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Sunday, 22 August 2010

IT'S SO QUIET ~ Poem By Strider Marcus Jones.Copyright And All Rights Reserved. 22nd August, 2010.


it's so quiet

our eloquent words dying on a diet

of midnight toast

with Orwell's ghost-

looking so tubercular in a tweed jacket

pencilling notes on a lung black cigarette packet-

our Winston, wronged for a woman and sin

re-wrote history on scrolls thought down tubes

that came to him

in the Ministry Of Truth Of Fools

where conscience learns to lie within.

not like today

the smug-sly haves say and look away

so sure

there's nothing wrong with wanting more,

or drown their sorrows

downing bootleg gin

knowing tomorrows

truth is paper thin.

at home

in sensory


with tapped and tracked phone

the Thought Police arrest me

in the corridors of affection-

where dictators wear, red then blue, reversible coats

in collapsing houses, all self-made

and self-paid

smarmy scrotes-

now the Round Table

of real red politics

is only fable

on the pyre of ghostly heretics.

they are rubbing out

all the contusions

and solitary doubt,

with confusions

and illusions

through wired media

defined in their secret encyclopedia-

where summit and boardroom and conclave

engineer us from birth to grave.

like the birds,

i will have to eat

the firethorn

berries that ripen but sleep

to keep

the words

of revolution

alive and warm

this winter, with resolution

gathering us, to its lantern in the bleak,

to be reborn and speak.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones. 22nd August, 2010. All Rights Reserved.

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©Strider Marcus Jones


  1. As promised the finished poem. Comments welcome folks! x Strider

  2. That is excellent Marcus..many of my own thoughts are present throughout..I like it a lot. xx