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But I’m here in my mould

What's this
that works to deaden
the human ecoysystem
of mutual sharing
of extending
branches of caring.

In this system
the tree begins to 
encountering boundaries.
We're behind bars
while still in the cradle
we're taught not to listen
to the voice of wonder
that connects us to nature
that we deaden each day

Cos even the water;
the warmth-giving energy sources;
the teaching and learning
that opens us to self
creativity and passion
comes at a cost
commodification is loss

You could weep for 
all the potential lost
but this world doesn't allow us 
to be soft

Human nature
if such a thing existed
and hasn't already been transformed
into an aberrated norm
is not defined structure
Aren't we made from clay?
Let's ball this model
of cruelty in our
Let's make a new mould
and shape ourselves 
in an image of beauty

Ranting about politics in verse

The bluebird builds her nest
nature's cradle
the hollow of a tree
or a little box of wood
crafted by human hands 
with love

But man's poor children
estranged from nature
that same care 
we don't afford
a damp-ridden hovel
will have to do
cranky boiler, leaking roof
what sort of society is this?
That doesn't nurture youth?

In underfunded schools
we cultivate 
obedience in their souls
not joy and love and music
but obedience to 
Now say: God save the King
you're a subject don't you know
that's today's lesson
it's tradition
it's how it goes
subjected to oppression
that is your natural role.

And we pay up each month
and call the master of our hovel
And money that should keep
our children warm and fed
keeps the rich
fat and comfy in their bed

So enjoy your high thread count sheets
turn on the aga
no fear of the energy bill 
for you
wash yourself in that corner bath
but the rot runs through and through
the stains are on your hands
no amount of scrubbing will
get them off.

the stain
of children's poor nutrition
of aborted dreams and ambitions
of billionaires' newspapers
that spread division
that creeps inside us
and racist tradition
but maybe it's not really
your fault
cos it's built into the system
you can say
taking advantage of it
is just clever opportunism

But didn't I once have a vision
"What does revolution mean, mum?"
It means,
that things will turn around
like the earth spinning
out of darkness 
the sun will emerge
And it will happen
"I'm glad you can still 
hold on to that dream"
some laugh
disenchanted from too much
unfulfilled wishing
raise a glass 
in the pub 
and drink up that pessimism.

But I know this world 
can be beautiful
And children are born 
understanding what is fair
and I'll make sure they don't lose that
innate and glowing care

"What does labour aristocracy mean mum?"
No I'm kidding 
they didn't really ask that
It means that while you go to school
Other children in India are mining Mica
that makes this makeup glitter
that exploitation 
of two thirds of the world
is what makes this country richer.

But isn't this the best we can do?
Isn't this just the way things have to be
and we should enjoy our small advantage
and put something calming on TV
No, use your imagination
there are more of us than them
once we free our minds
our chains we can break
come on, Marx already said this
in 1848!

When friendships die

The underground mycellium roots
Do they feast on the dead?
Or bring nourishment and light
from wise mother oak
to each sapling bespoke?

And what happened to that one
we planted in his name?
The boy who died
too young?
Or maybe the universe has a way
a knowing we must trust
for everything to follow in succession
as the sinking of the sun
and he was gone when he must.

Memorial sapling
swallowed by brambles
rapacious and clamouring
strangling those beneath
They say-
Try to spread joy
to those for whom you care
but sometimes
we don't have the chemistry
to make the healing elexir

We say incantations
of ill-placed actions and words
how far can caring roots reach
when hands unclasp
the bonds do not hold fast.

And when mycellium roots
reach out to barren land
friendships are gone
like opening a sarcophagus in the sun
what had such vigour and shape
as dust dissipates

How can green turn to sand?
Our understanding 
a radio connection gone out of range
is this what they call
climate change?
Photo source: National Forest Foundation


Why is it I can always
read on the beach?
Pages enfolding me
in the sea-shell spiral
of infintesimal images
broad as the horizon
contained within
lighter than this rock in my hand?

Why is it I can always
feel memories returning?
each wave
a dizzying cascade of
Presuppositions crashing apart
into a million foamy splinters.

Why is it, with nature's roar of
power in my ears
Her deafeaning 
shushing, allaying my fears
I want nothing more
than each salty sputum
to carry me piece by piece
back to a time
which maybe didn't exist
of perfect belonging
of enfolding in scent and warmth
in your arms.
© 2013 – 2022 sonnyhuynh8 Girl at the Lonely Beach

My cat is dying so I wrote a poem

Stripey ginger tank-on-legs
cannot eat but hungry, begs
in amber eyes flicker
traces of feline grace
a spark of lion-spirit
in eyes agate.

First, you must have been a ball of fluff
tangerine sundrop rendered into matter
suckling at mother cat's warm side
until the door was flung open wide
and senses primed only for pampering
were forced to sharpen to survive.

Stoic sufferer, you huddled in the cold
in your tawdry orange coat, you grew youthfully old
as rain and snow fell without care
and distracted, disgusted humans left you there.
No longer cute,
to them you were just a nuisance
flea-beridden brute.

In your last year we brought you here
sheared you of matted fur and fear
with love and care you flourished
a marigold bloom
stretching petals open in the sun
you learned how to be a cat once more
and capture our hearts 
and that blue bird toy you adored.

Old man lion and tangerine kitten
became one.
In your patch of golden light
you were a tiger
resplendant in the sun.
Your warmth and clockwork purr
accompanied me through days
joyful and arduous alike
a weight of warm existence
never judging, never in strife.
You interrupted my reveries
with your old-man smoker's deep miaow
You showed me how one goes on
when one doesn't know how.

With your strong headbut
you scent-marked me with your love
I shall miss hearing 
your breathing
in the dark
as we shared warmth
and a sleeping place
I want you to know that
When you no longer 
take up earthly space
I'll see you in my head
caught in a late-afternoon sunbeam
at the end of my bed.

and that I was always your human
if only you could know
that you were always mine
as you go back to rejoin
the feline-divine.

Pensive cat a la Van Gogh by Olga Koval

Negative Impulse

Tonight, I can read your poem
and then be kept awake
for the next few nights
tormented by disquiet
in my thoughts that betray me
unable to trust my feelings
why did it leave me reeling?
When I have the nicest sweet thing?
Like an alocohlic at 3am
as you walk through empty
moonlit rooms
and it's there
but it's not the vitamin juice you reach for
with it's promise of goodness
you crave to come undone
you want the temptation
the thrilling fall of giving in
you want the whiskey
that scorches your throat
It's not good for you
you know it
But it sets your heart racing
otherwise what is this life
but healthily pacing?
Why must I always associate
the beautiful
with something out of reach
If you gave me the garden of Eden
I'd want to smash the gates open
let in something darker
revel in the shadows I know well.
Why do we want to make our own hell?
Why isn't beauty enough?
Like plastic flowers,
No, I want the violence of nature
the bloom wilting
the hummingbird being devoured
to set fire to myself on a sacrifical pyre
for something I believe in.
Why don't I want kindness
laid like a gift at my feet?
If someone is too good
we treat them with contempt.
Is this how you felt?
Lying beside me at 2am
You don't want to settle for
an easy life, being tucked quiety in
Better to drain the cup
drink to our health
Then smash it up.
Maybe we should get on our knees in the dark
And beg God to save us from

Current Events

As the storm begins to
whip the metal beasts
we laugh at tumbling
careening human feats
livestreams of heathrow planes
barely landing on their feet
marvel at the chaos 
nature can unleash

Now human activity
the wheels of history
does grease
how much chaos 
is enough to make you laugh
enough to make you weep?

This has become ghastly
spectator sport
primed with cartoon archetypes
we watch Zelensky
stride, muscles taught.
They tune in for the next episode
dressed in a shawl of yellow and blue
the folly of the liberal fool.

Where is your outrage
Yemen, Palestine?
are the US-sanctions
women and babies
in Afghansitan
not relateable
enough for your outrage?
Is the situation
too complex, so you care less?

But you say, one shouldn't engage
in whatabout
as the balance of world peace
dangles from a thread
the veiled civil war
is ever present
as Marx said
even in times of what you call 
there is murder inherant
in this capitalist machine
and what response, then?
to this current explosion of violence?
One must always act
with love for humanity
help all those suffering seeking refuge,
open wide the door
and shout
No War But Class War!

What am I talking about (because I see some claiming to be on the left cheering Russia on and I think this is incredibly misguided and wrong.): If we define imperalism is the highest stage of capital that emerges in and through capitalism- where a country moves towards developing finance capital and competing for spheres of influence globally in terms of financial exports, then you could say that this conflict has some aspects of an inter-imperialist conflict. (which would in any case mean that this conflict certainly has everything to do with capitalism) 
However, that would be reductive too, as we must also recognise that Russia has been excluded from the global imperialist order as the enemy of the leading imperialist power (and as a result has sometimes been forced to side with anti-imperialist forces) and though its development has been substantial in the last ten years it still hasn't developed all the advanced capitalist strengths to meet the definition of imperialism, largely due to its economy having been devastated by the collapse of the soviet union. Russia, as an right wing oligarch dominated state would happily partake in imperialism if it had the economic prerequisites- and it even asked when it could become part of NATO in the 90s but was rejected (this was news to me)
This conflict is therefore not so much about two imperialist powers trying to dominate the world, but has everything to do with NATO expansion and non-compromise (NATO promised Ukraine admission in 2008)- Russia is trying to stop Ukraine falling into the enemy's hands. Therefore, Russia's motivations can be seen as defensive rather than offensive, which is not at all to justify what they are doing, just to understand it. Of course if the U.S. was pushed in the same way, they would respond in the same way or worse. In fact, this conflict gives the U.S. a perfect opportunity to crush Russia with sanctions while claiming moral superiority- despite recently having frozen and the stolen funds from the Afghan central bank causing a famine that is killing civilians right now on a massive scale which is going completely unremarked upon in the media (civilians who it also bombed as it withdrew from Afghanistan in September)
What a world. Thank you to Breht O Sheat from Revolutionary Left Radio for helping me to understand this and all the excellent work you do.


I never thought
I could be enough
for anyone
always a faded outline
too shy to be distinct
a subtle violet who shrinks
the sun passing through her
sparkling glacial blur 
but not with you
who can conjure things
to appear
between your calloused fingers
where the cards of fate
can slip and slide
and you open 
the whole colour pallette wide
of vermillion red
daring aventurine 
and we sketch together
our new life with one another
perhaps one shouldn't 
open that pandora's jar?
no, do it
let it spill out
never to be reconstrained
it's an art
fill in the outlines
then colour in the heart.


How are you today?
I'm so fucking fine
now that I know you.
My heart is a seagull
never mind it's above 
the rubbish dump
everything is glinting
frozen in snow today.
Ice crystals split open
reflection so piercing
it's like a child striking a triangle
and when you kiss with no preamble
it glints off my insides
and my heart's open wide.
Maybe this sharp hope
will melt
and I'll be with tattered boots
and torn dreams
in a muddy mire
bereft of desire
but no...
when I know I'll see you later
and you smell like the 
safest warm blanket corner
and outside it rains
and you pull me in
maybe this is where it all begins?


Monsal Tunnel Trail Monsal Head Moody Headstone
Tell us, how do you balance
beneath the weight of a hill-sized
Constellations in the doming, dripping roof
of abandoned
freight line tunnel
slime spitting 
onto our cranial orbs
glow at the end
gives me the urge
to speed to the end
not anticipating the bend
slipping from the verge
but little star-chart anomaly
though we share 
no lights in our birth sky
you're tied to me through life
as on a tandem bike
and if I go spinning
you come down too
My fall is your fall
and she is too confident on her feet
to put hands out
Injured, concussed
my baby will not be rebuffed
though her soul is 
anchored to matter
and in stabbing lights 
of hospital room
as autumn leaf colour changes her cheek
bruising the only body
she will ever have
she smiles as I weep
stop crying mama
it's not that bad.