choice was taken away.

You may be lead to thinking I’m a new age Victor Meldew. Part of which as age transpires could happen to be true. Is it too outdated that our land’s for me and you?

Should I raise a raucous: My voice may become to loud. God forbid I stamp my feet, turn red or attract a crowd. It should then become implausible that I could remain free – lock me up in chains and throw away the key. If we don’t trust our government what becomes of you and me?

Our England for the English The Ireland for the Eire? I am not so hypocritical to believe the world’s a square.

If we’re raised with compassion, our differences aside. Then regardless of our colour. There’s love right here inside.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2016

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