We Shall be Known Hereafter

We shall be known hereafter, dreadful breakers, mayhem makers,

Overreaches, overtakers

In the groove of stalking planet earth, like skulking leather predators

Hoving around, moved to compound, its goodly sphere; abandon’s devastators

Nothing revered, no, nothing, nothing holy


Everything lowly, commonplace, trips trifling en passant

Whisks in that famous fifteen minutes glibly mildly away

As everyone’s gift-wrapped peep, attention-span


An age in which the niggards think themselves The Man

In their private hearts, whose glittering parts are contraband

Ending in the can


Takers of too, too, much, exploiting several, all the futures

Of heritage, and this the now; a ransacked trade resource

Ruled open-season


Beyond good reason

We do not even feed our have-nots gracefully. Some go

Without, but others, they get gouts, and blow out elephantine.

Scoop up stout


Bland stoups of goodies ever filling waste-bin hoppers

With oddities, sprayed shocking pink potatoes, pull in spent out shoppers;

As clods of clay in Africay go gnawing husk; remainders


Our rotten fruits demonstratively shall declare our works

We cannot, dare not open-up ourselves, summon compassion

That way bare weakness lies, brings down on us derision


Believes our vision: prisoners of our own defaults; and pinioned

By told opinion, sold, given over, to the venal self

To the shops, the sex, the holidays, those weirdo neoprenes


As like to our strewed litter do we dissipate our days

Clogging the oceans, landscapes, on the beaches centre-stage

Unsightly rolls; death-warrants sealing our touch curse


Work prophesies, betoken nudges, jog contingency

Into profusion here and now; the rest’s content illusion

Ecology can cope, we like to soap, the systems stand robust;



Confusions in our brains effect us not see it

Blown inwardly, scope fails upon what staggers there

Our constant holiday thingy spins-out desert-island enclosures

Refuses to avail us


Assailed by tropes, hysteria, clung to common iron idols

Pining in our delights, our slight identities depend

On pay-for-later raptors, brokers ineffectually sure-

Shot smoothers-over, sink us into shifting sands


Ours are the Emperor’s New Clothes, cataleptic Never Lands;

Feed troves of catastrophic fineries and pokey trinkets;

Cursed and nursed, cajoled, conflated


Badlands are plagued by harbingers of famines, forced pretensions

All expectations turn round straight to consternation; dagger

Our pomp whenever chequered weathers wester, interposing,

And can’t deliver


We have no sense; no tense or tenor, scope or common context

Our days are centrifuged along a winners-take-all vortex

Self-made, are wreckers, wrecked by thinking haughty creeds


Our palisades no longer stand, lie garbaged on the ground

Onetime on these was hung our stout assurance, aegis old

Now rudely we make shelter makeshift, huddled in a fold:

Behold society!


Cliquing together, thronging destitutes en mass

Uncritical, unconstrained, we place disaster at the door,

Raise warzones of our own, admit them supplement hard nature,

Bearing with their continuance, ponder no comeuppance


Wrecks we’ve wreaked on ourselves, the savagers of Gaia

Too derelict and cowardly gladly shunning homely fact

Cover ups cowl us cowering; misbehaviour under cloaks

Denies it all


Unwilling of a remedy, couched comfortably in languish

Pained at the pitch of heaving seas fobbed offloads of our trash

Oceans of plastics, magnitudes of wastrel wandering gulag:



All ours, to those who come, engenders death

Backlogs from generations, those who skulk in disregard

Abrupt a curse of nemesis cascades in avalanche

Of maelstrom legacy


Lost to ourselves; ourselves have lost the noble highway,

Lo, we did think to handle, angle, wrangle, for ourselves

Instate a twopenny takeover despoiling nature’s groves

We two-bit hustlers


Backs to the future, faces to marketplaces,

Solidly going-alone on autocratic power thrones

Stones become gold return again slowly to lowly stones

Wash-up fordone washed-up on sterile shores


Thinking to think containment over nature seized

By purse we capture worlds that we secure allures delights

Yet something is greater here than ransomed infrastructures:

It is our humble Lord


On earth is he heritor, provident cosmic stakeholder

Investor invested, dressed in bleeding tender charis

Whom by us never should have been rebuked, nor crossed, forsaken

Wonderful Counsellor, pastor-protector, dear directing hand

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