Plus ça change

Human folly changes,
But does it wax or wane?
In each decade we find new ways
To cause each other pain.
Do we move toward the sane?

Is progress real or just illusion?
The optimists proclaim,
Amongst all turmoil and confusion,
They hold aloft advancement's flame.
Others give a weary shrug,
To say it's much the same.

If You Meet the Buddha on the Road, Kill Him.

Are Buddhists prone to violent crime?
One of them has run amok,
In the DC Navy Yard this time.
At harmlessness they talk the talk,
But do not always walk the walk.

In the Tokyo subway Buddhist neds
Released a deadly gas.
I don't know why they wanted 
To kill folk off en masse.
It all seems rather crass.

The title is a famous Zen koan. Only a Zen master can understand what it means, apparently.

Forced Labour Britain

I see a young man working hard,
So I pause to wonder:
What offence has he committed,
What anti-social blunder?

It's called Community Service,
Which sounds better than slavery.
They work unpaid for private profit,
Are victims of cool knavery.

Young unemployed, too, must work for nowt,
Stacking shelves or vehicle lading.
A very thin pretence is made,
That it constitutes some kind of training.

"The young don't want to work today."
That's what all the bosses say.
They spout off on the radio,
Omit to mention the low pay.

Since I wrote this, the Government have announced plans to force the long-term unemployed into 

slavery as well. When the Soviet Union used to treat the unemployed as criminals, the Tories used

to criticise them. It seems they have changed their minds about the matter. 

Offices of State

The offices of State
Mean little to the great.
They sweep them right away,
As though they were at play;
Or rearrange with ease
to whatever form they please,
Rebuilding round some grand new plan,
Just because they can.

Centuries of tradition
Are consigned to swift perdition.
To have regard for merit,
Is not the ruling spirit.
What matters is to make one's mark,
Even when groping in the dark
Of ignorant incomprehension.
Knowledge rarely rates a mention.

Egos reign triumphant,
Ideology's only cant.
When power men pick their side,
Their real views slink and hide.
Ambition is their one true passion,
Their loyalty is based on fashion.
Truth's dispensed in a slim ration,
To a frequently misled nation.

On a similar theme: Sanity and Insanity

Bus Shelter Blues

I feel like pacing up and down,
But it's too pissing wet.
I shuffle my feet and frown;
How restless I can get!

It's ages till the bloody bus,
No room to pace,
But feel I must
Stay in this sheltered place.

Fleeting Thoughts

A fleeting thought,
It's here then gone:
Was it an important one?
In any case it flits away;
Perchance returns another day,
Dressed in another guise.

See also: Recall 

Distinguished Alumnus

The crossbow cannibal enrolled,
At Bradford University.
In spite of his violent history,
They let him try for a PhD
In murder criminology.

He wallowed in his lethal obsession,
Then without reluctance made confession.
The way he'd scoffed his victims down,
Incurred an academic frown.
"That's not the thing to do, old chap,"
They tried to explain to him,
"We're supposed to help to catch these men,
Not emulate their sin."

The cannibal did not repent,
Just gave an evil grin.
"I'm a diligent student,"
He gave his excuse so thin,
"What better way is there to study
The serial killer mentality.
You want to learn but won't get bloody,
You haven't the guts, unlike me."

The coppers whisked him swift away,
And threw him into jail,
Where he tried to take his life;
He'd had enough of trouble and strife.
"I've lost all hope," said he.
"They'll never set me free.
Even though all I wanted
Was to earn a good degree."

On a similar topic-ish:Murder Tales 

Butterfly Summer

They swarm around the buddleia
In numbers I've not seen before.
Peacock eyes on fluttering wings:
Each bush is home to at least a score.

They wander inside through the door,
And flap around our ears.
We find them dead upon the floor.
It's sad enough for tears.

People complain the pavement's blocked,
So the landlord's man goes in;
The bushes are quite harshly cropped,
And the butterflies grow thin.

The weather turns to gray and cool.
The insects are all gone.
With summer's end I feel their loss,
As Autumn's chill draws on.

Brief Respite

While I sleep
My problems keep.
When I wake
They trouble make.

The respite's short,
Then memories flood.
Troubling thoughts
Speed up my blood.

Packaging Displeases

The packaging men have their revenge,
Their wrappers drive us round the bend.
Our fingers aren't strong enough
To get at the concealed foodstuff:
The glue is stronger than the wrapping.

We almost hear their gleeful snigger
As our frustration grows yet bigger.
They hate their jobs and hate us worse,
Their consolation is our curse,
As we fail to get the biscuits loose.

Their lives of quiet drudgery,
Have led to grim curmudgeonry;
But they have made the discovery,
That they can punish all of society,
For thwarting dreams of glorious invention.

Mabel Shines

I met a Chinese lady,
She said her name was Mabel.
She was so level-headed,
Her mind seemed free of fable.

She seemed so different from the rest,
Devoid of warm baloney.
She simply spoke the truth to me,
With nothing that was phoney.

In our society we pretend,
And big ourselves right up:
We lay our act on with a trowel,
Each day on bullshit sup.

We fear that we will be left out,
By others be occluded.
Mabel lives a different way,
A life that's not deluded.

I hope to be that way some day,
Shake off this world's pretension,
And be so free and clear in mind, 
Give truth my best attention.

Heavy Fuel Rising

Some whine about the cost of petrol,
Yet drive as though it was still cheap,
Revving and braking hard by turns.
No wonder that their fuel bill's steep.

They buy a big, fat, heavy car,
And use it every chance they get;
So of course they don't get far
Before incurring further debt.

They climb hills with the engine roaring,
Pedal pressed down to the floor;
Thus fuel consumption's always soaring,
Their complaints are such a bore.

Sea of Consciousness

The Holy Spirit keeps on shining through,
In spite of all that hate and fear can do;
It's still there for us to tap into.
No need to sorrow, or succumb to rue.

It's wise to set some time aside for quiet,
Remember who we truly wish to be;
Not be o'erwhelmed by all the pain and grief,
But merge our mind into the conscious sea.