John Dowdall Poems

The brutal don't know what song to sing,

They cannot see the path to take,
...

Dedicated to Edward Snowden and all refugees to Europe.


Of all things that subsume and distract the mind lethargy is the worst. No culture shall stand if its soul is not purified by fire. Distractions abound everywhere. And now a righteous man is country-less.
...

I can't let you swin out to the darkest waters,

my life would be over if anything happened to you,
...

When I'm gone, it won't be in vain.
I stand and make our restitution here.
Their was something I couldn't see,
our dreams were pushed through muslin, they couldn't
...

This is a burning time for others, a killing time for the just, not justice, just a loathing of all the otherworld around us, who do, or do not, sing or whoop or smile, this artifice is directed to win, and lose, and judge and conserve, and protect and serve and alleged cruelty is but sweet dessert wine to bloat on, and get sick on in comfort until our own values don't infect us anymore, while more excuses for burnings are found, as the ouroboros feeds on his own tail.

So sit on your mercy seat and pronounce deft and dead handed judgements on the others five or six thousands miles away (and at home) and swill your dry acidic corrupting wine, while as a responsible authority you will always suceed, and forget Fallujah, kill and prevaricate at your leave, secure in the knowledge that the others will always be there to do the same, as the ouroboros feeds on his own tail
...

I feel sullen and tired in this world of men,

I have fallen in to a deep dark chamber.
...

The ambient city streaks and sounds,
the intangible street has lost it's form.
But what is it that makes a sound
and shifts, turns, moves the diorama around?
...

Not only is the one sight seen
from any perspective or
in a dream or near sleep,
at start of day, or coffee-time
...

The terrible thing she seen,

was the light fading fast from Tyre.
...

For Amnesty, Clemency and Asylum


In the violence of change,
...