‪How far out of balance has our national morality become?

On the one hand we force loving parents to allow their child to die, in order to “end his suffering”. We bring the full weight of the law against his parents, in their wish to travel every road before giving up on their son.

On the other side of these maculated scales, a man in full cognisance of his terminal condition and wishing to end his own suffering, we force to endure an unbearable end of life.

I am proud of the Britain beneath my feet, but I despair of the nation we have become.


Does the devil encourage
Questioning faith?
Or faith crumble
Neath he who prays,
Pleads, beseeches
God to intervene,
Send us one more Nazarene.
Or is it proliferation fog
With gods aplenty
I tried counting, once
And stopped at twenty
So which door for me
The day I die
When doors abound
To fill the eye
And each comely door,
Impervious to key
Can never open
Nor closed be.
It seems surely
The question is done
Like a snowman
Melting in the midday sun
But on it rages
Like bitter war
Betwixt deities words
And scientist’s law
In the end it’s just
A choice you make
Read another book?
Or eat their cake?

Black Lives Matter (CopWatchers)

It continues

Steve Pearson Poetry

Come with me to the hollowlands
beneath the leaden skies,
where skin turns lives upon a dime
and black skin surely dies.
Come with me to their faux morality
beyond their righteous line.
Where life turns upon truant respect,
springs up another shrine.
Come with me to the hinterland
behind the troubled lie,
where America wields it’s brutal past
to chase the truth awry.
Come with me brothers, come with me
wherever injustice burns again,
with right and good upon our breast
lest even truth be slain.

View original post


Have a good day at work?

Steve Pearson Poetry

You start with
a place upon the driven isle
fingers finally feeling
paltry purchase.
The machine
starts to do for you
even as it sees through you
as you fall
for its foolish charms,
for the
cultured dreams
of success.
Feel the machine
begin to throb beneath you,
instil belief to
and ride
and ride
feeling the hours roaring,
days dawning like
an annual morning,
a time warning
the machine whirring,
thinking you’re beginning
to get there
it stops,
and you find
you’re sitting at
the same place,
different fucking chair.

View original post

Still Gold

Once he loved her
like the day loves the sun,
their story shone
with lustful
and zested life.
They revelled in
their vital lives:
duality served,
in singular love
and caress,
upon a word
or look.

Yet now,
his stare denies
her pallid heart and
remaindered smile.
Love lives now only
in long laments
for the golden flower,
here in its final hour,
as the weld dissolves,
and the constant
becomes dissonant
once more.
He can’t recall her face.
Nor touch, nor kiss,
no moments in joy,
no days of holding,
nor needing her.
No name comes to
his lost lips,
no smile for her,
save fleeting greet,
and again retreat
to an unfilled mind.

She knows that once,
the man was hers to hold,
their flower was gold
when love filled their hearts
and minds.
With hopes forlorn that,
perhaps somewhere
in the painful voids
of her lover’s old
and crumpled mind,
a petal lies,
still gold.

Drudge Dread

Early hours of a new day born
Like falling rain on sun parched lawn
Waiting with gusto for the sun’s rich light
Gambling heaven for the end of night.
As throw of dice or the river’s turn
No hint of what until we learn
Be it the glory of beauteous lustre
Or cloud grey pall and bilious bluster.
Soon, sun comes clothed in cloudless sky
Like Kingly gown with crown on high.
Stretched out day lies new ahead
Incognisant men lie still home abed,
Until day becomes as a toddler child
Then rush began as cherub smiled.
Swarming masses wending ways
In line, instilled with lank delays
Office swiftly fills and factory swells
Sweltered to thirst which nothing quells.
Boxed and broiled beneath baking sun
Until blessed end, when work is done.
Now rush and push and shove to home
Make blood to boil and mouth to foam.
Then to garden with food to fire
Burger burned and bloody chicken dire.
Sausage scorched with undone middle
Gamble to feast or frequent hospital.
Cold beer, chilled wine, quaffed to quench
Raging thirst, in need of drench.
Soon day descends to nether night
Diminished to dark from livid light.
Till, bade to bed by blunted vigour
The morrow resigned to repeat the rigour.

The Profit Song

Like a soiled and sullied uncrowned king
The God of profit taints everything.
As a wasted Eden descends to ire
And man’s great promise is cast to fire.

Like the famine child with extant stare,
The feeble gaze of man’s despair,
As progress blooms with perfidious ease
Trailing its wake, the progress disease.

Where are we heading if we leave behind
The remnant tail of all mankind?
And how will we mark the day we arrive
With the wealthy living while the rest survive?

A highway adorned with lanes of gold,
The dystopian journey of the privileged fold.
To the gated Utopia that readies itself
For progress people with pillaged wealth.

No heaven resembles this hellish design,
No Gods within this vulgar shrine,
But contrived division of the common race.
Accept your lot, and know your place.