Taste of Salt, a poem by Adam White, poet

When shining so brightly,
What might hide in the shade?
Rotten luck, curled at it's edges,
Like so many aged pages,
Wishing they'd not delayed.

What is green grows distant,
Or is that some slick mould?
I forget your true patina,
Ignore anguished eternity,
The bite of bitter cold.

Such a foreign notion,
What need is there for this?
I pray for kind companionship,
So that I might sink down with it
And feel a little bliss.

Hey there guys,
For the next few weeks, I'll be raising money for ALS in preparation for a sponsored walk. Any donation you can make would be greatly appreciated.

HOW YOUR DONATION HELPS

Your donation helps in two very critical ways :

First off, the money will go towards supporting direct services for people with ALS and their families – educational information, referrals to local health care and community services, equipment assistance and coordination of peer support groups.

Secondly, a guaranteed 40% of funds raised during the Walk support breakthrough research to treat and cure ALS.

Please go to my page by clicking the link below. Give as little or as much as you can. You know how the old saying goes. "Every little helps." *Tap Tap*


http://my.e2rm.com/personalPage.aspx?registrationID=1238171#.TlaQG_X_vPw.facebook


Follow me on Twitter http://twitter.com/#!/AdamWhitePoet

Raising Money for ALS

Hey there guys,
For the next few weeks, I'll be raising money for ALS in preparation for a sponsored walk. Any donation you can make would be greatly appreciated.

HOW YOUR DONATION HELPS

Your donation helps in two very critical ways :

First off, the money will go towards supporting direct services for people with ALS and their families – educational information, referrals to local health care and community services, equipment assistance and coordination of peer support groups.

Secondly, a guaranteed 40% of funds raised during the Walk support breakthrough research to treat and cure ALS.

Please go to my page by clicking the link below. Give as little or as much as you can. You know how the old saying goes. "Every little helps." *Tap Tap*

http://my.e2rm.com/personalPage.aspx?registrationID=1238171#.TlaQG_X_vPw.facebook

Follow me on Twitter http://twitter.com/#!/AdamWhitePoet

Rugged Old Face, a poem by Adam White, poet

Too numerous scars
Across your rugged, old face.
How do you stand it?

The mark of two suns,
Distant jack boots in your ears.
Your quivering heart.

The stain of empire,
A vicious reputation,
Long years of cruelty.

Goodness in decline.
Your people rage aimlessly,
Their small voices fade.

The children's laughter
As they shatter market glass,
Tearing it all down.
The parents watch and despair.
No single soul thinks to act.

The excuses come,
We sweep it under the rug.
Keep calm. Carry on.

The bastards will lie.
They will shame and they will blame.
Liberal eyes burn.

Everyone forgets.
All is forgiven. Well done.
We never move on.

Familiar tale.
How much is enough for us,
Our rugged old face.


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Short Year, a poem by Adam White, poet

The earth has wound its way around the sun
Once since I felt the bitter arrow's sting
And all the suffering a lie could bring.
Just one empty year, lost and dead and done.
Let vanity replace my broken strings,
Snapped by weights on shoulders unfairly hung,
And take the stain that lives inside my lungs,
The anxious ache that tarnished everything.
Such hours; such months and such a draining trial,
And relief that time has passed and took it's toll,
To bring a close to this chapters woeful tale.
Relief. I collapse and lay here a while,
Feeling the burden of the year leave my soul
Looking all broken, smiling, wasted and pale.

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Dare, a poem by Adam White, poet

Dare we hope?
Can the backward tumble start a scream
That they'll remember come
The inevitable day?
Can a greyer people deign to dream
Of brighter, better skies
And a kinder, better way?

Dare we hope?
Can racial memories rekindle,
Kissing minds of weakened men
Who cry when curtains raise?
Can the sight of covered craters full
With blood and bandages
Dressings of our debts long paid?


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More on the riots

The real solution to these riots is deterrence. If the police were granted access to high powered hoses, rubber bullets and given the right to greet force with equal force, we'd have no issue. The difficulty lies in the difference between a weapon and a deadly weapon. People throwing petrol bombs at police are acting with deadly force.

How do you react to somebody trying to burn you to death? Sadly, for the safety of society, sometimes those wielding lethal force need to be met with an equal amount of that self same force to prevent other innocent parties from being harmed.

I'm not saying we should go the way Haiti did, shooting any looter/rioter that they come across. Those looting should be treated harshly within the confines of reasonable law.

The scale of the looting denotes that this must be done efficiently. Broken arms, hands and legs or being pumped full of electricity or blinded with mace is generally enough to stop a human from continuing with these kind of shenanigans.

I should point out that unless this situation is dealt with relatively harshly now, these adolescents will feel they have gotten away with these crimes. In cities like London, Birmingham, Bristol and Manchester this has the potential to reinforce gang culture and produce career criminals who will continue to sporadically commit these crimes, safe in the assumed knowledge that they won't be touched.

My solution is a government sanctioned Batman for every city. Any thoughts?

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Riots in England

It is a stark and cold reality that the people of England face at the best of times. Our skies are grey, our people accustomed to disappointment and lies of promised greatness. For many years, we have existed in a state of limbo and appeasement, where our laws better serve PR than the public interest. Our governments are afraid to make any radical change, fearing that they may polarise the voters and lose the next election. Our police are powerless to stop the growing culture of adolescent crime, and year after year, English people become more disillusioned, more dejected, and as grey as their own grey skies.

The last three nights have seen riots and looting by a criminal element in major cities. These crimes, these attacks on the people of England, will (I promise you) go mostly unpunished. Those that are caught will be scapegoats. Your newspapers will be adorned with 12-16 faces, the faces of those responsible for the biggest “crimes” of the riots. The arson, the violent attacks, the things the media got pictures of. The rest will be ignored…

But what is the long-term effect? These riots have had hundreds, if not thousands of participants over the last few days. The effect has scattered to four cities. Those that have committed themselves to this brutish behaviour will discover that there is little to no punishment for their actions. Many of them will commit similar acts in future. The small gangs of adolescents who before this may have committed only petty crimes have gotten away with proverbial murder. They will do it again. They will organise themselves in to large groups. They will riot and loot at every opportunity. English society will suffer.

What are you going to do about it? The police are powerless. The English public, for the most part, want to see the police busting heads. They want the army involved. They want a harsh and swift reaction to these crimes because, seemingly unbeknownst to the government, the police or the media, the general public have been putting up with this increasingly criminal culture since the police were castrated in the 70’s and 80’s (and periodically since.)

I left England. There was no way me and my partner were going to build a life together in a country that has been going down the pipes for so long that it is closer to the bottom than the top. I consider myself to be a good person. Many other good people have spoken to me yesterday and today saying they wish they could get out like I did. From the look of it, in a few years there will only be three kinds of people left in England. The unlucky few who can’t find a way to escape, the kind of mindless, adolescent morons that commit these acts and the horrific adults they inevitably grow in to.


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