Author: Dux …

The manufactured glamour of the bunker busting midnight hammer Sending profits rocketting With good old Boeing pocketting the spoils of oil fed power games & mountains full of holes. Twelve bombs rode sorry skies revealing b*llshit in the lies On seven bombers flown in stealth the Pentagon transferring wealth. Achieving nowt but escalation Bullies pushing…

Nameless are the multitudes, the victims of an endless feud & shameless are the voices who pour oil upon the fire Witless are the arguments of those who call it self defence A vantage point upon the fence, the hypocrites and liars Innocent the many dead, the fallen mothers, rivers red & those who died…

I listen to what’s being said  about the Madleen on the Med & know that truth is somewhere hid  upon the waves of what was did. The what was didnt, didn’t land The what was couldnt understand The why was simple, couldn’t see The how was when things ceased to be. There ceased to be,…

I visited a Junkyard, in 2033 I took my time to look around to see what i could see. The shelves were full of broken dreams,  forgotten hope & twisted memes The clothes of recent Emperors  lay tattered at the seams. The place was full of Tesla & testosterone and bile Machines which massaged egos…

Nature notes Distant hedgelines froth in lacy ribbons, Blackthorn attired with subtle fragrances. Willows burst into softened bud as the Cherry begins to dress itself in wedding wear. The Plum joins in the race to find its dazzle in the high pressured times. Paths have become treadable once more as the waters of winters recede.…

Another day another dump Another bruise another bump Another twist another thump Another jive another jump Another lie another lump Another slur another slump Another deal another stump Another tiny hand fistbump.

Gethsemane, a long time ago ; an Olive grove with space to grow A myth on which a creed was formed, a time which saw a legend born. A prophecy and all it spoke transformed him from a humble bloke Into messiah, he who rose, ascending as the story goes…. A holy man from Gods…

Upon the cuckoos call I wait In garden mode as April ends Amidst the chatter from the hedge The melody of feathered friends. Returning wings from Africa To bring the sound of summers tone The rise and fall, the beck and call Of culculus returning home. The migrant songstress calls her mate A flagrant song…

On Denmark Hill with time to kill I sit and drink my coffee dark Ahead of me a workshop waits A Lynam time of Modern Clown Upon a dreamless night I slept And rose to early pinkish dawn To find myself awaiting fate Refreshed, about to be reborn. Confetti on South London’s breeze the blossomfall…

Torrents of abhorrence from across the twisted pond Maladjusted reckoning, a tide of endless wrong Inanity, polarity, profanity and bile the scent of orange Lunacy upon his crooked smile. With sycophants and cronies hanging on to every word Perpetuating damaged lies with rhetoric absurd. Making nothing great again, an omelette full of stink upon a…