Spills From The Hour Glass

Spills From The Hour Glass

Acrlylic paints to a 100x100cm canvas

Chaotic Times

It all starts,
with a wink and a smile
A continental trip,
that suits your style
That terrorist bomb,
that is so revile
Glaziers breaking,
and losing a mile
Never mind,
It takes a while
And we all live,
so far from the Nile?

My plastic card,
will credit me through
I’ll pay it tomorrow,
and start a new
Lucky are we,
the chosen few
Clucking like chickens,
without a clue
Throw us a carrot,
to make us a stew

A population striving,
within uncertainty grown
Their generation destined,
for a combat zone
Caution and winds,
are tossed and thrown
For living today,
with a dollar five showing

Chaotic delusions,
from an economy slump
Motivation now hurdles,
with too high a jump
$700 billion,
around a dollar a bump
Auctioneers smile,
as their hammers thump
On the home of the family,
thrown on the dump

Patriotic slam dunk,
crash and burn
The plastic is melting,
under our sun
Don’t look back,
but take your turn
As this world keeps,
you on the run
And grinds you till,
your under it’s thumb

Another six o’clock disaster,
for media time
We’re falling from faith,
like ants in line
But hold the remote,
to give you a sign
Absorbing the lies;
that you’ll be fine
Contracting disease,
as we feed on their slime
Mesmerized images,
that makes us whine
But afraid to act,
in a life sublime

So alive,
we got the dreamers disease
Then when collapsed,
we all got our knees
Don’t stand up,
and don’t dare sneeze
You’ll be told,
when and who to please
Your windmills turn,
but they own the breeze

Grind, grind,
grind, check your teeth
Between your legs,
and underneath
All is bone,
where once was beef
Cover your shame,
in a little fig leaf

Remember days,
we ran a miracle mile
Fought for our rights,
and died in style
Secure in the thought,
of our children’s smile
It’s all there still,
and saved to file
To read it all,
may take a while
Don’t let it rot,
in graves revile

We just have,
to roll back the stones
Shake our heads,
and dust our bones
Clear out the rats,
and make atones
Bail ourselves out,
and forget the Jones

Exon Oil,
Brown and Bush
You days are numbered,
no excuse
This legacy lays,
within your abuse
Your greed that tied,
the noted noose
Sorry if,
I sound obtuse
But time to cook,
the golden goose

M’Cane, Obama,
and upper classes
Listen now,
for we’re the masses
Clean your ears,
and wipe your glasses
Pull our lives back,
from these ashes
Or we’ll come round,
and kick your asses

© Robert Anderson 2008