Christmas Cheer

So soon that time is here again

Of peace and goodwill to all men

The passing of another year

Church bells ring out the Christmas Cheer

Green holly hanging on the doors

The streets are filled with Santa Claus

You’ll find him there in every store

Surrounded by fine gifts galore

But this year will you spare a thought

For all the poor children with nought?

Or will you just repeat last year

And lose yourself in Christmas Cheer?

A Letter to Santa

Artwork by Caroline Quin©2011

A poem by Phil Gibson, illustrated by Caroline Quin, featured in both 'Apocalyptic Visions' and 'Apocalypse and Beyond...'.

You can find a plain text version of this poem here.

A New Catastrophism for a New Era

During the 1930s a small group of Polish poets, associated with Czeslaw Milosz, became known as the Catastrophist school of poets. Aleksander Fiut explained in World Literature Today –

"the inevitable annihilation of the highest values, especially the values essential to a given cultural system. . . . But it proclaims . . . only the annihilation of certain values, not values in general, and the destruction of a certain historical formation, but not of all mankind,"

Terrence Des Pres, writing in the Nation, states –

"political catastrophe has defined the nature of our . . . [age], and the result—the collision of personal and public realms—has produced a new kind of writer. Czeslaw Milosz is the perfect example. In exile from a world which no longer exists,... , Milosz deals in his poetry with the central issues of our time: the impact of history upon moral being, the search for ways to survive spiritual ruin in a ruined world."

The "central issues" of the time of the Catastrophist poets were the political and philosophical upheavals leading up to the outbreak of the Second World War and the writings of this group of poets ominously foreshadowed the horrors of that conflict. The world was dealing with the repercussions of the Great Depression - mass unemployment and social deprivation, the rise of extreme national political movements and authoritarian governments. The Catastrophist school of poetry was a reaction to a growing sense of global anxiety and fear for the future.

The central issues of our age are many and varied. We seem to be living in an age of crises - economic meldtdown, over population, climate change, water shortages, food shortages, peak oil and peak everything else, species extinction - the list just seems to keep growing...

During the Cold War we all lived with the constant threat of nuclear annihilation. The likelihood of the Mutually Assured Destruction of an all-out thermonuclear exchange may have subsided but many other potential catastrophes are waiting in the wings. A new antibiotic resistant superbug released by accident or by design could unleash a catastrophic pandemic to ravage the world population. Recent erratic oscillations of the global climate system could precipitate an abrupt climatic shift into a new northern hemisphere ice age or runaway global warming. UG99 black stem rust striking major wheat producing regions, extinction of the honey bee through Colony Collapse Disorder or the general increase in extreme weather events could cause a dramatic drop-off in global food production leading to mass starvation, famine and general chaos and anarchy. The current plateau of oil production could at any time begin the inexorable slide down the back slope of Hubbert’s Peak leading to an ever increasing shortfall between supply and demand in turn leading to global recession and poverty, falling food production and famine and increasing political unrest and resource wars. Then of course there are Nature’s wild cards - Mt Everest sized asteroids like the one that caused the extinction of the dinosaurs, super volcanoes like Mt Toba which took out 90% of the human population 70,000 years ago, Coronal Mass Ejections from our sun like the 1859 event which scientists believe was powerful enough to wipe out our satellite network and fry the global electricity grid plunging the world into a darkness from which we may never recover.

We are in a new era of Catastrophism.

‘The End of the World As We Know It’ does not have to mean the end of us as a species. We are living in a house of cards. If you take out a card, whether that be the oil card, the food card, the electricity card or the economy card, the result is likely to be the same. The whole precarious construct will come crashing down around us and the survivors will wake to a very different world.

The planet does NOT need saving, it has taken care of itself for billions of years and will continue to long after we fade into history.

What we need to save is us... from ourselves.

The only question is; do we deserve it...?

Thank you for your support

I would just like to say a big thank you to every-one who supported my FreeBook Promotion over the weekend to celebrate the release of my new book, 'Apocalypse and Beyond...' in paperback edition from Lulu.com. Considering it was kind of on the spur of the moment I think it all went quite well, although I think I learned a few valuable lessons for when I repeat it in the New Year.

A special mention needs to be made for my twitter followers who added their support, in particular those who spread the word by retweeting or otherwise bringing the event to the attention of their followers;

@LisaCorelli                                           @DelDeviant 

@JackPlues                                            @Rh_onda   

@Dezignlicious                                     @TracyRiva

 Any-one who missed the promotion will have a second chance at a free copy of the book in the New Year when I intend to run another similar event. In the meantime my books are still available in Kindle format from Amazon and as paperbacks from Lulu. Also, 'Apocalypse and Beyond...' is enrolled in the Kindle Owners Lending Library which means Amazon Prime Members can download a copy for FREE for upto a month at any time.

Waiting

I’m just killing time

While time is killing me

Remembering a time

That is yet to be

I’m just standing still

Going no-where fast

Waiting for a moment

Coming out of my past

I’m strolling on the brink

Of my sanity

Carrying the burden

Of humanity

I’m watching life bloom

Then wither away

Moments glitter briefly

But they never stay

I’m counting each grain

Of sand that is falling

Hearing all the ghosts

Of past lives calling

I’m feeling each grain

Bring me nearer the door

Waiting for the time

To shed this skin once more

Special promotion weekend

Available on Amazon

FREE BOOK OFFER

To celebrate the release of my new paperback, 'Apocalypse and Beyond...' I have arranged a special promotion for the Amazon Kindle Edition.

You will be able to download a copy of  'Apocalypse and Beyond...' for Kindle for free over this weekend only. The promotion will run from 12.00 AM Pacific Standard Time on Saturday December 8th 2012 until 11.59 PM Pacific Standard Time on Sunday December 9th 2012.

Also available from Amazon UK

20% Paperback Discount

If you prefer your books on paper then you can pick up a copy of 'Apocalypse and Beyond...' in paperback from Lulu.com at an introductory discount of 20% for a limited time only.

Introducing the Soapbox...

"If I may put forward a slice of personal philosophy, I feel that man has ruled this world as a stumbling demented child-king long enough!"

- Vincent Price Monologue (Welcome to my Nightmare by Alice Cooper)

As I stated in my earlier post, the Soapbox is to be just that, a soapbox from which I can air my personal opinions. I have strong opinions on a number of subjects and I am increasingly finding myself in need of an opportunity to vent. For any-one who has been following my blog and reading my poetry, the general slant of my views should be fairly apparent from reading poems such as A Painful Truth, Mice or Men or Morbidity.

Over the years many people have commented on the morbid nature of my poetry. I have been criticised for having a bleak outlook and my poetry has been described as a 'work of darkness with occassional patches of gloomy shadows'. My response was in the form of a poem - 'Morbid, Who Me?' I will post this poem next as I think it states my case quite succinctly.

Morbid, Who Me?

There is a question

I have been asked

now so many times;

I’m always asked

why do I have to

write depressing rhymes?

These people say

that I should write

of pleasant happy things,

Describing pretty

flowers and

the way the songbird sings.

They ask me why

I cannot write

of love and peace and joy,

Portraying laughing

children playing

with a favourite toy.

They say that I

should tell of all

the beauty of this land,

I try to give

my answer but

they do not understand.

The reason is

so clear to me,

why can’t they realise?

I cannot write

these things for then

I would be telling lies.

The sad fact is

this world is full

of hatred, war and pain,

A world in which

the children are

locked up and go insane.

They dug up all

the flowers, shot

the birds out of the sky,

I cannot write

of beauty as

I watch that beauty die.

Renovations

Over the past week I have been renovating The Garret. Although I have managed this without taking the site down completely I am aware this may have caused some disruption to access so apologies to any-one experiencing any difficulties accessing certain pages.

In an effort to improve the functionality of the site I have tidied up the navigation and improved and updated the Books page. You will notice two new tabs have appeared to replace some of the superfluous ones. The Bookstore is a fully functioning portal to browse and/or purchase my books and those that have inspired and informed me over the years.

The Soapbox is intended to be an extended 'ED OP' page, a place for me to express my view of current events. Any-one reading the content should be aware that any opinions expressed are entirely my own and I make no apology for them.

Go explore...

One Question, Lord

Lord, I know I’ve never prayed

And I really don’t know how

But I feel there is a question

That I have to ask you now

The bible says you made this earth

From the void in just six days

Then displayed your love of beauty

In a myriad different ways

You started off creating time

By dividing day from night

And set the eternal cycles

With the darkness and the light

On the next day of creation

Your great wisdom you did show

Dividing vapours up above

From the waters down below

On the third day you continued

Separating land and sea

And set the plants to grow there-in

In a vast abundancy

On the fourth day you decided

On a focus for the light

You made the sun to watch the day

And the moon to rule the night

On the fifth day you created

Fish to swim the lakes and seas

And birds to fly upon the wind

And nest within the trees

On the last day you excelled yourself

Making beasts to roam the land

Be they crawling on their bellies

Or upon their legs to stand

Now, I know you will not like this

But there’s something I must say

I think you made a big mistake

On that sixth and final day

It’s a shame you were not happy

With the beauty of this land

For you blew it all completely

When you formed from clay a man

On that day you made a monster

Filled with anger, greed and hate

And he set about destroying

All the work you’d done to date

He is killing off your creatures

At a truly frightening speed

And the only reason for it

Is his never ending greed

He pollutes your seas and rivers

And he doesn’t seem to care

That the life-style he is living

Is now poisoning the air

In his task he is relentless

Destroying all things in his way

He can now reverse your process

Of creation in a day

If things carry on much longer

It won’t matter anymore

That the world is slowly dying

He’ll destroy it in a war

So Lord, I now beseech you

Will you listen to my cry?

I only have one question

And that question Lord is... 

                                       ...Why?

Poppy Petals

Lonely dripping scarlet tears

Spread their stain across the years

Silent rivulets of blood

Go unnoticed in the mud

Blood stained crosses stand in rows

As the single bugle blows

Poppy petals in the breeze

Hide the unseen agonies

By the rusty barbed wire fence

Water fills the empty trench

Where so much young blood was spilt

And yet the guilty feel no guilt

Renewal

What is this pain within my head?

Am I alive or am I dead?

Why am I lost in endless night?

What is that blinding golden light?

Who is that distant silhouette?

Recalled from memories I forget

And why do echoes beckon me

To walk into that light I see?

But why am I now falling?

Whose voice do I hear calling?

It’s dragging me, I’m sinking

I feel as though I’m shrinking

What is that rhythmic thumping?
What is this fluid pumping?

Why am I filled with so much dread?

What is that pressure on my head?

It pulls me from my waking dream

I open up my eyes and scream...

God Save the Children

God save the children

From the troubles of this life

Shield them and protect them

From the heartache and the strife

God save the children

Dry their tears when they cry

When the world mistreats them

Do not turn a blinded eye

God save the children

Cold and lonely in life’s rain

Shelter them and feed them

They just don’t deserve the pain

God save the children

Do not listen to the lie

Of those who’d exploit them

Do not let the children die

God save the children

All our hopes they will fulfil

Some-one has to save them

As no-body down here will...