Money

Euro wouldn't believe it

Yuan could hardly credit it
Sterling is losing its shine
There's a Yen for nostalgia
But it time to get Rial
Financial Dollar drums are here

Polar Shrinkage

It falls upon green parchment

Writes in watery scripts
Clear words of change
Water is everywhere
And more is coming
The last rain of dinosaurs
No longer locked to ice
Is now freed by humanity
From frozen bondage
And its fluid antiquity
Leaching from polar prisons
Trickles into the seas
As we also meander to oblivion

Hope

What is expectation?

It is to be given a choice
It is wishing enlightenment
To be whole without conditioning
To live and to love each other
As benign equals
Without reservations
Without condemnation
And no fury, no winds of rage
May still this change
Bigotries rusty chains slip
Clatter to the floor of history
And…
The world may shake a little
But it will still stand
We are only evolving
After all
And once the bound are free
The world will change forever
To the good
And that is the greatest fear
Of those under the yoke of faith

Records

 

A vinyl revival is reported today
For some of us it never went away
We cut adulthood upon this black stuff
It was just about music; and it was enough
Formats changed and the world moved on
The noise of scratch and pop, long, long gone
Modern music is not really for me
The digital WAV and the dreaded mp3
I need something physical to actually touch
Mechanical and analogue we can love so much
And soon the young may come to understand
Why pay to see a masterpiece only on demand
When you can hold the original in your hand
Music's commerce was always pretty shameless
And format wars proved very good for business

Oscars 2015

Echoes of transparency

Whims of fate
That strike for the surface
But reach it not
Perhaps instance of noble designs
Or the ego of leaden need
Say you which 
But never gainsay me
Not I the gentle soul
That craves the soft applause
For the tears of worth
Though dried now for my art
Into a coinage of delusion
And this golden homunculus grins
But he does not smile for me
Not yet,
Though I love him much
But he doth love another
Fickle sprite, mercenary friend
But all is well, it is just pretend

Bafta's

 These errant horsemen of celluloid

And their maids of modest virtue
Make a rehearsal for the Pacific
For when adored and rewarded
Immortals need no guidance
They have The Theory Of Everything
In this Imitation Game called Bafta's
Indiscreet, fawning at whims of fate
In three scenes of irrelevant affluence
The fall of humanity played out tirelessly
What the camera may only do is reinvent
But year is young and champagne flows
And they will create more art and fame
While you may assuredly applaud again