Monochrome Dystopia

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From Georges Méliès’ A Trip to the Moon (Le Voyage dans la lune) 1902

 

Words run through my head

like a freight train

everything looks like a Fritz Lang film

or Georges Méliès’ Le Voyage Dans la Lume

 

It’s all in black and white

the moon has a rocket in its eye…

smoke and rushing…

Caps, ties, shirts with removable collars

shoe shine boys – paper sellers

non-playable characters

Forever trapped in a Peaky Blinders video game…

 

Yet I cannot form a sentence

grasp an idea – formulate a first line

to hang my literary clothing upon to dry…

Dead relatives flirt with modern day girlfriends!

over soup and tea…

I’m shocked by their candour

Felix the Cat purrs

as it entangles its legs

inside my mind

Its claws scratching my skull

 

Oh! Just to grasp the tangible-secure

to tie this drifting ship

floating on a lake

without water or shore

Feeling so lost – but so amazed

astonished within my own imagination

without need for chemicals or alcohol…

Petrol to the poetic cause

Many destroyed who chose this path

of angst and anguish!

 

Forever falling deeper into despair

that washes up yesterday’s hopes – dreams

like the ebbing tide of Father Thames

exposing without pity the weakness

of those that don’t fit into any jig-saw

Completing a picture of damnation

 

Like an eel I slither back into the river

lost in its depths with old bikes

destined never to be ridden again!

drifting further out to sea

knowing not purpose or destiny

Forever grateful I drowned not in the ocean of bland

 

© Mark Bolton

Ode to Hereward

Tonight the chariots

are running through my head

destroying without mercy…

 

Truly my crime is great,

for in dreams and visions

I have spied the promised land…

 

Scales dropping from internal eyes

like dead men’s pennies

snatched by the Styx ferryman…

Freedom gained through truth

Jericho walls of falsehood, delusion, illusion

crashing down

 

Seeking refuge in the sea of reeds

for a year and a day

my home with birds…

Pursuers now vanishing

like mist over the Fen

melted by the morning sun

 

The great Wake rising

his fire burning within my soul

refining – purifying

cauterizing greed’s gangrene

of the noble lie

where introspection is reduced

to echo-chamber confirmations

inside the minds of those that rule

 

Babylon’s cruelty thriving

in the darkest hearts of men

devoid of conscience, love or pity…

 

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Picture from twitter.com/wakehereward

 

M.C. Bolton, February 2019

The Truth of the Urban Dandy

My name is Truth

I have stood since time’s beginning

Outside the hearts of man

Waiting for the invitation

a few will let me in

 

I am searched for by the flawed, the weak, written about by the poor

For only in humility

Can I enter through your door

 

Yet I can free you from delusions, false hope and empty dreams

From the world’s chicanery

All its crazy schemes

 

I am the small voice in the wilderness

A whisper in the breeze

be still, quiet, listen

For with me comes liberty…

 

© Mark Bolton

 

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France 2018, photo by Tom

Genesis January 2019

To truly capture the moment

realising time owns me

my master – enemy – friend

a paradoxical illusion

framework of dreams

mankind’s pathway to hope…

 

Reaching inwards

pulling apart ribs

to offer my heart

sacrifice to the universe

which deluded men pay no mind…

 

Building walls around their souls

constructing edifices to self

guided by pride, by fear

knowing not their fortresses are prisons,

prisms in reverse

 

Religion offering solace, order, comfort

ritualistic acts of piety

to a God who rends his cloak daily

at the futility of those

that are trying to earn salvation

through abstinence and deeds

 

Enlightenment obtained by grace

which brings change – shows mercy 

beyond comprehension dimension

even beyond time

yet in this moment

never beyond God’s transcendental love…

 

 

door to antiquity

Poetry by ©M.C. Bolton, January 2019

 

Art: Door to Antiquity by Ikram Awaale (instagram: ikram_awaale6)

 

 

Legion of the Damned

Forbidden to vocalise

what I see

state-controlled reality

usurping individual freedom

 

Plastic offended, weak minded

rising up in the pecking order

of those that wish to destroy civilisation

bully boys once bullied

using the state to bludgeon…

 

Shout loud – be heard

control the word

step out of line

phobe-isms thrown like hand grenades

into pronoun verbose bunkers of scholars

 

Your verisimilitude world

will crumble like stale cake

in the hands of a beggar

who sits on a heap of dung

manufactured by beetle-like scurriers

safe only in their own detritus

 

No humour or irony allowed

in your cowardly new world

where weak insipid men rule

legions of the damned

like Goths at the gates of Rome

 

Be aware of true freedom’s voice

slowly arising from the dust

destroying all in its path

as the worm of truth

released by God

devours all that is false

in both doctrine and policy

leaving naked those

that built upon sand

 

Arms raised, I leap into the sun

adding fuel to a fire

that will burn both bright and hot

forever more…

like an eagle i soar

 

Poetry by M.C. Bolton 2019

Art: Like an Eagle I Soar by Ikram Awaale (instagram.com/ikram_awaale6)

Boxing Clever

I just want to be a righteous man

bring love ‘n’ peace to where I can

cannot live by your twisted rules

made by those I see as fools

 

no matter your race, faith or creed,

accent, class, LGBT…

whatever you are is fine with me

Yer, we’re all being played

like a cheap violin

Same old tune – same old din!

 

Identity politics

fed by emotion

told what to think

deluded devotion

accusation – the new weapon of war

Thought Police now coming

to kick down your door

 

Utopia creators

mind mutilators

shifting sands of ideology

must control new technology

left-wing fascists? How sad

Political fashionistas chasing a fad

 

Into the sunset – slowly I ride

away from madness – brains that are fried!

This much I know – this much I’ve learned

lonely are the brave – respect is hard earned

 

I know my enemies – they come with a knife

know where I stand – they want my life!

You come as a friend – offer your hand

take away our freedom

give away our land

My faith in my God

will always be true

whatever my journey – it will carry me through

so all aboard this final last train

full of men and women

who’ve learned to live with their pain!

 

Like Lenny I see rabbits

running round inside my head

yesterday’s dreams, as George shoots him dead!

Like an Autumn leaf

crushed inside a small child’s hand

Nothing but dust – blown away like sand

My time is over – my time is done

this shy peaceful man – forever on the run…

 

 

©M.C. Bolton, November 2018

 

Armistice for the Soul

Flanders

Emptying the toy box of my heart

Old soldiers without limbs

Cars without wheels

Airplanes missing wings…

Such distant boyhood memories…

Wars fought – won – lost

What have I become?

My complex mind

Forever computing

the daily input of knowledge

as I seek truth

deep inside my core

refusing to be caught up

in this phony war…

 

A masquerade of lies

of conflicting ideologies, faith, values…

Peace pursued with aggression!

As I make my stand

in no man’s land

Shelled by both sides…

 

This war to end all wars

Vietnam – Troops wearing peace badges

Playing hippy music – smoking weed

Destroying with napalm…

All who oppose…

 

Fighting for each other

Brave men – Good men

Now the army of the disillusioned…

Like us all shuffling along

blinded by the fumes

of the meat grinding media machine…

My only agenda – to survive

Stay alive – not get stuck in the wire

dragged down – to drown in the mire

The last post a distant soundtrack

as I weep, tired, weary

understanding nothing

except my love for Indiana

my daughter – my bub!

Unconditional – strong

Unlike my faith in God

Whose love I doubt

Inverted pride mixed with fear…

 

Oh! to be set free

from such insanity

that grips – rages in my head…

Forever tormenting my mind

A prisoner of shame and guilt…

Wash me in your precious

blood, my saviour

Bind our wounds

Heal this broken land….

 

©M.C. Bolton, November 2018