How Much by Mark Carlisle

They keep papering over the cracks

and I’ve just been feeling so ashamed.

So many straws on this camels back

yet there’s only one question remains?

How much longer can we carry on like this?

How much more do we think it will it take?

Until the over indulgence of the rich

the poor beasts of burden backs break?

Last Fading Traces by Mark Carlisle

Monochrome

two tone shadows

of our former selves

are all that is now remaining.

Spectres

now only glimpsed

amongst the darkening shades.

Growing steadily ever more threadbare,

diluted in essence of subsistence,

dispersed upon a mourning breeze

so thin and insubstantial as

a bleak winters morning mist is.

Driven

unwittingly

into this realm

where time is no longer available,

like lost souls in a victorian asylum

their tortured spirits destined to roam.

Forever cursed to wondering

the vagaries of profound austerity

as they’re trying so very desperately

to somehow find their way home.

Relentlessly

Maggie’s ghost

chases them ever further along,

bedlams endless empty corridors,

until they reach

the darkest corners

of deprivation and depravity.

Hysterically

ironically historically,

here the past’s

lies written in blood

upon the walls of her mausoleum,

walls that are lined so thickly

with all of the cold harsh realities.

Poignant portrayals

heart rending screaming

depictions of fables.

Silencing

the excruciating starkness

of all of the repeated failings,

those heartbreaking,

soul destroying,

hope stealing betrayals.

Frantically

trying to fight the pure bare futility,

searching to find some final way out.

But any resistance just becomes

more fuel for utility,

until we’re all truly feeling

Goya’s scream

as a shout.

Run! Hide!

Try your very best to survive

then escape from

these soft warm embraces.

But paralysed prey

we’re wrapped up in a web.

So totally trapped in the

labyrinthine way,

knowing much too soon comes

the end of the day

it never takes long until all that is left

is just the last fading traces,

exsanguined faces.

But Still by Mark Carlisle

                                                But

                                            still the

                                      earth endures

 Although the tides

      may rise and

fall

                   as those winds of

change do

                              blow,

                               the

                           deserts

                   becoming oceans,

whilst

        farmers fields

    may cease to grow.

But

            stardust

       is born eternal,

                                   this is a spark

                                      that never

                                           dies.

                 Mankind always

                      seems so

                        infernal.

                           The

                       rains are

                   heaven’s cries.

                                         But

                                     still the

                              earth  endures.

                         Can

somebody

please tell me why?

                                 .      Or

                                     if they

                              know how do I?

PTSD by Mark Carlisle

Illusions of Order

Conditioned

to respond to

every incidence

in life,

gives us

the illusion

of order,

when in fact

the whole of

our existence

is really totally

randomised.

The structure

we build is like

the invisible

protection

of a car

windscreen,

allowing

us to flow

ever onwards

throughout

elementals

without fear

of impedance,

remaining for

the most part

unseen.

So steadily

the miles can

carry on to

continually

unfold

behind us

as we are

moving

on

along

towards

the tiny rock chip

that has always

been there

waiting

for us,

our whole

life long.

This is the point

where it’s all

goes

oh

so

terribly

wrong.

The moment

where it fractures

is upon us

in the blinking

of an eye.

Realities

a crystal glass

that’s shattered,

as time

just ceases

to flow

on.

Bye.

Knights of Old by Mark Carlisle

Whatever happened

to all of the Knights of Old?

They who were more than

just both brave and bold

The ones who were ever

so very kindly and good

Whose loving compassion,

folk really understood.

Great men of high virtue,

yes men of true grit,

Who would never be contented

upon their laurels to sit?

Greedily hoarding their gold,

stocking full their ripe stores

Wallowing like pigs in the shit,

as it grows ever more.

A brand new Arthur

is what we all need!

A man with 21st Century

understanding indeed.

Who comes from the people

and who speaks for the folk.

Whose great power and authority

only God can revoke.

A man of high ideal

that really truly believes,

That the power of justice

can just never deceive.

Noble of heart defending

all who are downtrodden.

Wreaking vengeance upon all

whose gains are ill gotten.

Yes what ever happened to all

of these Knights of old?

They who were much more

than just both brave and bold.

They are all pensioners now,

old tired stiff and sore.

These great men who fought

the war supposed to end all wars.

What entitlement did they win

now that they’ve grown older?

When the care home semolina

grows much more than just colder!

The Law of Unintended Consequences by Mark Carlisle

Will we find

that very soon

before much time

has passed,

that a brand new

“Jungle”

will emerge

with roots

that grow

so fast?

Will monsoon rains

release their torrents

flowing with such

force,

bringing tidal waves

of sorrow,

flooding ever

further north?

Will the angel

weep an ocean

of tears that rust

her wings,

when she sees

the trees

‘long Alba’s border

now filled with

English men?

Do you think

she will be able,

to find mercy

in her heart,

for all those

poor lost soul’s

who’s world’s

are torn apart?

The Scots would

grant asylum

to all seeking

sanctuary.

Wouldn’t leave

them to just

get on with it,

the law of

unintended

consequences

arising from

the choices

they’ve made

so freely

now and in times

gone past.

We are after all

only human

searching for

some symmetry

in the chaos

of existence.

Let’s hope

that we never

lose touch

with our own

humanity

as multinational

companies

insistence

continually

forces us all

into a life

of

bare

subsistence.

Guiding Star’s Oh So Ferry Far by Mark Carlisle

Across the Channel burning like a lamp

Dover’s white cliffs are my guiding star

Seen from my “Jungle” concentration camp

Freedom’s so very near yet still oh so far

 

Thousands of miles we’ve traveled so far

The Jungle is just the latest way station

What I really wouldn’t give for a car

To carry me on over to my destination

 

Across the Channel burning like a lamp

Dover’s white cliffs are my guiding star

Seen from my “Jungle” concentration camp

Freedom’s so very near yet still oh so far

 

No turning back now the money’s all gone

It has cost me so much just to get this far

At the end of the day when all’s said and done

There’s nothing I wouldn’t just give for a car

 

Across the Channel burning like a lamp

Dover’s white cliffs are my guiding star

Seen from my “Jungle” concentration camp

Freedom’s so very near yet still oh so far

 

We are hunted as if we are less than human

By the UK Border Force’s rat catchers

So we mimic these most sneaky of vermin

Then pray to Allah that they don’t catch us

 

Across the Channel burning like a lamp

Dover’s white cliffs are my guiding star

Seen from my “Jungle” concentration camp

Freedom’s so very near yet still oh so far

Ain’t it funny by Mark Carlisle

They’re calling the times Austerity,
a whole world is falling apart.
A time for the greatest economy.
Wasn’t it right from the very start?
In this ever changing world we’re living in.
Ain’t it funny how somethings somehow?
Just always stay the same?

Hope is dying, all innocence lost.
Justice went right at the start.
Poor always bearing most of the cost,
whilst playing the greatest part.
In this ever changing world we’re living in.
Ain’t it funny how somethings somehow?
Just always stay the same!

It is now a proven scientific fact.
Things will just keep getting worse.
Once we’re born we begin to die.
That’s always been life’s curse.
In this ever changing world we’re living in.
Ain’t it funny how somethings somehow?
Just always stay the same!

These Rising Tides by Mark Carlisle

Can we ease

these rising tides?

Somehow calm

their powerful

forces?

Exert some counter

gravity waves

to rearrange

all of the

choices?

Or will this

insane imperative

climax,

just like some

wildly raging

tsunami?

Sweeping

everything

along in its wake,

as its rippling

threw out

our humanity.

Until ragged run banks

are so sorely ravaged.

All the lives they’ve taken,

completely savaged.

With blood running like rain,

coarsing uncontrollably.

Causing such pain,

all so unconsolably.

Or can we somehow

ease these rising tides?

Calm down the ploughing,

of countless farmers lives?

We could even put

a band on

cluster bomb strikes.

Stop seeds of hatred

sowing.

Let’s all have equal rights,

not just for those

in the knowing.

Is this really

where,

we want

to be

going?

Do we even

have a choice

anymore?

Did we ever

have one

at all?

Or is it just

the waves

lapping

at the shore?

For as sure as the moon

waxes n’ wanes,

as sure as the tides

evermore.

We all rise and fall.

That’s all!

How Deep the Unseen Scars by Mark Carlisle

Some days are better than others.
Sometimes I can even nearly forget.
But it never takes long to remind me.
That right away I cannot ever get.

Somedays it’s just
as I’m counting my blessings.
Sometimes this is
what makes me see.
For what makes me aware
of how lucky I am
also reminds me
of just how black
it has been.

There is no light without darkness.
Without the daytime there is no night.
But being aware of the contrast
doesn’t really help me
to make things alright.

Life is truly
a grand roller coaster.
There are no great heights
without true depth.
Does it mean then that the more
I’ve enjoyed myself
will determine
just how deep
the unseen scars get?

Still some days are better than others.
Sometimes I can nearly even forget.
If it’s only for a wee while,
then I will take it and smile.
For it might just be all that I get?

Who’s Next by Mark Carlisle

When there is nobody left to kill.
Will we bomb the rubble anyway?
Then send the taxpayers the bill,
to grease the wheels of economy.

When the middle east is irradiated
Will there be an everlasting peace?
Or do we find someone new to be hated?
Who will sit on the ducking stool’s seat?

Maybe it will be the turn of the old?
Or the disabled, or even the poor?
Will this blood lust ever grow cold?
Just so the rich can keep having more?

Impoverished ghettos, a world of pain.                                                       
Will they all form an orderly queue?
Lining up for the transport trains.
To be executed live on pay per view.

We should have abolished slavery.
Maybe we could have equal rights?
Who is there able to pave the way?
Bring us out of the dark into the light.

What’s in a Word by Mark Carlisle

Maybe?

There in that one word
A whole universe of potential
The flight of a stunning bird

Maybe?

An ambassador of hope
Light at the end of the tunnel
A ladder made from rope

Maybe?

A beautiful sunrise
Dispelling all the darkness
Opening my eyes

Maybe?

There in that one word
There’s really someone listening
Maybe I’ve been heard?

Maybe?

Surely I Would by Mark Carlisle

“Lighten up a little!” they tell me.
As if I don’t weigh enough?
That’s all very well for them to say.
They just don’t get that it’s tough.

“Try not to think too much about it!”
“Worrying doesn’t do any good!”
If everything was only so easy.
Surely I would do it if only I could.

Wake myself up out of this coma.
Shatter the chains from my heart.
Dispel all the dark of depression.
Start right over again from the start.

It’s just like I’m drowning under water. Without having the ferryman to pay.
Not sure anymore where I’m going.
Maybe I’ll find out along the way?

Vicious Malicious by Mark Carlisle

I very nearly made it!
I very nearly broke free!
Now they are sending me back.
No freedom barcode for me.
I really thought that I had finally woken up from this nightmare?
I thought that I might even have a chance to stop always feeling scared.
No more cluster bombs or missile strikes joining the dead of the night.
No it’s wild throngs of vicious militias, defiling our wives and raping our sons and daughters instead!

I really thought that I’d made it!
I really thought I’d broke free!
But it’s not over yet, is it?
Will it ever be for me?

Ever be for me?                           

Will they ever?

Let me be!