is it just me

silhouette of a buddha like shape in the backdrop to a cosmic phenomena

not interested in ignorance,
grant audience to wisdom,
fake news by fake news,
distractions of trillionaires,
blessed those without hatred.

invented war of want,
taken every penny legally,
as they push on our walls,
“bollocks to this,
no more taking the piss,
down with the lot of ’em,
they’re the ones driving this.”

to ignore them would be foolish,
to follow just foolishness,
don’t be a fool,
“you’ll be just a tool,
satirist drained of humourous gaze,
the authority is built by moguls,
media steals socials,
vomits it back as hate!”

stop reading the news,
look for clues,
find out for ourselves,
if they’re the ones,
or are we just foolish old self?

© Copyright 2023, IsatTM

mandatory volunteer

two important people promoting some incomprehensible scrawls on a shed bar and café gift shop.

socially sanctioned slavery,

when they ask for that extra hour,

they take your labours,

sell them for favours,

but none for owners of those souls.

that nurse that stays to hold our hand,

the worn out worker,

threatened with benefits torture,

stolen from their lives,

the joy beyond just survive,

tracked all their time,

mistrust becomes sublime,

a toxic gas,

mouthed from their ass.

the rotting decay,

of generosity’s last day,

the kindness forbidden,

muted into submission.

people must protest,

just not here, guest,

the advantages so elusive,

the beliefs so obtrusive,

that church of the state

has nothing more to say.

failed teachers,

freedom snatchers,

stay in the past,

forever be remembered

as the nazis we cast.

be buried by shit

thrown at virtue,

the ignorant beliefs

that choke and curse you.

the out there that’s dragging you down,

everyone else who’s around.

without judging the difference,

be wiser in our instance,

that the next person you meet

is just another being human.

© Copyright 2022, IsatTM

no right or left

a simple painting of a number 9 relaxing on some grass

just the old joke,

the ones that have

and the ones that hain’t,

don’t matter what wing you swing,

are you good to those

that do good come what may?

rejoice in the care givers,

shower them with gifts,

give them a fair wage

for the lives they save.

fully funded,

people owned,

renationalised health service.

the tories fear the cost to their peer,

the rich man,

the landlord,

the proverbial fat cat.

it ain’t foreigners that I fear,

it’s that government up there,

their behaviour is illegal,

without mandate to govern,

any of us here.

they decree that we need poverty,

while they scrimp on necessity,

take bribes from the donors,

give vip contracts for their coffers.

complicit in this are all mps

that say nothing,

avoid the spotlight,

distract with jungle bollocks,

that’ll keep ’em quiet.

all the time they sell our health

down the creek,

along with our waste

straight out into the sea.

we demand an election,

the echo chamber shouts out,

no response from the elite,

it just didn’t have the clout.

maybe I will died in westminster’s square,

disgust the snowflakes

that can’t begin to bare,

that some will die by their command,

whether willing soldiers,

or cold and hungry old nan.

for want of a way,

just to say,

please, no matter how you see it,

the state of the tory party

is terminally shit,

they no longer govern,

they rule,

they show us cruelty,

they make us small.

if you wish to be free,

stop tolerating the ignorance,

the billionaires fowl fragrance,

bullingdon eton boy’s fall.

stop the repeated futility,

of voting for that inability,

the incompetent buffoon,

is only a leader to fools,

be better and listen

to all the suffering calls.

stop listening to the racists,

the fascists and the rapists,

the criminals in power,

the insurrectionist coward.

the one that lies so deep inside,

you refuse to admit the dupe did it,

the mop haired fake shyster,

grabbed your pussy

and made you liked it.

dear friend,

if I may,

just say,

you can now go away,

never to be seen again.

© Copyright 2022 InkeyString

grew to all I could be

a tree sits at the end of a pathway on a hill, the background looks stormy and a mist is rolling in

in the past people asked who am I,

the faint core blast of a nice guy,

quiet in his stance,

always watching at a glance,

for opportunities to keep safe.

but that man evolved,

knew suffering untold,

saw the sun set on his love,

grieving the loss of themselves.

self-cherishing arsonist,

you waste happiness like piss,

born of self-grasping unkind,

the root of the mind,

that keeps us all in hell.

there’s nirvana and bliss,

freedom from suffering,

our addiction,

the forever affliction,

uncontrollabled desire.

can’t even remember the great floods,

the ones that nearly killed us,

expected to remember to be kind.

so cruel a thought,

the one that tears at our heart,

that not bothering with compassion,

the sense of decency that’s human,

to watch others die when we could help,

is a mindset that destroys itself.

what speech can be given to such misery

and confusion?

to the right wing mind that relishes in the power,

the libertarian deludes,

that power makes people,

and not the reverse to be true.

know your real history,

it’s the people that save,

not one singular leader,

all powerful and brave.

do you have so little faith in humans,

that you’d prefer to believe some god

threw some sod and made everything?

I believe in humans,

at least I thought so,

along came the thatched reagan’s snatch,

took your safety,

traded it for property,

now they’re stuck in their flaps,

maybe we leave them perhaps.

believe in people,

your neighbours,

the police {..not on your nelly!.}

something tells me they’re in the pocket of the man,

best avoid them if you can.

this all came to grow,

around the old mass of a nice guy that lost more than half his family.

© Copyright 2022 InkeyString

atlantis once ruled

underwater photo showing ancient human made constructions

the destination of the fooled,

the empire island,

this one’s wet and mild.

the romans with their scandals,

poor sex tips,

crooked handles,

this one’s little more than a child.

the reptoids with their upper crust,

their long tongues,

their street musk,

this one’s sticky and wild.

the clowns that control finance,

made up frowns,

depressive stance,

this one sprays it’s fluids.

the bankers are squarely coming,

darting arrows,

dodging thumbing,

this one’s got eyes on the druids.

the all seeing eyes of the elite,

celebrity flares,

entourage fleet,

this one’s got sight and cupids.

the story of some empires,

never die,

always tempered,

these ones never understood the buddha.

© Copyright 2022 InkeyString

don’t mone

a parody AI generated image of the Tory peer Michelle Mone

markets groan,

everyone falls down.

they’ve all gone,

yachting it off

into the sun.

tan so crisp,

crackling bits,

smallest feed tonight.

to them were all ants,

trying to get into their pants,

and touch their dough.

off with their hands,

the madman expands,

blocking sense along with him.

power is given,

when taken it’s prison,

bid this when it’s time to protest.

– InkeyString, 2022

the one that gave up

AI generated image of a unhappy person

the moment the thought hit,

that they’d been here before,

and it smells like bullshit.

this suffering cycle,

the constant rebirth

into old terf,

spunk festering old jerk.

liked to dress up like brook’s hitler,

count dracula and some other berks.

comedy as a political weapon,

be careful what you promote,

it imagines a reality

where the twist is the cist

that is used to poke.

take a peek at the code,

it’s a pattern I’m told,

replicatable stupidity

rejoiced by the fold.

break the constant sadness,

rejoice in others happiness,

be wise not to sneeze

without due attention

(..what about your pension..)

it would mean a lot, I plead.

on the ground,

looking up,

I see storm clouds heading down,

we might want to get umbrellas

the size of big fellas,

with arms all the way to their frowns.

I fear for our children’s future,

climate deniers can fuck right off,

I listen to scientists,

peer reviewed,

respected in their fields.

not grinning dick faced gobshites,

the ones on the telly,

the ones with their lips tight,

and their arses all smelly.

imagine voting for someone

cuz you hate the same things,

so lacking in social grace

you allow the death of a child

to be a joke to embrace!

foul odorous sore,

magnificent bore,

simply liars,

bankers whores.

it’s not for the people,

no tory in that pocket,

course not,

they’re dildos up the rich old fucks,

bad word sucks.

anyway, been here before,

and at best it’s a place,

at worst it’s hell.

so Tsamchö wishes for peace,

one that lasts for all,

without exception,

the blissful release,

the beautiful perfections.

© Copyright 2022 InkeyString

tabloids are too loud

AI generated image of a suited man dragging himself across a war zone

front pages just shout,

grief and hatred,

sex and pastries,

deformed faces

stare out of their spaces,

words seem to be there too,

low vocabulary is all that’s required,

so they’re simple and pleb wired,

keep ’em docile is greatly admired.

can’t control a country,

tories failure at practically everything,

make bad deals with the world,

but will never be held

responsible for domestic failure!

if you read this and murdoch holds his wins,

then the only failure was faith,

in the best a human can attain.

© Copyright 2022 InkeyString

don’t look behind you

AI generated image of a dark corridor wit a shadowy dog and mysterious creeper coming through a window

old tory goat,

the darkness that follows you

doesn’t feel guilt.

I can only watch as the snake

rounds the corner of your vision

before it finally takes.

be kinder,

be good for xmas,

everyday is heavenly business.

the iron bitch slap is coming,

like toilets running into rivers,

that falls on beaches and quivers.

a land mass growing from crap and faeces,

lies and trickery is all they know how to be.

the thing make things great,

had been shown to be a con,

a lie built on fantasy,

bullshit and fuckery.

I apologise in advance,

because round these parts,

we just call them cunts.

political cunts I should add,

as there’re other cunts that ain’t bad.

back to my point,

the shadows that follow,

are sanguine and hollow,

definitely life,

just so much less so.

they bring disease,

pestilence and pee,

the horsemen of the fucking hypocrisy!

not sure if it’s wisdom,

not judgement,

just criticism.

an opinion if you wish,

just taking the piss

out of someone’s political religion.

© Copyright 2022 InkeyString

“..depressing domestic emergencies..”, sunak 2022

AI generated image of a snake with teeth

is this what we choose to lead us,

(..no we didn’t, he never won a general election..)

so why is he there,

“..cuz the old cuntries swear..”

{..then we may have a curse..}

a curse on the small

will be the same for us all.

so why is it good to be cruel?

sociopaths, I ask by means of logic,

a human

masking as a computer.

or maybe just the last vestige

of an autistic boy

now finding the truth

is not so sweet

when you’re grovelling at their feet.

do we want a depressed proven incompetent

running the country?

are we mad,

are we sick!?

I try not to shout,

passive aggressive is all I can give out,

if I were to allow more

then this old man would definitely not live.

© Copyright 2022 InkeyString