Pliny reads from his scroll, extoling democracy,
as slaves bring his dinner and pour his wine.
Heroditus praises Roman Emperors,
as gladiators entertain him with their blood.
Wagner plays in Nazi dinning rooms,
as ash dust blows thick over Auswitz.
The Beach Boys herald Bush's presidency
as Baghdad babies drop like flies.
Everywhere corporate artists prostitute their arts for fortune and fame
While the earth is murdered and all life's enchained.
Art's something for Friday night or Sunday afternoon.
Not a means to free your mind, change your soul.
Poems to sooth and mildly prod.
Easily cushioned by brainwashed flab.
Little penetrates that layer,
Few listen to 'negative' soothsayers.
Art to tell us everything is all right, everything is all right, things are getting better...
Things are always getting better!
Civilisations' mantra, making us stupefied slaves.
While the earth dies and all life's caged and tamed.
So now you poets here today
How honest are your words?
Can you really keep on fiddling
While the earth burns?
Or will you take your craft -
Make a mirror of all these lies
To illuminate those you meet?
Reflecting your own eyes?
Yellow canaries shush your twittering.
Hear the wild birds sing.
Listen! the eagle is screeching,
A raw song of pain and love.
Listen to the wild screeches,
like their strong dark wings,
echoing into the distance...