Nothing is subversive nothing is sacred,
All the lines are blurred the scenery shifting,
You don't know where you stand,
Because what you stand on is sinking,
What you are breathing is a mixture,
Of this and that, that and this,
You are hypnotised, yes, you are hypnotised,
Entranced, in trance and goggle eyed,
Your conscious mind is asleep,
So in flies the buzzing host of lies,
Your doors are swinging open unhinged,
It scares the horses this whispering wind,
That you let in, let in, keep letting in,
You are hypnotised, yes, you are hypnotised,
Unprotected defiled by a daily diatribe,
Bent double by undigested flik and flak,
Pummeled flat by a stampeding herd,
Who heard that you were easy fare,
Ropeless, hopeless, loves shattered pride,
Left in the gutter with nothing to hide,
Are you now satisfied that,
Unlike this poem,
Your dream,
Will never,
End?
(Sometimes poems just come and there is no stopping them. Its like having a bad case of the runs. This was certainly true for this poem. I was on the 9.20 train to London just pulling into Euston musing about Beyonce appearing at The Glastonbury festival 2011. 'Nothing is subversive any more' I thought 'not even Glastonbury' ....and then I heard someone else in my head say 'Nothing is sacred either'....And then I heard 'All the lines are blurred..' and I hurriedly got out my iphone and started writing. The problem was that the train had come to a halt and I needed to get off but I couldn't stop so I was walking down the platform still tapping on my phone ... 'What you are breathing is a mixture'...then I was on the underground trying to stay on my feet as the carriages swayed...'defiled by a daily diatribe'..then I was waiting for my client in their office reception...'Left in the gutter with nothing to hide'. All the time I am thinking why can't you wait? Why can't you wait? Well, I got my answer because after my coaching session I met a friend and found myself reading this freshly born poem to them. I finished reading it and suddenly declared 'Maybe this poem is for you. Yes, it is for you but it has no title'. 'The Dogs are Coming' my friend replied as if stating the blindingly obvious 'The title is The Dogs are Coming'. 'Yes, bang on' I replied 'The Dogs are Coming - that is the title'. So that is it. That is how poems are made. A very personal poem for a very specific person. As such it is private and I am not going to explain it any more to you, so there :) )
