Starlight

Starlight reaching down

to graze my soul

across millennia; 

light years 

of existence 

in a single instant. 

How often 

have I scanned 

this ancient dome of sky 

to seek some solace 

from the fraught insanity 

of life? 

Orion’s shoulders 

and angular Cassiopeia; 

the static pulse of Polaris 

and the meanderings 

of Draco as he traverses 

the milky carpet 

of the silver winter sky; 

All provoke the pause, 

the gaze of wonder, 

a catch in the breath. 

Many times 

the light from 

distant worlds long gone 

has arrested my vision, 

washing over my mind 

with inspiration. 

Steve Wheeler © 22 November, 2020

image source

Dream me

Dream me into existence 

and I will be there 

hovering like an autumn mist 

in the vestiges of your mind 

Think me into being 

and my presence will be known 

beneath the veneer of your knowing 

inside the colours of your imagination 

Steve Wheeler © 17 November, 2020

image source

Endgame

It doesn’t take a Herculean effort / to see that life on this fragile blue planet / is becoming precarious and more than it / can contain is coming down on it / as nature writhes around in a febrile fit / while we transform each forest into a barren desert / and there seems no easy way of stopping it / as each corporation grasps for its share of the profit / we see the loud mouthed social media misfits / and hear all the political spin prophets / selling their souls on the back of it / and looking away from change in the climate / as they continue to deny there’s anything in it. // 

This is more than a tragic shame / and we all need to take the blame / rich and poor, all of us are just the same / no excuses, whether justified or lame / we just sold our planet down the lane / when we took our eyes off the ball in the game / and our children’s futures are running down the drain / as we start the countdown for this planet's endgame. // 

We have long been abusing our tenure / when we think we can do what we want here / but as the sea levels rise dangerously higher / and destructive storms become increasingly stronger / and drought and floods are an imminent danger / the odds are becoming so much longer // 

as we try to prolong our collective survival / our carbon emissions stand without rival / and you know this stuff is far from trivial / though the will to stop it ain’t controversial / but all of the top climate change deniers / and the myriad ignorant science decriers / conveniently overlook all the facts in the files / they’re fiddling while the earth is on fire / like Nero did as Rome’s flames burnt higher / every last one of them is an absolute liar / each one is a self-interested betrayer / all part of a cabal of elite conspirers / hellbent on taking this down to the wire / while the Earth sits upon its own funeral pyre / and the future for our children is critically dire / and the world’s population is foundering in the mire // 

We’re living in a world of torment / where we all of us could easily prevent / the world’s next extinction level event / if only we would mutually consent / to limit the rubbish we have sent / up into the sky and the firmament / we know the atmosphere is not infinite / and our resources were never permanent / but the population seems to be hell bent / on a global scenario involving detriment //

The exponential rise in killer diseases / signals imminent destruction of our species / and while our survival chance decreases / it’s likely we’ll see the mass decimation / of our society in this next generation / with industrialised total domination / and ecological saturation / through the wanton, thoughtless jeopardization / of the health and safety of the population. //

This is more than a tragic shame / and each of us need to accept this blame / rich and poor, we’re all in this the same / there can be no excuses, whether justified or lame / for the way humanity has played this game / we collectively sold this planet down the lane / each of us has initiated this planet’s endgame // 

Steve Wheeler © 12 November, 2020

Photo by Pixnio

Pain

Time may not heal all our wounds 

nor the passing of the hours defer 

but other things may ease your pain 

Paracetamol for a kick off, Sylvia 

Steve Wheeler © 10 November, 2020

image source

Alchemy

Could you turn water into wine? 

Transform base metal into gold? 

Bring an unruly mob into line? 

Can you unfreeze a heart that’s growing cold? 

Steve Wheeler © 9 November, 2020

Image from Pickpik

Doorsteps

Rumour spread quickly. 

It didn’t take too long. 

Cheap lunches on sale. 

This way. Follow me. 

It soon became 

the student lunchtime throng. 

We would queue outside the back door, 

come rain or shine 

out of sight, waiting to order / 

ordered to wait, in line 

It was a strange place to queue, 

but none ever complained 

at the rear of the newsagents 

over on Folly Lane. 

Out front the shop legitimately 

selling papers, journals, magazines 

In the back room, selling 

doorstep sandwiches 

from a doorstep, unseen. 

You could have any flavour you liked 

for fifty pence (just half a quid) 

as long as it was cheese and pickle 

(or sans pickle, but no-one ever did).

Students are always ravenously hungry 

so we took all we could get. 

We would sit out on the grassy verge to eat, 

except when it was wet. 

The owner carved judiciously 

with his lethal looking bread knife, 

Hacking great doorsteps from 

fresh loaves of bread; 

sometimes it was his wife. 

Reinforcements stacked to one side 

like some far exotic mansion. 

On the other, Cheddar cheese blocks 

and massive jars of Branston. 

Carved into rustic lunchtime meals 

for hungry students just like me. 

Doorsteps on the newsagent’s doorstep 

way back on nineteen-seventy-three. 

Steve Wheeler © 8 November, 2020

Photo by Steve Wheeler

Agitpróp

Propaganda for the mind 

Ideology between the lines 

Dubious rhetoric and fiction 

Master of the tribal friction 

Spin doctors weaved his lies 

Ignored the many plaintive cries

Send it out to fool the masses

Forced division of the classes 

Agitation of the crowd

Whispering quietly, shouting loud

Workers of the world unite

False consciousness will blind the sight

The politics of fear and hate

Stopped by the people's mandate

Fallen now, to rise no more

Crushed in pieces on the floor

Steve Wheeler © 7 November, 2020

image source

Love is a metaphor

If love is a battlefield, I’m a loose cannon 

firing my salvoes across your bow. 

If love is a garden, I’m an unwanted weed. 

Take care, ‘cos you reap what you sow. 

If love is a wildfire, I’m out of control, 

consuming all things in my path. 

If love is a journey, I’m a bump in your road; 

I’m the snake you find coiled in your bath. 

If love is a galaxy, then I am a comet, 

my orbit burns bright round your sun. 

If love is an animal, I’m a cat among pigeons, 

ruining your day before it’s begun. 

If love is a market I upset the apple cart, 

the fruits of your labour all over the place. 

“Houston, we have a problem” right from the start 

The craft of our love is adrift in deep space. 

Steve Wheeler © 4 November, 2020

Image from Pikist

Propaganda

Image from Pixabay

If a poem falls in my notebook 

but no-one ever reads it, 

does it exist? 

When presidents spin their webs 

and turn a lie into ‘the truth’ 

should we resist? 

When everything goes pear shaped

and your plans are laid in ruins,

should you persist? 

If suddenly you disappeared 

from the face of this planet, 

would you be missed? 

Don’t fall hook, line and sinker 

for the vapid propaganda; 

of the vain election pledges 

that promise a bonanza 

of wealth and health and happiness 

contained in memoranda. 

(The answer is a big fat yes 

to each and every stanza). 

Steve Wheeler © 3 November, 2020

Image from Pixabay

Nonchalant sky

Arrhythmic metre of this union, 

remnants of our turbulent past. 

The muted spotlight of a watery sun 

casting light and shade contrasts. 

The waning of the evening light as 

a pock-faced moon is rising high, 

illuminating errors and regrets. 

Cold, beneath a nonchalant sky. 

Steve Wheeler © 3 November, 2020

Image by Steve Wheeler