Wednesday, 17 December 2008

December Skies

Some complain of darkness
But I love the tie-dyed dawn
Of December days,
Orange pinks and blues
Blend into to satin greys.

Midday’s steel skies
Are oppressive to my friends,
To my hardened eyes
The twilight of noon
Is as welcome
As soft kisses.

Dusk comes soon,
The brush-strokes
Of pink sweep the clouds
The mackerel skies return:
Metallic greens fading
To violets and
Indigo blues.

Oh how can one not love
Winter’s north?
The light of day
Made more precious
By it’s lack.
Open your heart
And let the beauty
Of December’s skies
Purge the darkness,
Turn your eyes
Upwards
And see.


Monday, 8 December 2008

At the time
I didn't mourn John.
It was the shock of a Beatle being killed.
At the time I didn't share John's views.
He wouldn't of liked me:
One of those crew-cut SOBs
That he so despised.

Now I am older
In the passing of the years
I have changed.
As I look back through recent history
I have come to realise
Who John was.

He was a man
From the outside who had worked
And gained everything
He thought he wanted:
Money, fame,
Women and acceptance.
He then realised
That most of it
Didn't matter.

It was shallow
And hypocritical.
John decided to live
Life on his own terms.
Speak with his own voice.
A hard voice for peace.
He meant it:
It wasn't lip service
To gain more wealth.

From an early age
John knew himself
To be a genius.
He decided to use it
To speak the truth.

He was in the position
To see society
From all angles:
From bottom to top.
He had the experience,
The intelligence
The passion
To use his voice
On behalf of humanity.
That is why I now
Mourn John

For years
I didn't miss him.
I miss him now.

Friday, 4 January 2008

Democracy Russian Style

Over Christmas we dined with several Russian friends. After one such dinner the talk turned to politics (for a change it wasn’t me who raised the subject). Our hosts are Putin supporters and the reason is that Putin delivers a better standard of living. Fair enough I suppose but what I didn’t expect was to have to defend the liberal democracy. The question was asked “surely you still don’t believe in voting?” As if I had just confessed to lingering doubts about the non-existence of Father Christmas.

In light of recent events in Pakistan and Kenya, who can blame them? Democracy as understood by the vast majority of the world is for the few. The recent thirty eight page dossier produced by the Pakistan People’s Party (formerly led by the recently assassinated Benazir Bhutto) apparently gives details the ruling party’s subversion of the democratic process. (I have tried to find a copy of this document, it would make interesting reading). It seems that Mwai Kibaki in Kenya has been less sophisticated, relying on simply delaying the count while using the time to stuff the ballot boxes. Putin on the other hand has been the most successful. He has been allowed to do this because he has genuinely sought to be popular. And in the main that popularity has been achieved by returning order to Russian society.

After the fall of the Soviet Union the rule of law broke down in every level of society: the democracy that was brought in with Yeltsin was in fact the rule of robber barons. As long as the President’s family was in on the deal, gangster-capitalism ruled. I could go to the endless media examples to illustrate this point but instead I turn closer to home.

A friend of mine in St.Petersberg is an excellent chemist and food technologist. He was the head food technologist in a small business. In the evenings he worked on new technology processing sunflower oil. After two years the new method was perfected and the patent was drawn up. Celebrations all around! Or it would have been if my friend hadn’t received an unexpected visit from two men he did not know.
“We like your patent. Sign it over to us or we will kill you.”

Putin hasn’t put a total stop to this kind of theft but for many, life is a lot more stable since 2000. After the criminal excesses of the Yeltsin years, that is good enough. Also Putin has restored pride to the country; going from 80’s superpower to 90’s beggar was a bitter pill for most but in recently the trend is being turned around. High oil prices and flexing of military muscle means that the feel good factor is back for the average Russian.

There is always a price though and in Russia’s case it is freedom of speech. Journalists (except in the tiny English language press) have returned to Soviet-style self-censorship, encouraged to do so by state persecution and even murder of colleagues. Oligarchs who have refused to bend the knee to Putin have either been imprisoned or fled into exile. They are not mourned by most Russians as the fortunes of the oligarchs were created during the corruption of the Yeltsin years. These times also saw Russia making many deals with western companies which with hindsight were seen as bad deals. Hence Russian moves to repossess assets such as Shell’s fields off Sakhalin Island and similar moves against BP in Siberia. It is this pressure against foreign corporations (especially British) that has led to degradation of Anglo-Russian relations, perhaps even more that the Litvinenko poisoning. I digress but all this conflict with foreign companies plays well at home for Putin.

Now we must look forward to the Presidential elections in March. I’ll leave the last word for now to the father of another of one of my Russian-born friends. When asked by his daughter who he intends to vote for, his reply was thus:

“I don’t know. Putin hasn’t told us yet.”

Sunday, 9 December 2007

Winter

Shunner of sunlight
Long darkness
Is thy pleasure,
Smoking clouds
Thy cloak;
Thy breath
Wet, cold and heavy.

Winter's gift
Is sleep and death
You winnow out
The frail,
The sick
And the hungry:
Cold hearted
Is thy rule.

Saturday, 24 November 2007

Force 10

Low sound rumbling
No engine
But machine like
Under the groaning
Gale

Storm verses steel
Pitch black sea
Against trembling rig
With violence is violence
Repaid.

Tuesday, 30 October 2007

Sand Hoppers

Last night I ran
Out into the countryside
Along a brown-grey road
That glowed underfoot.

Behind me a gibbous Moon
Shone from behind
Scad-flanked clouds.
Flooding the fields
With sharp shadow.

My mind was taken back
To youthful days
Fishing on night beaches
Carved from moonlight.
Sand hoppers would gather
Around the oil lamp
Ignoring the Moon above.

I wish I could have ran
All night
On
Upwards
To distant mountains.

I could not.
The town reeled me back
To its glow
And like the sand hoppers
I chose the light
That hides the night
From us all.

Thursday, 4 October 2007

Reading History

As I read the history
Of the last century
I am aware
That the pages
Are no longer
Made from paper
But are of white
Bone.

Ink
Black at first
Turns brown
Dried as rust
Words written
In the blood
Of those killed.

The dead cry out
To us
Not to write
Our history
In burnt flesh
And broken faces.