Poles Apart by Carey Lenehan

We ran in the same streets
but we walk in different worlds
You and I, poles apart,
thinking, not thinking
about understanding each other,
no chance of ever seeing
eye to eye
Equality unequally distributed,
you see you
at the top of the food chain,
whereas I,
a mere reflection of yourself,
am somewhere down deep in the pond

Skin, stature, sex, sin, sisterhood,
you will never see what I see,
only the walls of the world
that fences you in to conformity
with me on the outside because I,
dressed in the threads of exception,
find conformity too straight a jacket

You see the world numerical, divisible, distributable,
Whereas I,
who came from the earth and never left,
perceive symbiosis, unity,
the absolute art of the whole,
that radiant goddess
from whom you cut chunks
and pretend there flows no blood

You cannot make us alike because of a deed,
a slash of pen on paper
You drown in incomprehension
as we circle each other
swimming in different waters,
bound only by a name,
same same, but different

You have lost the real world,
as you count profits and study the Nasdaq,
allergic to green grass and fresh air
but I am still living there,
treading the wet earth between my toes,
watching the seasons change,
listening to the fading heartbeat
of your cash cow

My earth will take me back when I am done
but where will you go to, my brother?
Will you be divisible too?
Will your company count your profit and loss
and the trees mourn your passing?
Will the pipelines shed a tear,
will your office be refilled with
a clone of you?
Will we be equal?
Can you ever... be my equal?

PCP (Political Correctness Pill) by Carey Lenehan

I pop it in my mouth, this political pill,
feel it fizz on my tongue
and the back of my throat go numb,
Feel it whizz in my bloodstream
This PCP
Suddenly I become,
a POLITICIAN.

Now, I believe, I never inhaled
when the joints were passed at Uni.
Now only I know the way
the rest of you should live.
Well, just like me, of course

The effect of PCP
changes everything I see
The new black is white
and all the shades in between
As a Politician, only I know
How to manage the roads, or Justice, or Crime
or how
You should manage your time

In this Democra-sea, the pill changes me...
Now, I don't say what I think, but only what I think
you want to hear.
Now my opinions are loose,
change in my pockets,
available to the highest bidder

Let me check the text, to see what comes next.
Now I'm a man for all people, everyone equal,
below me.
Now I'm a prince amongst men, hobnobbing when
I should be sticking up for the poor, but
you see,
I'm not poor any more.

Now I must think of the years after
the effect has worn off,
when the nobs that I hobbed
whilst under the influence
will give me the job
of my dreams and all this PCP, wil be
behind me.

Pointless Dreaming by Carey Lenehan

I dream about innumerable things
Vast and fervent wonderings
Gallant knights and days of old
Battles fought and heroes bold

I dream of love immeasurable
Perfection so compatible
Tenderness and strength entwined
In virtuosity combined

I dream of wisdom all around
Of smokeless, bloodless battlegrounds
Where bravery can never die
And happy children never cry

A world in which the sun shines through
A never ending dream of blue
Where all of us are rich and fed
And innocence is never dead

In my foolish, wistful dreams
Justice always intervenes
Perfect truth pervades our souls
And unity becomes our goal

Perfect lives and perfect loves
Clear blue seas, clean sky above
No one too rich and none too poor
Then I would dream for nothing more

In This Hour by Carey Lenehan

In this hour
Categorized immigrants plod, hands filled with hope
in two directions, with one expression
Muted by dispossession and unsure
whether they will emerge
on the side of freedom, or despair.

In this hour
Low flying stockbrokers fall into ruin whilst
corrupt investment bankers
massage their payoffs
from the decks of superyachts
and fondle shiftless supermodels on crack

In this hour
Copper leaves drift relentlessly from autumn trees
falling with the grey children, exhausted by Darfur,
tiny amps of current dispersing, lighting out, switching over,
abandoning the world of light
for a place on the forest floor.

In this hour,
presidential overtones speak in tongues
tangling sanity to a nest of snakes so profound
that madness always reigns
whilst the flooded and dispossessed share only one word.
Survival
No translator necessary

In this hour
hearts begin to beat, icecaps break apart
and species cease relentlessly
as office wall clocks mark time with
the tapping of keys
and nothing changes

In this hour
All will be well, and all will be hell
and all manner of things will stay the same
in this hour