I couldn’t sleep last night. The turmoil that has been 2016 spun angry vortexes in my head through the wee hours. After a couple of hours of fitful sleep, I realised I had to write myself out of this funk. I don’t write poems very often. But I can’t tell you how much better I feel for writing this one.
Onwards, friends. Onwards.
The Blame Game 2016
I’m not sleeping very well.
I blame 2016 and the horror that’s been this year of seismical change.
The world seems transformed, full of hate, fear and scorn; ugly, divided and strange.
I blame Brexit for severing the links with my bretheren with whom I have always felt tied.
They said we’d be better sans cette euro-type fetter. They made up the numbers. They lied.
I blame May and her minions for duplicit opinions that pretend to put everyone first.
They’re sly politicians, these social morticians; all blue-bloods with vampirical thirst.
I blame bold post-truth liars and climate deniers for peddling deliberate falsities.
And internet trolls, who with twitter-hate moles, dig holes in our fragile democracies.
I blame Daily Mail leaders, and yes, every last reader, for their role in our country’s demise.
But with a media in thrall to the governments all, it really is no great surprise.
I blame terrorist cells and the western cartels whose policies allow them to flourish.
Blatant state-building and oil-dollar wielding are the fuel with which ISIS is nourished.
I blame armaments bosses who won’t countenance losses; it’s their bombs that maim and do kill.
Wars keep on going, and refugees flowing. It’s a lack of political will.
I blame Jeremy Corbyn for not sticking his oar in, precisely when it was needed.
With progressive position and clear, honest vision, a call to arms might well have been heeded.
Yes, I blame Donald Trump, and all of his gumph, for pretending to speak for a nation.
Can the people be saved from this populist wave? A tsunami that threatens annihilation.
I blame me for allowing these thoughts to keep flowering and grow in the soil of my mind.
But it’s easy to feel that it’s a bloody rum deal, to be fighting these woes, don’t you find?
The world keeps on spinning, politicians keep winning on platforms that seek to divide.
Our task is quite clear, march forwards, my dear. Heads held up high, and with pride.
The blame game is easy, but it can’t ever please me and it won’t ever sustain through next year.
I’ll put pen to paper, and hopefully, later, produce stories of hope, not of fear.
Writers. Keep writing! Our words should be fighting for a future where everyone thrives.
It’s never too late. Write! Draw! Create! Let our voices be heard. Be alive!
©Justin Nevil Davies 2016