Today is General Election Day in the UK and I have chosen to hang out with a poem, “Dreams nudge the conscious mind awake” by Stephen Francis. I first read the poem a week ago, having made a conscious decision to not vote in this Election. Politics in the UK is in the gutter. Politicians isolated from the people they are elected to govern, more focused on generating soundbites than listening to the electorate. The debates have been dirty, managed by Spin Doctors and Public Relation Gurus. Facts, and the actual state of the country, no longer take centre stage. Stephen’s poem fired something inside as the words and thoughts from his poetry followed me. He talks of “missing something you need to see”; “tasting a moment for what it needs to show,” and “we face a choice.” His poetry made me search my conscience and challenge my apathy. Looking into the darkness, I have become angered again with the social injustices taking place in the UK; angry, at how a select few have taken control of a system now focused on profit not fairness; angry, whilst citizens and visitors to the UK are slaughtered and a Government continues to lie; angry, I allowed myself to drift into a notion of doing nothing. “Dreams nudge the conscious mind awake” and today I vote. Here is Stephen’s poem (reproduced with kind permission). Dreams nudge the conscious mind awake. You are missing something you need to see Says the image fleeting, too quick, too slight. Grab hold of the ether and swallow it. Taste for a moment what it needs to show. Two doors have opened: one to lightness The other, darkness. Not the quiet chirp Of crickets mating darkness. Not the stillness Under faintest of lights sprinkling down Like confectionary sugar to sweeten life darkness. No, this second door has opened to Darkness demanding: Make a choice! Decide now! Now! The crickets and stars await in these hours Stillness sparking poetic riddles. We face a choice Between Light and Darkness. Like the winter Wind that returns to watch its beloved flower Through a Frosted glass pane falling into a love The slightest crack would both expose to death. Wind neutralizing summer dancing between Pedals of the rose like dewdrops gathering To welcome morning’s bright penetration of stillness That ignores the simple mating calls and confectionary Sugar dusted from the stars. The flower unaware The sting that winter brings, listens to its mournful Howl, intoxicated like the sirens’ Sailors. This love is not pure. If we crack this window What we invite inside our room Will watch our precious flower tremble At the loss of warmth and light As it withers and dies. We face a choice. What thoughts does this poem inspire in you? I would love to hear them. Why not bring them over to the Café, the coffees are on me.
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Det kjennest på mange måtar ut som ein hersketeknikk. 477 more words