Political Inquisition

Political Inquisition

 

I am sure you must have noticed the sharp edge of the questions
The bullying approaches in the journalists’ suggestions
As they interview politicians on their published proclamations
Seeking to unmask all cant or prevarication

It seems there is a contest to ascertain the most aggressive
Among the broadcasting gurus who can display the most impressive
Credentials as tormentor of those who would seek the people’s mandate
By destroying reputations and thus their hubris would deflate

Any doubt or hesitation, any spending programme quite excessive
Any adherence to political dogma, plans that seem obsessive
Will be dissected line by line, each cherished hope will then be mocked
The intentions of the promoters are bound to be deadlocked

Candidates are subjected to demands to apologise without reserve
Told they should be ashamed to seek support they don’t deserve
One wonders if in any other sphere of human intercourse
Protagonists would be granted permission to use such unbridled force

The interesting point that strikes me is by what elevated authority
These inquisitors are granted the right to adopt a position of superiority?
The excuse they will advance is the ‘public right to know’
But does that mean all conventional civility they can overthrow?

Perhaps it’s not surprising that some politicians are running scared
Lest the inquisitor’s examination leaves their defence laid bare
Thus penetrating their facade of confidence and bluster
Producing a performance which is decidedly lackluster

Ken Fisher

 

Black Friday 2019

Black Friday 2019

Black Friday is about to dawn
Indeed it seems never to have gone
This mad scramble for bargains
Provokes wrestling matches in shopping malls
And melt-down on computer networks
As search engines and eager bargain-hunters
Hit the town centres and the web browsers

I wonder if this whole exercise has some cathartic purpose?
Pent-up emotions being released in some orgasmic frenzy
But who stirred up the desire in the first place?
Did we harbour some deep repressed longing to buy, buy, buy
Or was it the wiles and blandishments of the advertisers
On behalf of the retailers in their constant quest for profit
Who ensured that we would not remain lethargic

Well whoever is to blame, ourselves or the market place
We are assured that Friday will produce record-breaking turnover
Shops may be crammed with customers
And the on-line trade will ensure the white-van army
Of delivery agents will shift the goods from anonymous
Warehouses up and down the land, to your door and mine
And we will react in Pavlovian style at the ring on our door bell!

And this year when traditional retailers seem under threat
Perhaps this annual rugby scrum of hungry consumers
Will bring comfort to those who our high streets would save
Remind the great shopping public that the internet offers no
Tactile experience as they wrest coveted goods from fellow buyers
Let’s hope it might renew interest in the whole shopping experience
Heralding a rebirth as we celebrate traditional Nativity

And with a General Election looming only days away
Perhaps we will embrace the schadenfreude of Black Friday
As a distraction from thoughts of frustration and foreboding
When we contemplate the battle at the polls
Where the chances of one victorious party seem obscure
But hey-ho life goes on, and so must we!

 

 

Happy Christmas
Happy shopping!

Ken Fisher

On Realising One’s Own Mortality

On Realising One’s Own Mortality
 

Unexpected news of the passing of a friend
Surely not him, he’s younger than me!
Untimely intimation of death notice
Obituary, the contents of which one knows quite well
All this just as we look forward to annual Christmas cards
Bringing comforting news of settled journeys still progressing
The loved one’s lives harshly filled by inconsolable grief

Death obviously does not discriminate
The good and the great
The humble and anonymous
High intellect or simple artisan
Those whose contribution is preserved in words
Those who will be remembered in the work of their hands
The fruits of all their labours – gently fading into history

Makes you think!
We always knew life was just a provisional licence
But somehow we thought it might be granted an extension
And here we are, suddenly faced with the grim reality
Life is not a rehearsal as they say
So let’s act out our part to the full
Before our curtain finally falls

Ken Fisher

 

 

The Charms of Apple OS 10 Catalina

Unknown

I have downloaded Catalina which at first gave me quite a shock
I thought I had ruined my computer as it appeared to be in deadlock
Perhaps it was unfamiliar with the internal working of my old machine
But its initial response to my promptings was if anything not at all keen

But I persevered with my efforts and gradually it seemed to respond
But I did at the start suspect that all my saved data might quickly abscond
The problem I find with Catalina is that she prefers her own special ways
So that it looks as if mastery of the machine will take me many long days

But there is no doubt this new software will reveal her manifold charms
And if I just learn to tread softly I might avoid the need for alarms
I had soon to discover how my data now flies up to the cloud
With a will of its own it does this and doesn’t ask it that’s allowed

Anyway  thank-you to the Apple inventors who design this super software
I am sure they mean to be helpful and never our progress impair
In the meantime I will keep up the practice and gain some more expertise
And instead of being scared of the system I might learn to use it with ease

Ken Fisher

Decision Time Is Looming

Decision Time Is Looming

As we steadily approach the twelfth day of December
I assume there is little prospect that you won’t remember
The General Election will demand the participation
Of every eligible voter throughout the British nation

Of course this time I think it’s fair to say
The endless debate seems like an affray
Where protagonists of every varied hue
Convinced of the virtue of their own view

Each broadcast debate or discussion
Sounding like the clashing of percussion
Strident voices raised their point to prove
Of every other stance they must disapprove

Truth seems submerged in exaggeration
All opponents will lead you to perdition
To make the choice we advocate
All wavering or doubt you will eradicate

But perhaps more so than in days of yore
When only leaflets popped through our door
Now by social media we are lambasted
Outrageous claims leave us flabbergasted

The fundamental problem seems to be
On basic issues no-one will agree
Brexit has cleaved the nation wide apart
Division of opinion piercing through the  heart

Of course the politicians draw to our attention
Traditional issues still bringing apprehension
Health, education, employment  – an extensive range
And more recently our response to climate change

So here we are heading towards the day of decision
Why can’t we set aside all insult and derision?
Among those who aspire to have our mandate
Pray civil discourse they might reinstate

And let us hope that when the result is declared
From further prevarication we are spared
By the final count the issues we thus arbitrate
All then willing to accept with equanimity their fate

Ken Fisher

Prosaic and Poetic

 

Prosaic and Poetic

Life’s journey is both prosaic and poetic
Prosaic in the sense that much of our daily walk
Is routine, dreary, mundane, even humdrum
Rather like a story written in uninspiring prose

However might life sometimes be considered
as poetic ?  Its events deemed imaginative
Creative, elegant, beautiful, inspirational
A narrative in finely crafted verse?

Perhaps for most of us life is both
Prosaic and poetic.  Two moods in tension
Entwined together as the days progress
Chiaroscuro of contrasting light and shade

Anyway who wants to live on the mountain top
Of heightened emotion, throbbing in poetic meter?
Better to endure with fortitude the tedium of the everyday
With timeous stimulus from poetry’s muse

Let’s simply be content with the daily round
Whose routines bring quiet satisfaction
Surprised by highlights of delight
Like poetry amidst pedestrian prose

Ken Fisher