Back to the twelth century

There are some who look back through their tinted glasses and imagine some good old days or even a golden age. They seem to wish for an illusion. There are the few today who would be part of an oligarchy. Perhaps this is because they are effective at the acquisition of wealth and so they think they would be effective as rulers of the whole world.

Dark Pages

The gibbet and the rope
The blood soaked block, the axe
With kings who conquer Hope
How can our kind relax?

The blood that’s on the ground
The poison in the cup
With all of this around
Oh, come now, do drink up

The hate that will not pass
The blood that’s left a stain
More will be and surpass
The past with all it’s pain

The strong who do not care
With so much spite and hate
Indifferent they stare
Is all this down to fate?

The gibbet and the rope
More blood drips from the sword
The thugs that kill all hope
It’s throttled with their cord

The power of the few
May well be turned on each
In this there’s nothing new
Good times are out of reach

from Aelfread and Gudrum (2003)

Real debate is dead

Debate involves listening.
All we seem to get is spin, party lines and slogans. Others it seems feel they can do our thinking for us. How very short sighted that may prove to be.

Socratic ways are Dead

Old Socrates he lived in vain
For Absolutes now rule,
It helps if you’ve not got much brain
Or can play well, the Fool.

To question is to bring down wrath
And rage that’s aimed at You.
There’s ranting and much verbal froth
And so much dripping spew.

Anonymous some may seem brave
As they pour out their bile.
Mayhap, they missed what all ought crave;
Sweet smiles when but a child.

Sadly we see now all about
Such monsters everywhere.
Where certainties reject all doubt
Straight roads lead to despair.