Olympics 2012
Our species believes it progresses without limitationOffer coaches more moneyWe shout when a swimmer wins silver that's no inspiration
Our consumption of carbon turns climate to high agitationIt's too hot and sunnyWe complain as we gobble more fuel without limitation
We want it all faster we scream at computerisationThis program's not funnyWe shout as we wait modem struggling without inspiration
Long essays aren't worthy of effort in their compilationTwitter leaps like a bunnyWe'll get there before we can start without limitation
We'll leave this poor planet too messy for our habitationOur toast needs more honeyNew fields are required for our plunder and fresh inspiration
Our species might pause but no worries there'll be good mutationWaste goes down the dunnyAs humans pound forward no burden of care limitationWe deserve only winners our species the sole inspiration
Jill Sutton
At the Olympics
At the Sydney Olympics we sat and watched the crowd.At one final down thirty rows in front and to the right of us there wasa young woman, who was dressed as a cheerleaderwith two great big green and gold pom poms,and whenever the music startedshe would stand up and do someelaborately rehearsed routine, waving the pom poms aboutin front of the people in front of her.She would look up at the big video screenand if she wasn't on it she would stop dancing and sit down.Now, of course, I know what she went to the Olympics to see,and what we saw at the Olympics.
Mark Carkeet
Sun rituals
Surging, thudding,blood-in-head alchemy;dreams are thoughts.Stale, yellowing actions?Best intended evasions?Half-life memories.Pounding, rolling wavesof foam lubricate skin,blades sever follicles.Streaming, pulsing on skin,bone, sudsoapscleanse the shell;distant kettles sound.China, tectonic, shifts.Hydrogenated oxygen spillscascading, revelling incaffeinated sludge.Kind cups guard thesleepdrivers' odyssey.Cards flash, portals acquiese,machines print, copy,hold us, baying,fingers claw at wordspassed, past and recalled.Electrons dance. Flee.Communing with nature'sbastard children; facesof long ago, spaces claimed.Cyberdunked into connectionslacking soul. Light. Touchbereft of human ichor.Medea's enchanting revengegains fresh blood. Poisoned giftsintimate satiation's lure:fulfillment, hope, unity.We're left grasping.
Barry Gittins