re trial.

Incorporates Kafka re trial and Banana republic.



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poems@blueyonder.co.uk

Kafka lands resurrected in Crewe
deposited by his silvery alien craft,
And whilst he is wondering what to do
He is asked to show his pass
Or pay an instant one off fine
At the cash dispenser of his choice
And they are checking all the time
On his irises face and voice.

Plus of course they find that he is not,
They discover he just cannot be there,
Although he seems as if he is visible,
And has hands and toes plus hair,
If he is not on the Great Data Bank,
He plainly and simply cannot be,
He is not listed and he is not ranked
He is surely not like you and me.

So they cant detain him in custody
But they do not have to let him go
He never ever happened, period
So who can ever tell, or know.
So on a lonely bench in quiet shade
He sits alone and unremarked,
Wondering what games they play,
Against the backdrop of the park.

And so, are we just the opposite,
Are we all consigned to hidden files,
Are machines deciding who we are,
Where we live, and when we smile,
Is nothing certain and real fact,
Unless computer correlated true,
And should your dossier go into error,
How can you prove, that you are really you.

How do you ever verify yourself for a loan,
If your ranking gets compromised,
How do you overturn all their data,
Making you a pariah in others eyes,
You may hold letters of validity,
They may grudgingly know its you,
Unless their system grants absolution,
There is nothing they can say or do.

So unless we are verifiable as sound,
And our image assuages Superhal,
No one will ever trust us again,
No one will ever want to be our pal,
But this bodes not like yesteryear,
When quick query cleared your soiled name,
Your questions are merely registered,
And you just get advised how to complain.

Complaints are collated and quantified,
They are cross filed and referenced,
You must never lose this number,
And you must never take offence,
You are continually adjourned,
Or moved to yet another floor,
In the hope that you will falter,
From all that has gone before.

Meanwhile youre mugged, not statistically,
Contract MRSA, but its not on file,
Your children cannot read or write,
But their qualifications raise a smile,
You always hit potholes that dont exist,
To save waiting on trains that dont arrive,
But whose flexitimes prove you missed,
The only one late out of fifty five.

You cry out to be heard aloud,
But the echoes mock your voice,
Simply cannot afford the telephone,
Cant bypass enforced menus of choice,
Cannot contact a single human being,
By department, name or reason,
All this evolved like a dripping tap,
Season upon big brother season.

Then one day walking in solitude,
Your will to try nearly quenched,
There is that quiet of the shady park,
There is serene man upon the bench,
Who looks at you knowingly,
And asks if you ever truly read,
And says Then I am Kafka,
You Must Tell Me What You Need.

So He went up to their doors,
Our Nameless Man with Faceless Face,
And bearded them in that hallowed den,
Their plush revered and holy place,
And caused unmitigated consternation,
As he either was not really there,
Or indeed actually physically existed,
Solidly sitting silent in his chair.

So they asked him what he would want,
If he were real and not mere illusion,
For his appearance was so inopportune,
His face and features causing confusion,
His DNA was an embarrassment,
Never born, nor listed, or created,
Never taxed, treated, nor arrested,
Never receiving a non education.

So he stood up to his full height,
And drew up his deepest breath,
That made him seem immortal,
And made them all fear death,
And his mighty voice resounded,
So much the walls retained his words,
We want to be individuals again
We want to speak and to be heard,
We want our voice to really matter,
And we want to hear no more lies,
We want illusion swept away,
Replaced by council of the wise,
We want common sense to prevail,
And not statistical subterfuge,
Which tries to tell us its all ok,
When we know it must improve,
We want you to abdicate and take,
Your machines and Mandarins away,
And we want it done immediately,
Oh Yes, we want it done today.

Or else I will shine in prime time,
And then all will see its me,
The man who is not Kafka,
The man who simply cannot be,
Then where will your credibility go,
Will they ever listen to your pleas.
No, far better for you to go now,
And leave reality to me.

And they went away in disarray,
Whilst he proclaimed a new era,
No one knew who the hell was talking,
But yet everything seemed clearer,
Everything was as it appeared,
Nothing hidden, devoid of the lies,
And no one filed his disappearance,
When he finally left our skies.


They can media us its always fine,
Statistic prove what cannot be true,
They can try to justify their lies,
Attempt to airbrush history in two,
They may perceive us all as fools,
Force fed on false soap opera goals,
But cannot forever control our minds,
Nor assume they own our souls,
For Long term lies have multiplied,
And now are ringing empty and hollow,
What seemed so reasonable yesterday
Will be disproved upon the morrow,
And with these endless lies surfacing,
Just Like The Man Who Could Not Be,
The truth will slowly become visible,
And the truth will set us free.


Banana Republic

Like a cat I slumber, blissfully unencumbered,
Through eighty per cent of my allotted span,
Occasionally awoken, when dissent is spoken,
And I unveil another cunning five year plan,
Lately it was pensions, that were being mentioned,
So I borrowed from the French and Robespierre,
Scrap all that went before, saved by tooth plus claw,
And let my all equal Citizens appear,
Currently it is time, for me to be in my prime,
For there is another election looming,
I have to appear sincere, for part of this coming year,
And assure everyone that everything is booming,
Never mind strict quotas, Ive imported multitudes of voters,
And told them which party let them stay,
Though Ive rigged the postal vote, and defamed everyone of note,
You never know what might happen on the day.
So to be on the safe side, I swallow all my pride,
And allow my people to hear my hallowed voice,
And roll out the charade, put on the facade,
And even make believe they have a choice,
Next time around the crown, will be trampled underground,
House of Lords and our Lord Chancellor history,
With the other Chancellor gone, I alone will soldier on,
Yes, there will only ever then be me,
Ill hold elections for you, as all dictators do,
And fill positions with those that grease my palm,
As for civil unrest, there is always house arrest,
Or secret imprisonment for those that intend me harm.

So from national nursery, via educational history,
You can in time join the New Labour Youth,
Be taught gay is fun, and the state is number one,
And any other opinion is untruth.
Ask the media if unsure, or philosophically impure,
Brainwashing British Citizens is their devious forte,
They will surely put you right, or visit you at night,
Either way they will stop you being naughty.
Meekly follow all the rules, laid down in our schools,
Where state is all and learning is suppressed,
And you can safely be ignored, not seen as being flawed,
Just be another number like the rest.
Better far to be, a part of mediocrity,
Within your state and seeds that they have sown
Than to disappear, or to live in constant fear,
For having true mind and will all of your own.

How is it that we, lost the option to be free,
How did we give away our right to choice,
How did we believe, whilst being deceived,
When did we decide to lose our voice.
How did we select the politically correct,
Why are we victims of unpunished crime
Are we such fools as not to see the tools
Or did we think they would go away in time.

The tap is darkly dripping, droplets that are gripping
Our throats today our minds in time to come
We must turn the tide, and reaffirm our pride,
We must prove we are not deaf and dumb.
It is no good wailing, chained up to your railing,
That you want the vote back like before,
For no one hears your plea, they are deaf to you and me,
No on cares about us any more.

That is about manipulation, of us and of our nation
That is about illusions triumph over actual reason,
That is about lies, and the power to mesermerise,
That is about slowly stealthy creeping treason,
That is about the eviscery, of the neutral BBC,
That is about what poison will soon take its place,
That is about five year plans, and Citizens of Euroland,
that is about civil service, with a very red face,
that is about soaps and plays, which in very subtle ways,
Try to put into our minds new sets of plausible truths,
that is about newspaper demise, in the guise of purveying lies,
Whilst the state preaches Pravda through schools to our youth,
That is about vision and sound, plus any means that is allowed,
Trying to persuade you against all your own common sense,
that is about duplicity, making seem true what cannot be,
And hoping you will at very least sit on the fence.
that is about unelected expertise, being paid huge taxpayer fees,
Alaister Campbells school of used car salesmen integrity,
This about usage of such curs, and their lies, and their slurs,
To pull the wool over the eyes of you and me.


Maybe feeble opposition is fuelling this submission,
But that is not about parties or their competence,
that is simply a war, not about who to vote for,
But who to definitely vote against.






























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