Fake Philosophy*

I’m slightly bemused
By the stuff of ‘fake news’,¹
The Blustering hurrumphs
Of the Trumpety-Trump.
The People, it seems by all accounts,
Believing every syllable thus pronounced
Is God’s honest heart-felt gospel fact
-Accompanied by threats of a weapons attack.
While the very same media has Kim Jong Un
With his finger hovering a similar button,
A man whose way of being’s obscured
By media reports so self-assured
That every piece of communication
Is drip-feeding fear across Western nations
While those of us who remember the Eighties
Might rightly or wrongly feel the need to debate this,
Recollecting the posturing of decades gone by
With headlines that made us laugh and cry:
Many a public life mercilessly purged
Long before social media emerged,
Fundamental freedom of the press
Somewhat complicating the whole damned mess,
Screaming headlines from the doormat
To the front and back pages I used to look at
Sitting across from the gents on the train
Whose choice of head-wear defined their brain
Or, at least, their social status…
-Oh, how some of them used to berate us
Over the top of their broad sheet papers,
Even though we kept school-girl capers
To an absolute minimum, simply because
We knew they’d report us to the boss²
Who would, with little pause for thought,
Berate us publicly in Assembly’s court,
Causing rows of gels to squirm
And change their ways
Til the end of term…
The business of truth so inculcated
By adults: most, trusted -some occasionally hated,
Each, whether by default or choice
Charged with particular moral voice,
Teaching in no uncertain terms
That history repeats to reaffirm
All those lessons
We thought we’d learned.
History repeats itself, it seems,
To keep perspective on hopes and dreams:
To gently but firmly offer reminders
Of all we think we’ve left behind us,
Blithely believing as ‘moral beings’
We have the better grasp on things
Testified by our bipedal stand
With 3-D perception and gripping hands…

 

 

*/¹ – The man gets enough publicity so no indulgence here.

² – Headmistress, as it goes, of a girls’ school: not one of my better experiences.

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