Politics/Política – Page 5

August 15, 2015August 17, 2016

La transvida

Las uvas
no mueren vendimiadas en verano,
transviven vencedoras en el vino,
como el poema en la canción,
como la madre en su niño.

Pero el soldado…

…el soldado muere por la patria,

como el dialecto por la lengua,
la noticia por el medio,
el crítico por la cátedra
o el poemario por el premio,

como el obrero por la empresa
o el viaje por el transporte,
como el juego por el deporte
o la vaca por la hamburguesa,

sacrificados por él y en él,
en la unidad de un espíritu falso,
sin honor, a toda hostia,
por los años de los años,

Amén

Tony Martin-Woods

Publicado en Los viajes de Diosa.

Foto: Cementerio en Adel, Leeds.

August 15, 2015January 14, 2016

Take us

Sour
Sins
Simmering
In minds that forgot their own code

Wild
Wind
Whistling
The truth no one wants to know

Brave
Boats
Breaking
The waves of the sea as they go

Take us to the lands with no shame
Take us to the lights that fear nowt
Take us to the fields where it’s love
What birds, and farmers, jointly grow

Talk to the mums with no children
Fight for the flowers with no say
Give to the miners of Mexborough
The justice those Tories took away

Smile to the homeless who is begging
For a night, some soup and the warmth
Of our notes as they burn in the fire
Of his notes, in the bank of England’s stove

Tony Martin-Woods

Picture by Roger Blackwell CC-BY See picture in Flickr

August 15, 2015September 19, 2015

Free Market

Lively chit chat
At the infallible tempo
Of the clinking of glass.

A drizzle of jazz
On live canapés,

Waiters who model.

Our man
Keeps his business cards
Very close to his chest.
No rush, no push.

He knows what is right
He knows who to approach
He knows how to wait
He knows when to fall
Softly and warmly
On his pickled prey:
The greedy relation
Who awaits with a smirk
For the usual courting.

Education,
Health,
Weapons,
Research,
Transport,
Land,
It’s all up for grabs
It is all fair game,
It’s all the same.
It’s all just money,
At the end of the day.
(We don’t discriminate cash for its colour).

And

When the deal is ready,
The cloths
Of both parties
Drop
Discreetly
On the floor.

Only Private Eye
Knows the strength of their bids.

No chance
For clean
Spreadsheets,
No need
For financial
Latex,
No point
In trimming the hedges.
This is,
Brutally,
A family affair,
Lubricated with the spark
Of Conservative Champagne.

Sneaky voyeurs
Pay a good price
For the steam in the room
Where business thrives,
Where public assets
End up privatised,
Where bastards in arms
Trade our demise.

Broadcasted in Bloomberg
For the rest of the world.
Close-ups available
In the salmon press.

Tony Martin-Woods