Global Village Idiot

Richard Fox

Tech Tock

seems to me we’re out of luck. Out of time. and Out of date.

Clearly, I heard calling from the rooftops. through the

satellite dishes, through the marshall amps,

unanimous calls for a reset. Back to the stone age. Back to

the copperwire age. Back to the telephonic ringtones

of the soul.

The best things in life are deepfried

gemstones. The ones in smart

gadgets. Life affirming affirmations. Not even facebook.

The next facebook. The facebook of robot lovers

and cartesian soldiers. The dynamite magnates,

the overlords, the geniuses behind the sellout.

I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this.

But I ran out of airtime.

It’s a figure of speech in a new kind of language.

I got tickets to the sellout, I picked them up for a steal.

Everything you will ever want now has to be downloaded

from amazon rainforest. From the google jungle.

Using your genetic makeup applied without the help

of laboratory animals. Who are dead. As God is dead.

As democracy is dead. They all died

in the sellout.

It was a global redcarpet auction event attended not only

by the rich and the famous. But by every living being

with a coded stub, hooked into their heart at birth.

Planted there by extraterrestrial monkeys. Like in the movies.

I was there. I took pictures for the papers.

With a graphite pen stole your hearts, and

sold all the stubs for peanuts. What else could I do?

They are coming. And we are out of time.

Out of luck. And out of date.

I looked up on the internet. Saw all the stars had turned to dust

Around a giant masquerading wheel of flame. Every metal petal.

Every plastic vase in which our dreams were cast, are dashed.

Shattered into a handful of magnetic flares that lead the ever

hopeful on – global village idiots carving out their plans

in biomass. In scree. Along indecipherable journeys

between points that cannot join. You cannot join the sellout.

All the tickets are dead.

Featured at The Red Wheelbarrow on 21 April 2022

Three haiku from the late Hugh Hodge’s short poem chat

Geoff Haresnape

HELMETED GUINEA FOWL

mother of many

tea-cosy to next moment’s

energetic sparks

UCT LIBRARY FIRE

flame on red-maned flame

voracious in a wild wind

guzzling heritage

FOR HUGH FROM GEOFF

we worked for Contrast

this is my Remembrancer

poetry was served

Featured at The Red Wheelbarrow on 14 April 2022

An extract from “Sign language”:

Mangaliso Buzani

The lead singer was Lahliwe, my mother, and Tukie and Tonogo were the

backup singers. They sang Utloa sefefo samoea. We were their small

congregation, we clapped our hands, our grandmother hitting the side of the

wardrobe because we had no drum. We were the ears to the singers. I wonder

if they are still singing together behind the moon.

(Deep South – 2019)

Featured at The Red Wheelbarrow on 7 April 2022