Is This So? This Is So!
A Thousand Dimensions
Is This So? This Is So!
Is this So? It is So!
Part I
Each Age assumes superiority.
Former things have passed away.
Inhumanity is no longer currency.
But is this so?
Peers and elders point
to two world wars
The rule’s exception
…
that inhumanity
could descend no further.
But is this so?
Alas, even scant review
of Ages’ History,
Each civilisation,
New.
The curious interest
of prodders and archaeologists,
grave diggers,
bounty hunters,
reveals a far more worrying trend,
stark in its simplicity,
frightening in its
clockwork accuracy
!
This is so!
What?
This!
The pendulum swing
since time began,
Counts Less Than Half a Century!
Seeing wars, insurrections
powerful civilisations defeated,
wiped clean the surface of the earth,
leaving only detritus
to gradually work back
to the surface of millennia,
and then the process repeated
with metronomic accuracy.
With Metronomic Accuracy!
Greeks marvel at Mycenae
vanished a thousand years afore,
Mycenae marvel at Babylon
a thousand years beyond,
Back, back inexorably back
to Nineveh,
to the Dawn of Time.
Silly myths
morphing into splendid mythology,
Mythology morphing into actuality;
Actuality into Religion,
Religion into religious fervour,
religious fervour into extremism,
Extremism into unimagined Cruelty
laced with War and Insurrection,
More Unimagined Cruelty
Cocktailed off with Insurrection,
Rebellion,
Itself, then bludgeoned with yet More War!
Inhumanity
the metronome,
hand in glove
with the relentless
cycle of time.
Politicians fight over Trident.
Sillier politicians - a green hue
casts their benighted faces
say ‘no armed forces at all!’
‘Reason will hold the day’ they scream!
’Oh isis!
Because we have no army,
We have no missiles,
We have no air force,
We have no navy,
We wish you peace!
And to live side by side with you
protecting our planet.’
A black ominous cloth
on a pole masquerades
as civilisation’s
‘new’ standard
the only mark
…
as ugly as that crooked cross on red
as vile
each consigned to…
‘Oh, **** off!
Do you think we have your stupid ideology?
Do you think we respect your undefended boundaries?
‘No! What’s yours is ours.
We’re not sharing it.
Now shut the **** up.
Kneel…’
…that green hue
now pallid, white, pale, shitting
runs headlong into oblivion,
blades slice neck
and bone,
ashen, doomed.
That black ominous cloth
on a pole masquerades
as civilisation’s
‘new’ standard
the only mark
…
What?
Why this rabid Wind?
Why this sand that drills into the eyeballs?
WHY, despite the ferocity is our
glorious standard motionless,
limp on the staff…
This cannot be…
A vain appeal…
But all that is heard is that appeal’s dirty ending… akbu
The Spirit … ponders
Will they EVER learn?
Part II
In the darkest hours of the night,
In the deepest recesses of
world’s capitals,
heads of state quietly confer,
by the breaking of fast,
in one continent
in another continent, aperitifs pronounce
the main meal
with the sun rising,
with the sun setting,
simultaneously,
perfectly,
the metronomic pendulum...
Decrees are signed,
Joint statements agreed,
Ambassadors ‘Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary
to the Court of St James’ …
London to you and me
Washington,
Kyiv,
Berlin,
Paris,
Rome,
Ottawa,
Tokyo
…
Even Moscow … long the world’s new pariah
back-door channels quietly, ever so, ever so quietly… …
Beijing cavorts in Silk Road splendour
to the chopping board.
Nations’ deliberations
in air-conditioned,
windowless rooms,
banks of screens
playback world events
in real-time;
chiefs of staff direct,
lines international kept open
…
Oh so quietly…
Intelligence shifts a gear
A silent nod in reply
Yes, the pagers and iPhones
long ago programmed…
the international order given
Now activated
One thing is certain!
Differences are many
,
but when an enemy
so abhorrent threatens all,
the very fabric of life itself,
every species ...
…
Then ancient and modern
stand united in their determination
to survive.
To survive and remove this cancer
with precision,
with accuracy,
with ruthlessness.
A controlled explosion
unanimity in agreement
lethal as the cutting-edge blade
beloved by the jihadi.
Not for him seventy vestals
Permanent awareness,
Consciousness,
An inability to communicate
The price that accompanies Oblivion.
Part III
In the hotbed of
religious iniquity
despots relish
power, lust, wickedness;
their deluded minds seeing
believing they perceive ‘righteousness’
…
The transmission concurs
The nations of the world
for once, united
…
Twenty prisoners
forced to their knees
held roughly, hair torn,
hands tied behind backs
necks bared,
the stadium’s reluctant
bootlegged witnesses,
all ages,
summonsed at dawn,
on pain of death to refuse,
as in an ancient amphitheatre
of former civilisations.
Uncouth guards
sure in their righteousness
but cowardly bedeck in black
Just filthy eyes looking outward,
eyes that long ago ceased to shine,
eyes that testify to the absence of the soul,
eyes that testify to the Spirit’s decision to abandon …
a blackness
reflecting the blackness
of their vile hearts
and blackened tongues.
The so-called caliph shouts out his horrid voice
a thousand discordant obscenities …
the executions must time perfectly
with the sun’s rise
in four minutes...
Blades are sharpened
wiped afresh against lusting thighs
heads are grasped
Cams roll for propaganda
and to terrorize the world
as their forbears loved to do...
that same evil
that personified
the NAZIs
Pol Pot
The King Fields
Part IV
In another place
another ominous countdown
maintains its metronomic rhythm.
A single Silo slides open
in a barren landscape.
In four minutes,
destination reached
,
The loss of many in an instant
,
a terrible price exacted,
but necessary in
cauterising the wound
to rescue humankind
Part V
And in an instant
the world serves notice
on a suddenly frightened
babbling jihadist
,
bereft, defeated,
shitting his pants on the spot...
Oblivion
!
The quiet metronome
. One .. Two … Three …. Four ….. Five …… Six ……. Seven …….. Eight
minutes later
…
Every Nation
Looks on speechless,
Calm even,
Reeling from that distant echo
of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
The Pendulum pauses
on its upward turn,
Then returns
from whence, it came.
………. Ten ……………….. Twenty ………………………… Thirty ……….……….……….………. Forty ……….……….……….……….………. Fifty
years later …
The Pendulum pauses
on its upward turn,
Then returns
from whence, it came.
31 January 2024
All Rights Reserved
LIVERPOOL
© 2024 Ian Bradley Marshall
First Written 19 June 2015
Re-run 24 November 2022 and 31 January 2024
Revised on 20 December 2024
Digital Artwork by KTW 2024
Photo by Quinten de Graaf on Unsplash
Ken Webb is a writer and proofreader. His website, kennwebb.com, showcases his work as a writer, blogger and podcaster, resting on his successive careers as a police officer, progressing to a junior lawyer in succession and trusts as a Fellow of the Institute of Legal Executives, a retired officer with the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve, and latterly, for three years, the owner and editor of two lifestyle magazines in Liverpool.
He also just handed over a successful two year chairmanship in Gloucestershire with Cheltenham Regency Probus.
Pandemic aside, he spends his time equally between his city, Liverpool, and the county of his birth, Gloucestershire.
In this fast-paced present age, proof-reading is essential. And this skill also occasionally leads to copy-editing writers’ manuscripts for submission to publishers and also student and post graduate dissertations.
