Prison Street

In Prison Street, behind each wall,
they live their separate ways:
the people who are powerless,
though free to count the days.

Subject to indifference
they must endure alone;
subject to the awful truth:
their worth is what they own.

They cannot buy their happiness,
though they search in every store.
They purchase what they think they want,
but what they want is more.

This is the cell that pens them in,
to which they are resigned;
the freedom that they think they seek
keeps them all confined.



Why not organise? Do you expect the State to do it for you? Do you really enjoy being just another consumer, dutifully consuming, dutifully producing, until you die? Do you ever wonder why the State seems to expect this from you and nothing more?
To Hell with that!
If I took on the task of doing the shopping for my neighbours, making a single trip in a van and saving them individually a trip in their separate cars, this would have many benefits.
Bulk buying, for example. If a total of 15 cans of beans were on the list, I could buy a pack of 18 and cut costs. This principle applied to all items would save each household a significant amount.
A local ‘shopping fund’ could be used, contributed to by all participants, and from this fund I could not only buy in bulk for immediate requirements, but in even larger bulk – and for even less money – for future needs, as long as the goods were easy to store long-term. This fund would pay for my time and the fuel.
Imagine not having to shop at weekends. More free time and reduction of stress – a longer weekend.
The State won’t give you freedom. You have only the freedom to vote, which is nice. But if people want their lives to improve they have to organise.
Those who run States pull their big levers and hope life improves, hope global-warming is reduced.
Only you and your neighbours can make sure it does. And it means more to go round, not less.

The Proposal

Why heat two homes throughout the day
when in turn they could be shared?
One day yours, the next day mine –
the bills we could be spared!

We’d both get richer, and even warmer
and, now we’ve learned the trick,
we’d share a car on shopping days,
cut those fuel bills quite a lick.

So much waste, so much expense
in wasting what we need.
Mankind is living frugally;
I’m recommending greed:

Who doesn’t want the extra cash
that sharing more would bring?
The economy of scale, my queen,
makes every man a king.

And the notion could be wider spread
with locals spending less,
coordinating more and more;
the alternative is less:

Less spending power, and less control
of our separate, modern lives.
So let you and I get organised:
that’s how the species thrives.


Useless, the Rights of Man:
institutions and the state
and businesses that are too big
control our daily fate.

Powerless, in such numbers
we each are swamped by all
in cities in our millions
we are strangers more and more.

The cult of self so well divides,
we fear to unite
against the keyboards that delete
ineptly or in spite.

Binding is our source of strength,
not pursuing ‘live the dream’,
the state wants individuals,
not you and me, a team.

It wants us to believe that life
is buying, nothing more
and keeps us all distracted
with news that scares us all.

Well, now it seems the end is nigh:
individuals – we are doomed!
By looking out for Number One
our destruction is assumed.

This is how the world will end,
not a whimper or a bang
but a failure to be human beings.
Individually, we will hang.

A bank account that locals share
makes everybody rich
with a will to work together
if we dare to make the switch.

Alliances in time would bond,
conglomerating more
giving each of us a way at last
to even up the score.

Each human being protected by
only others of their kind;
the state now just a servant
attendant on mankind.

The size of economic units –
that’s where power lies,
and sharing means resources last
much longer if we’re wise.

So with no pain we’d ease the cost
to Earth of humankind.
We might even last forever
so use you minds – and bind.

Beacon Hill

That summer was so long ago,
but well-remembered still,
and I recall so vividly
the view of Beacon Hill.

So long ago, and far away
but lingering in my mind:
the boy must educate the man
perpetually, I find,

reminding him what he once saw
so clearly in that view
of Beacon Hill on summer days –
the deeds that he would do!

But now the winter howls outside,
throughout the coldest night;
my schemes are frozen in the ice;
my virgin hopes are white.

Will I ever dare fulfill
that golden vision seen
as I gazed at Beacon Hill
when summer days were green?