Having A Quiet Rant About Things - In Conversation With Louis Macneice Poem by Keith Shorrocks Johnson

Everyone now has a voice and the horse
Brings up its bridle in its teeth -

But none can refuse the sugar of the mouthing off
Or its harness
Better a sweet taste today than coming to a better stall,

We live for words sown in the air or travestied in slogans
Written on Facebook postings or Tweets of 280 characters or less

Our faces framed in selfies or posed with besties
Momentary fame for the record
Where instances linger indefinitelylanguishing

From familiarity

Subservient to a life that others nudge,
Even more utterly lost and daft,

Observers and consumers of triviality
Fancy lives - fancy that

While the many dine on fast food takeaways
And the dispossessed sleep in doorways

And the food cartons, fish and chip papers and plastic wrappers drift in the gutter

And now the tempter whispers ‘This is not slavery - this idleness and indifference is ours to keep,

It is no longer a matter of profit or loss - simply paying your way'

We are all degraded now - most of all those whose faces used to gaze up at the stars
Self-esteem is no longer an option - cream or whey
Notions of freedom and freedom of choice are now moot or is that mute
Permeate free - less processing

And I argue for decency and truth and compassion
Largely out of habit - a reflex action,

Knowing that should things even appear to right themselves
The illusion of a fair order of things has passed

The elite no longer even concern themselves with honour
And cynicism about ruling and the ruled predominate
In a world where giving the many a chance
Is a Big Wednesday Power Ball Draw

And concern about the standard of intellectual living seems utterly bizarre
As does the fear that the highbrow will impose any kind of consensus
On the ‘ordinary people'

Or that there is a danger that if you give a chance to people to think or live
The arts of thought or civilized living will suffer and become rougher
And will not realize a general improvement in the Human Condition

Get real - everything is now preparing itself for amnesia
Relapse then into sleep, to dreams perhaps and inaction

Or the nightmares that play of gangsters, sheikhs and charlatans
Or of hucksters, jihadists and populist deceivers

Power playing for the love of making a killing
Sitting on the greasy sofa waiting for the balls to drop
Grabbing women by the pussy, straight up with prejudices
Flat out with lies, fake news and half-truths

My concern about which is probably a matter of my private history
To be expunged or rebirthed
Or a personal pathology that stems from
Genetic flaws, hormonal imbalances and my Myers-Briggs typology

And the will and fists of those who abjure the luxury of self-reflection
Will inevitably triumph over the disorganized rabble of opposition
Where purity of motive is always a matter of contention

Thinking it through, seeing it through, seeing through it all
It is no longer a matter of moral merit, of sincere earnestness

Assuming personal responsibility is a delusion - a fallacy

There is evil unleashed- it is both within and abroad
It is teaching us to dance to its tune
Orchestrating and choreographing time and luck.