The Poet And The Politician

Always somebody with the agenda,

chair in the corner

for recording minutes;

too many egos to contend with.

Organisation gives birth

to amnesia,

idealist globs of toothpaste

circling the drain.

The crazy paving splinters

good intentions

and still the minutes

being taken, all eyes on

the tedious clock as

time diminishes plans.

Changes compromised

in the bid for popularity;

[everybody smile]

appealingly human

leaflets shoved through

indifferent letterboxes,

in-between meetings

where others anticipate

shouting you down

for the hell of it.

Nursing a pint of trendy ale

in a draughty working man’s pub,

you’re left to wonder

when did this lick of power

start to resemble

sucking on batteries.

 

Passive activity kicks Whingeing’s arse.

Ideas plagiarised from dystopian novels

a maggoty mass in the mind,

half-formed voices growing louder as

they multiply; aggressive despair the sole option.

Poking at nests that repulse

only leaves me exposed, stung by a lesson

worthy of Aesop, a publishable proverb

…and doesn’t that awaken eager instincts:

the hunt, the chase…is it Waterstones

I desire to reign, or merely

the ears of several moody figures in black

squinting through the smoke; actual

attention instead of feigned interest

whilst composing their own performance?

I relish the thought of all those

“Told you so”s, and maybe

cringe at the cliché of bearded bard

in a badge-adorned blazer, thus

unlearned, unwilling and uninspired

I  remain, wasting forests in my

quests to raise

environmental awareness

…and myself to literary stardom.

 

 

The Ten o’ Clock News

radiates achievement;

applause and cat-calls

all constructive.

Stepping from cars into

the flashing dazzle of stories

corrupting purpose,

which can be dismissed

if you hoist your

rucksack of burden

into a sturdier position

upon proud shoulders.

Waking each morning

to the alarm clock

beeping responsibility and

reforms that can

actually be implemented.

Longing for the day you

can look back on

this church hall

mobilised with empty chairs,

a few haggard constituents

seated, arms folded, at the

back - all determined

to regale their

caring representatives

with personal trivia,

demands regarding whether

they can smoke;

dragging all down into

a gulf

of debate, which erodes

ten minutes.

The tea here is weaker

than your resolve.

                                But only just.

 

 

Other poets are better than I am,

and no one would care if I told them;

certain words not considered capable

of changing the world. Similes

and sibilance not comparable to

a truce, a truce:

papers scrawled with future betrayal,

because when you’re dealing with people

it’s all back-and-forth.

A moose is a moose, is a mouse in a House

where compassion is not enough

 to endear you to peers;

they want policies and Plan B’s

…insurance. So you scrabble

and scramble while I furiously

fast-forward dictionary

and thesaurus, searching for the alternative

phrases. Everyone’s so ambitious

and “no, thank you” isn’t an option

so I stay home and smoke

each Election,

struggling with themes and my dissatisfaction;

surrendering emancipation.

 

 

Songwriters and poets

throw out a few concepts

to stir citizen interest,

but the few books

they’ve read are

biased or flawed.

One stanza on poverty

or an anti-war chorus

generates general dissatisfaction

but no actual information,

so concerts and reading groups

are brimming with ignorance,

and these people en masse

are accessorized with it

at elections.

Each single sold, or

poem filed away

in a bulging portfolio

does not equate

a feasible solution.

The fans may call

it political,

enjoying reactionary produce,

but really ‘artists’

are just critical

on principle;

attempting to ignite a damp fuse

when sex fails to sell.

 

 

The aim of the Greats may well have been fame,

but the pedestal’s heights failed to tame

urges to engage the reader; whereas political intent is

driven underground  by that siren, Career.

You make your mark by changing lives,

for better or worse, loosening the purse strings

at will, denying the individual this and that;

drastic action, as opposed to attention to detail,

is what wins you headlines or a mention in

textbooks. Each rung of the ladder saps

ideals, attacking your Achilles heels – be it salary

or popularity – so that the entire point

of your persistence is chipped away like goodness

by the chisel of arrogance; empty declarations

will only buy temporary loyalty from ‘your’ citizens.

Lest you forget what you set out to improve,

we’ll train our collective  focus on the truth.

You may have passed the interview,

but, as your new employers, we expect value

in return for trust.

 

Author's Note

I'm hoping to make this a bit longer, if inspiration ever hits again.
Some constructive review questions:
a) Do the narrative voice styles stay consistent (for each of the two speakers, not for the whole thing)?
b) Does the rhyming work ok in the poet's final five lines?
c) Is there anything wrong with this piece? I'll be grateful for any thoughts.

Thanks.

Reviews

[Bubo]

Powerful piece..............a very political piece full of disillusionment and so many
words outlining the way most politicians work and elections.
I'm not a political person at all and don't tend to follow............but reading your
words I saw more here than any man standing in the houses of Parliament shouting
a load of T**s!
Brilliant..............I can't see a thing needs changing at all..............

By the way I have my read requests off as I was getting sometimes 50 a day!
So just comment me and I'll be right here.

[Emily B]

The last five lines of the poet rhyme?

I think about change. Big change. I think what can I really do. My two hands aren't big enough to affect much. My voice is small and not often heard above the everyday noise of the crowd. Gave me lots to think about.

I thought the voice styles remained consistent throughout the dialogue.

[F. Nazarov]

Well, I like them seperately, because once I put them together I don't see/understand the link between them. As it tranfers between the two, I fail to understand. Despite that, I do think the style changes for each character. As for everything else I don't know how much I can really say on the matter because I don't really get it.

[[untitled]]

I tend to yawn uncontrollably in meetings
or think/feel I'm about to do something
ghastly like drop my pants and do a
stupid dance.

I guess it all got moronic soon on,
then the influence of the Church
could not have been good.
Politicians and clergy are a demented lot.
And I sense from your poem the way it
affects are personal life.

Think I'm going to listen to Joy Division
for a few hours.

Excellent work! I must return to it for
further readings, I don't get it all at once.
Jack

[TL Boehm]

love the line 'globs of toothpaste circling the drain'
a maggoty mass in the mind
and the adorned blazers.
A scathing dissertation on the political idiocy.
I loved it.

[Gary H]

Funny when I read this I was immediately taken back to the 70's early 80's before the information highway really began to infiltrate the world. Everything has a dark feel to it but there's not a world out of place that I would disagree with.
I'm not sure whether the conversation should be continued unless you have a concluding point that you feel is essential.
I think the character development works well and is subtle. Would have been too easy to make each part too different. As the poem stands, the reading and interpretation is up to the viewer.
Another great write.

[R. MonaLeza]

Wow, I hardly know where to begin with this. I could take up massive amounts of space in this white box writing about my reaction to this piece.

The language that flows from the in the box and out of the box personalities jumps out at me like a blinding light. The wording is fabulous, the concept is fresh, something different and I really like that.

I am not one to review a poem for anything other that how it affects me as the reader and how much it makes me think. You have accomplished that on a higher level than I usually see here. I would highly encourage you to continue this piece! Forge ahead, poet, you're on a roll.

[Anthony Morningstar]

That's a sad poem but I love the word play in it. And how the stanza differnt front was or itlaced is that a word.

[Kim Jsn Richardson]

It's sullen but well written and more formatted as if it is a novel in the making. It is about discontent of society and the mental abilities that reflect the masses. Though I find the writing skills are heavy and work for your advantage, it shows the aspects of a working man verses the artist and his or her desires. Desire in the work force are often oppressed as well in conversation about politics. But artists/poets embrace all emotions and ride them till there is no more and I see that this is a problem in itself with the new age of the internet highway, where every bleeding heart or even hardened heart divulges their most intimate indiscretions. Shameful of society to utilize mankind's creative tools to their advantage. I find this piece to be a sad satire of truth and sorrow. Though, it makes me wonder what "real" job you have and your level of education and evokes sympathy for some who have not understood that there is more in life. It's classic fiction in form. ZZZZZ's my friend, like organization, plagiarized and mobilized. Makes me make think your British.

[Wendy G.]

"�and doesn�t that awaken eager instincts:"
I am a sucker for a line about instincts! seriously, I copied it as soon as I read it. It's something our society has forced us to do, and that is dismiss instincts

"thus
unlearned, unwilling and uninspired
I remain, wasting forests in my
quests to raise
environmental awareness
�and myself to literary stardom."

brilliant lines . . . not just these, all of them.

This was a fascinating read. I imagine this is what mid-life mellancholy looks like. I have no critique, this was just lovely

[JP thinks the WC is apt..]

A great satire!

I loved these lines especially: 'flashing dazzle of stories' and 'newsletters shoved through
indifferent letterboxes.

You have captured everything that is banal, self-serving and sinister about local and central politics. I was a local news reporter once and covered parish council meetings, of all things. This has taken me back to those dark, dreary and suspicious evenings; I can almost smell the library-dustiness of the council chamber. A great piece to which I will have to return with a more thorough review.