Step into the Rainbow by Colin R Brookfield (read 50 shades of grey txt) 📕
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- Author: Colin R Brookfield
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but not the one prone to enquiry.
Light to shed and things to find
in darker places of the mind.
One’s way will otherwise be blind,
the intrigues of another’s mind.
Objective Mind
The phase of man’s objective mind
is displayed by what he leaves behind.
Palæolithic man left scarce a thing
and less, by those pre-dating him.
Leaps of time into the future
found man a more creative creature.
His mind through time had grown a tool
to subjugate his world and rule
Wilted Dreams
Of fleeting youth that went amiss,
of fancies skipped from that and this,
of idle hopes that flit away,
of wastage mourned in latter day.
Some will Make their Mark
Some will make their mark
from what they have within,
whilst others ‘hitch their wagon’
to some others bid to win.
Some ‘don’t give a hoot’ for anything
come poverty or fame,
some choose the easy road and fail,
life’s winners then, they blame.
Some give time to serving others
that some exploit with no disdain.
Animals to some, are creatures to abuse
though deference to dumb creatures
is the road that others choose.
Social Sub-structures
Take a shortcut to nowhere,
get to nowhere very fast,
choose your special nowhere,
the choices, are vast.
Decide which one entices
and get the special deal,
get away from somewhere,
somewheres are too real.
Shortcuts are a business
for manipulating clients,
even those most circumspect
fall prey to this science.
Disinformation is its style,
it keeps the business sound
but of course it’s nothing new
it’s always been around.
There’s not a social structure,
not riddled from inception
nor a democratic label,
not more covert in deception.
A Young Soldiers Epitaph 1914-1918
With a foe all around, that freely marauders,
and limbs that refused to take his mind’s orders,
was a youth; with mind shocked to the edge of its borders.
Mud past his ankles in a foul smelling trench;
parched lips and throat, that no water could quench.
Field glasses only yesterday
brought the enemy so near,
many, quite as young as he;
their faces mirroring his fear.
And then it crossed his mind;
how many men on either side
were hounded till they volunteered
for a muddy trench in which to hide.
He remembered his home village,
a quiet and friendly place:
oh, how it soured at the break of war,
when he was labelled with disgrace.
He could see the bands still playing
and the posters everywhere,
and those that he’d respected,
that began to point and glare,
saying "Listen to me lad,
stay civilian if you dare,
and we will turn your life
into a living nightmare."
His liberty was signed away that day,
a liberty already lost,
to find himself with the game recruits,
that had no vision of the cost.
His thoughts stopped there,
and none came later:
All that marked his place,
was an ugly smoking crater.
A young soldier left the trenches,
and very soon was back
to the village where he used to live,
where they turned his good name black.
His mother’s cottage door stood open,
lots of people were inside,
and as he walked among them,
he heard their whisperings that lied.
"We shall miss him very much
he gave us so much pride
but why did he make the sacrifice,
to fight with soldiers side by side?"
A frown appeared upon his face,
for not a single one
had raised a head towards him,
as he put down his pack and gun.
His sad mother’s eyes stared through him,
as though he were not there:
the truth then dawned upon him;
it was more than he could bear.
Come on Jack, said a voice from the door,
there’s only heartbreak for you here
and turning round, saw a dear old friend,
who’d lost his life more than a year.
As they wandered out the gateway,
the old friend told the boy,
You have happiness and peace ahead,
that no-one can destroy.
Footnote:
Behind status, age and gender,
hide some so smugly safe,
with hearts that are not tender.
These charnel house purveyors,
from sidelines safely prattle;
driving others to unwanted battle.
Limbo Thoughts
A stranded thought, that were it so,
such thought alone is thought misspent,
a fruit left withered on the vine.
But thought that shared convictions force,
not stranded and immobile lies,
a union instead, whereby merit may,
its own momentum thus occasion.
Filial Blindness
Filial blindness kith and kin,
darker secrets kept within,
truth can touch a tender zone
when it arrives too close to home.
The Mischief Maker
The mischief maker
spreads the unjust guilt
to make advantage
in their favour tilt.
Fifty Voices
Fifty voices in accord
Fifty different reasons.
Nature’s Fruit
All those on Nature’s fruit that feeds,
is expected they attend her needs,
whilst all attend to this provision,
Nature makes no price revision.
Homo Proselytiser
A concept comes from an unknown place,
displays itself metaphysically in space.
A mind that acts to this suggestion
with probity not felt in question,
will systemise through its neurology
and interface its physiology.
Thus from a process introspective
abstracts manifest themselves objective.
He Neither Felt nor Cared
Swans collected in their hundred
upon the country mere,
autumn’s sun was weakening,
soon winter would be here.
Then without a warning,
a hunter from the shore
squeezed the trigger of his rifle:
a swan knew life, no more.
It lay upon the waters,
its head beneath a wing,
all the others crowded ‘round it
and did the selfsame thing.
So the hunter with the rifle
took a life he could have spared,
inflicting pain upon the rest
and neither felt nor cared.
Apologist
A protection from the real
through the unreal,
an avoidance
with which others have to deal.
Sometimes Consciously, Sometimes Not
Fallen demi-gods abound
in their cerebral seas,
the ‘mark of Cain’ upon them
through ways that they malfease.
Convictions are the seabed
they drop their anchors in,
specious ones are quicksands
from there the drifts begin.
These hazards in cerebral seas
with perfidious Stygian crews,
pirates of the inner waters
with wider ones to choose.
But these are only abstracts,
and abstracts that aren’t shared
are but hazards to their owners,
nothing else could be impaired.
But abstracts seek expression
in a wider sense
and manifest objective
converting thoughts into events.
Thus the tenuous Æolian seas
fall prey to the stygian crews
to maraud the wide objective world
for victims to abuse.
Priorities
Minds dimmed self-fettered light
unspurred to compass bright around,
and what prioritised, be deemed as less
to its fading shadowed edge is found.
Conscience Hath Its Dues
Think well the wounds to others giving,
for conscience keeps these wounds reliving.
Before the eyes past sins there hanging,
like chimeras in a dream haranguing.
Refractory Material
Young minds by older ones are moulded
to foster or curtail the potential there enfolded.
Eventually these minds are to their owners ceded
as refractory material, that to reshaping stay unheeded.
The Last Smile
Whilst looking at things in the way that they’re not,
the things that they are will not be forgot,
For the things that they’re not, may work for a while,
but the things that they are will have the last smile.
The Pendant Way
Stepping down whilst others sleep
into the caverns dark and deep,
where stars are not the ones we knew
nor moon that bathes the unknown view.
Where clouds we’ve known have never crept
upon this place and then have wept,
where music is the unknown tune,
its words the unremembered rune.
Fickle too, the way it wings
to hidden places, nameless things.
Upon the knowing, darkness smiles
despite its all uncovered wiles,
but shadows growl with all their might
‘pon those that enter cowed in fright.
Chimeras though, must earn their keep
that their appetites remain replete,
but the spectre of the darkness flees
when dawn’s contrary lights it sees,
to their hidden places they repair
or lose their charge as never there,
and come those eastern rising rays
the feet that came, retread their ways.
Then, those that must, in that diurnal bright
will make of it, a more infernal light,
and thus the pendant moon in sequence brings
that they re-meet of vengeful somniatory things.
Honey Pot Syndrome
There are very many bees
preferring different honey
with interests not upon
the type that’s sweet and runny.
There’s varied kinds of honey pots
not difficult to find,
though bees that seek to sample
mustn’t show they’re so inclined.
For a reason that’s unique
to every single bee
some will only rarely taste
whilst others fill with glee.
This leaves one to concede
that bees that do such roving
are something other than they seem
masqueraded in bees’ clothing.
Parallax
Separate views from separate places
falsifying Cynosures placement in the sky,
Cynosure in dextra and sinistra places,
Predetermined minds conditioning the eye.
Gambit
White knights of mythology
and nannied ideology,
the endless stream of deity
and its reliant laity.
Expected ones to purge our sin,
where on earth did this begin?
ideas designed for going wrong
on earth indeed is where they’re from.
Such second party intervention
is misdirecting our attention,
for what we do is what we are,
no White Knight comes from afar.
White Knights come from within,
that is where they’ve always been,
we also have a Black Knight
for harrying the White.
You and I control the two,
Black or White; it’s up to you.
Knights are often in disguise,
we therefore need discerning eyes.
But in the end we have free will,
deciding on the one to kill.
Whilst Minds Remain Adjunctive
Nature has her arsenal,
weapons of all kind,
for harrying her progeny,
lest they slip behind.
We owe a debt of gratitude
to her weapons - dog and cat,
and all the other carnivores
through time, kept skilled and fat.
They were major players
in shaping evolution,
Nature’s heresy of numbers
received their contribution.
Quality control, also was a feature,
encouraging the best to thrive,
those that didn’t make the grade
were seldom sanctioned to survive.
Carnivores had more to add
for they supplied the fear,
giving all intelligence
an evolutionary steer.
Nature’s creatures of the wild,
lest they became defunctive,
were performing to Her larger plan,
whilst minds remained adjunctive.
Had Nature never cleaned her stable,
plumped for short term woolly notions,
life’s varieties and qualities
would have suffered poison potions.
All forms of life are brief,
thus all are short time thinkers,
whilst Nature on the other hand
is not hindered by such blinkers.
Now should another plan arrive,
not of Nature’s derivation,
She’d simply watch it fall apart,
then re-affirm administration.
Door Openers
The good, bad and the careless,
a combination that’s relentless;
It is every nation’s mixture
at every level is this picture.
Wherever good gains upper hand,
a fatal flaw works to disband,
it edges order into grief,
whilst unconscious its mischief.
Only good see some in fellowkind,
excuse their sins for peace of mind.
Innocuous though they may seem,
their history is short of gleam.
Unending does such view bedevil,
social fabrics at every level.
Those with such unbalanced view,
their inner virtue they undo.
Door openers their historic roll,
exploiters, passports to their goal.
Karl Marx had unbalanced view,
Millions followed, bad empires grew.
Such concepts grounded in emotion,
is toying with a dangerous notion.
Counterfeit Reason
Hubris covert, sometimes not,
diverse in type and needs,
endemic to its species
on which it mainly feeds.
Covets creatures things or both,
incomplete when its alone,
for Monarchs without subjects
sit upon a futile throne.
Self apotheosis has both
large and lesser kinds,
though congruence with ability
elects the niche it finds.
Insinuation is its stratagem
when it feigns respectability,
the ingenuously blind oblige
their part in culpability.
Useful Tools
Faith in things not rationalised,
products of the mind unwise.
Keeping myths and faiths abrewing
follows history’s road to ruin.
Myth and faiths are “stock in trade”,
useful tools at the despot’s aid,
for tyranny doth constant leer
through history both far and near.
Aposteriori
Looking back in time two hundred years,
they had some strange uncivilised ideas.
But they looked back and did the same,
each generation makes this claim.
When our todays are yesteryears,
‘twill be the time our turn appears.
Thus a common and recurring theme
that time and change does not redeem.
This natural affinity for curious premises,
turns cause into folly and effect into nemesis.
These events are symptomatic
of a penchant for delusion
where cause and effect is deemed
an unwarranted intrusion.
Man’s psychology is littered
with these cloisters of futility,
whose antecedence claim the future
as a pawn for its utility.
The Covert Jungle
The creatures of the jungle
where everything is real,
nothing has delusions
lest it becomes a meal.
But, some forsook the real world,
they brought the jungle too,
dressed it in illusions
to project a better view.
Tailored their delusions
to cover every aspect,
every one contributed
even those most circumspect.
Some became so far detached
in victimising truth,
that error was their champion
more red in claw and tooth.
Then delusion had decided
that goodness was inherent
and the predatory were products
of the disciplining parent.
So the predator was treated
as though it were the prey
and the jungle held its breath
at the dawning of this day.
No Hyenas to be ravening,
now they were treated kind,
compassion shown to predators
makes them disinclined.
This act of transformation
for compassion to awaken,
made Hyenas very happy
that delusion was mistaken.
The years rolled into decades,
trouble didn’t shrink; it grew,
nurtured by delusion
that couldn’t change its view.
Repositories of Heart and Mind
Like attracts to like,
each to their own kind,
fraternal inward-looking worlds,
self attendingly aligned.
Thus congeries of minute worlds
on the macrocosmic face,
repositories of heart and mind
in a manufactured place.
The World to Which we Repair
Touch not our thoughts or our ideas
nor clutter your paradigm into our ears.
The shutters are up to stifle the flow
and keep out the voice that disturbs status quo.
We have our worlds to which we repair,
try bringing the real world to us if you dare.
Images of Deceit
Every image from the past can be deceitful,
each one has many functions it fulfils,
for images through time have many masters,
gaining potency derived from managed skills.
Images are used for swaying nations,
collectivising thoughts for channelled flow,
such images express a specious promise
and demand returns exceeding quid quo pro.
When Reality has Died
Nothing that’s within, is what
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