A Presidential Romance

A Presidential Romance

One day a

Policital circus came

They brought a democratic elephant

Hillary was her name

One dark night

She slipped her party’s chain

And off she ran to find her man

And was never seen again


Hillary Hillary left the stump

And said goodbye to the circus

Off she went with a trumpety-trump

Grump Hump Trump

Hillary Hillary made the jump

And left the Bill with the intern

Off she went with a trumpety-trump

Slump Bump Trump



All her life

She’d danced to the circus band

When Hilly was leading the big parade

The Bureau took a stand

No more tricks

Hillary could perform

They’d taught her not to trust he-mail

Where smoking lies were the norm


Hillary Hillary left the stump

And said goodbye to the circus

Off she went with a trumpety-trump

Slump Lump Trump

Hillary Hillary made the jump

And left her Bill with the intern

Off she went with a trumpety-trump

Mump Dump Trump


The head of the herd was calling

Now is hour

They met that night in the silver light

And he took her in his tow’r

Hillary Hillary left the stump

And said goodbye to the circus

Off she went with a trumpety-trump

Pump Rump Trump


Golden Braid

Furbelows and curlicues

Flow tow below bellow follow glow

Hassock haired carded tows to rope gripped snake charming up to the pipe yet unremembered

Undoing unthreaded

Weft bereft

Grip strip and magnify until chrysalis burst

out to new dimensions

(We are the process of weaving existence together)

Conjugating Feminism




We comprise  dynamic balance. Yin, Yang – or Jung’s concept of Anima and Animus.

Animus ..  the male aspect of the female psyche, as the Anima is the female aspect of male psyche”

I like the concept of conjugation in relation to establishing this balance, as in Buber’s  “I & Thou” – moving onward to an existential “We”.

Perhaps then,  Animo, Animas.. Animamus. (Anim-am-us).

Feminism is a conjugating force  rebalancing centuries of dominance of male. The work though is inside each of us, balancing our Anima and Animus to release our true self. Can someone tell Donald Trump & Daish.

[And yes the attached sound-thought-expressions (I don’t want to call them music) owe something both to Bach’s Siciliano transcribed by Wilhelm Kempf]

Why Brexit is a vote for democracy

Do you know how the EU works? Watch Jeremy Paxman’s BBC documentary. So..

Laws are framed and developed by the Council and Commission. In each of these the UK has one vote out of 28 (by the way Luxembourg has the same status in voting). That means that UK has something like a 3% voice (we are around 12% of EU population). The Parliament ratifies these laws (yes, it always does). We have 73 out of 750 MEP’s, around 10% (we are around 12% of EU population). These laws are then simply instructed to our (democratic) parliament as Directives or simply written into UK law by the EU as Regulations. Around 59% of our laws are imposed like that.

Yup, Britain is ruled by unelected Europeans.

By the way, the European Court of Justice is the supreme arbiter of these laws (not any kind of UK court). And guess what – these judges are appointed not elected.

For those of you who believe that the EU is always going to be a socialist institution, so in some way moderating elected conservative UK governments, consider this; only 70 years ago the European trend was fascism (Italy, Germany, Spain as small examples). Austria is about to elect a hard right president. So for you Guardian readers, imagine it’s fascist laws imposed on us. Still ok with letting democracy go?

Those voices, like mine, who want us to consider these issues are castigated as somehow “little England”, prejudiced. This reminds me of the attempt to join us up to the Euro. Remember how the same people (the European elite who have their snouts in our trough) played out the same slur. By the way the same people back then told warned us of armaggedon if we failed to join the Euro.

Seem familiar?



National Boundaries

We define by creating boundaries; where we place them. (That is you, this is me); what kind they are (a kissing gate or a prison wall). Most important, though. is what they are made out of. The foundations of  Nationalism are laid on enmity. Yes, there can be other building materials  – ideals, even love. How often though does aspiration end in vitriol?

A friend put to me on Saturday that it is possible for nationalism to be a force for good. He cited the British resistance to Nazis. He won me over, but to the possibility,, not the reality.

Boundaries are existential; or at least to our experience of “being”. We have to feel an “other” in order to sense our “self”, this is because all experience is relative. We live inside the uni-verse (the one thing), and so have no absolute external measure, no yardstick or objectivity. It is only by differentiating and re-integrating that we create reality.

Boundaries make things real; but they also separate. Each from each. Technically a form of  good nationalism could come about through a specific kind of boundary. If nationals could stay open and inclusive, by having semi permeable social cell-walls, then well and good. But…

The problem is that “nation” is so often a short-hand for racial grouping. Indeed why else call a community a “nation”? And race memories are there in our unconscious lurking as Archetypes. Irrational and enormously, darkly,  potent. The perfidious English to the French, the Lord Snooty English to the Scots, the chippy Scots to the English. In our collective unconscious our neighbour is the enemy who raided in the night, raped and stole our livelihood.

.. And so – enter mass manipulation by politicians and other self interested parties ( corporations for instance).  We have our psychic buttons, all they have to do is to to push them; and they can’t help it. The end (their end) soon justifies their means. Where community is defined by nation, then you have the cybernats’ outrageous vilification of the “English”, and the Daily Mail whipping up a response (which helped the Tories back to power  last month). Roll up the Bosch, the Hun and the Frogs. Come on in to the EU debate. How much pent up grievance does it then take to move us to internment camps and war. No, this really isn’t hysteria. In the early 1930’s Germany was an pluralistic and active democracy. It only took ten years…

Neighbourhood feminism

It is not heroic to feel injustice as it affects you personally. It is understandable, but not noble. A woman confronted by the pervasive but subtle continued tilt of the rules against her; a black in a white dominated society. The feeling of being apart, and made less human because of it – and the righteous anger that it provokes.

Understandable, forgivable.

But not heroic.

What then is the journey of the Hero? What is the dragon that she must slay? It is fighting for the other. Nobility is reserved for those few who feel and bleed for their neighbour. The man who is a feminist, the white who fights for justice with his black brother, for the woman who refuses to participate in the projection of society’s shadow onto another “nation”.

Best summed up as – loving your neighbour. As yourself.

Oh boy, I find it tough. Personally. Love my neighbour, as myself? For most of my life I’ve believed – with my mind – in equality. Indisputable unless you believe we are only material. BUT. That’s not the same as – loving my neighbour as myself. Loving requires empathy. You don’t love an empty ideal. You need to be with, to sense, feel and bleed for – your neighbour. Specifically – the “other”. Love flows in the language of compassion, rather than intellect..

The journey of the Heroine requires us to share feeling with our neighbour. Seeing them – as ourself. (Namaste). To love them – as ourself. To fight for them with the same passion and intensity with which we fight the injustice practiced on – ourself.

Neighbourhood feminism. One of the two great commandments given to us (men) by Christ.

What use to me is an Ism?

What use to me is an Ism?

When face to face with a Chasm

Your hand, dear friend is a Prism

The angry just cause, a Spasm


(Homage to Stevie Smith


Not Waving But Drowning

“Nobody heard him the dead man,

But still he lay moaning:

I was much further out than you thought

And not waving but drowning.


Poor chap, he always loved larking

And now he’s dead

It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,

They said.


Oh, no no no, it was too cold always

(Still the dead one lay moaning)

I was much too far out all my life

And not waving but drowning”