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EXOPOLITICAL ART |
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As they say every picture tells a thousand words. The world of exopolitical art is a world of creative and imaginative images and many of these would make wonderful headlines in various newspapers, magazines and posters. What better way to increase the impact of exopolitical messages than to incorporate them in painting competitions, arts festivals and other events. Here is an exopolitical epic poem written in 1980 by Andrew Hennessey. It tells of the history and possible future of mankind.
S h i p s
a r e S a i l i n
g. A ship can
carry man and his possessions to new lands, new valleys, new
lives. As man himself is a vessel for his spirit he too will
place his hand on the ships tiller knowing that the
navigator
within himself will bring his possessions and his spirit to
port. This is the
story of a search. And to our
Earth the restless souls intent upon
their ordained goals for one day, unto each
and every man the song creation had began. Hunger feeling, swims the silver fish are running loud as antelope bring the
heat, burning meat gather roots and berry cold and
pain the whitened rain chills
through skins, cold the mud skins of
white fall from the sky warm one
moves and wonders why Pain light
burns as damp as nets. In the water, berry-root-giver swims like deer but move it not, the nets like flowers in time of white or angry death noise at time of fight - nets bring hunger now. Deer noise gone at time of white warm one now
is hungry. Cold moving noise like breath of chase and berry-root-giver starts to swim to lands of deer, Then slow as hunt, fast as breath warm one runs with I, to water cold we run and hold the berry-giver food no longer carries we from cave and many, fast we go the roots we break roots for sky and roots for dark
soft many times with breaker. Ships are
sailing, blow the
horn Why the
anger, why forlorn the Ocean
draws us nearer. In time we
speak a little more and name and
draw and dance
and sing of
loveliness the giver brings. Creator mighty woman stands bearing gifts
of crops, she plans to
nourish, give us life and to her
loved ones wisdom show and in our
land our children
grow fulfilling dreams and making treasure and for Christian, Hope, the Temple measure though none
thought yet to build it. In fertile lands our seeds will sow then in time the stocks Will grow and to our Gods we are devout though they punish us with angry drought our store rooms bare we mourn this day our village did the Gods betray for in a moon we pass away to another valley. But on our land before we leave mats of rushes we then weave and slowly now begin to measure the size of craft to horde our treasure, Gems so bright that any night might adorn beloved priestess. and so with
the river we then go to better
lands we do not know for the
wines of life do better grow sweet in
Chieftains cellar. and for our bread, 'tis better said the fields
we work and labour not our own,
though future sown and of years
we keep the tally and one day
soon we board a craft and sail for
other va1leys Ships are
sailing, blow the horn why the anger, why forlorn the ocean
draws us nearer. Still we
plough, much older now and soldiers
feed Us as they please and
Chieftains have become the Kings and hungry
fall upon their knees as the
temple player sings of learning
that the spirit frees though where
he heard is doubtful. And to our toils, the rocks we bring and build a wall that will not fall in battle
with the army from the
valley next. And in our
wall the soldiers tall do order
life and help us pray and ask of
us to build today a better
heathen temple. Their Gods, you know, are not our own but we have all heard the doubters moan in their
Godless dungeons. So our children grow and pray and proud the house we keep today though our
roof is not our own. And beneath
these stars with orbits strange a dark
departure we arrange though this
be against the laws our restless
spirits have a cause to seek a
virgin garden. Ships are
sailing, blow the horn why the
anger, why forlorn the ocean
draws nearer. And though
at sea the merchants ply the fruits
of toil from slaves unseen their
adorned persons ashen pale on sighting
close the ebon sail of sultry,
rich and jealous Queen. We pass them by, the knives of war and set our tiller to the sky that holds the setting Sun, as then at last to port we come yet power and reason with our wealth buys off the fingers pointing treason as death through windows in its stealth has cause to hide and then endangers the lives of those unwanted strangers anchored in the port. We leave
that night with starry wind some sailors have their knuckles skinned in those
costly taverns. We pass the
hunters now at anchor their hungry
oarsmen die of waste reddened backs against the whip of evil in a
Kingly ship. We watch with pity helpless men and then at last we see again that Eden
now must wait. So now we
travel all at night thanking
gold for our salvation hugging
coast with navigation as moon will
draw us on. Ships are sailing, blow the horn, why the anger,
why forlorn, the ocean
draws us nearer. But in one
port a trap was sprung our gold was
taken, whilst mothers clung to their
childrens lives. Though what
fate gave for futures hope is to our
leaders dark. It was not
long ere all our people said goodbye
to all we knew, but with
bonds of love we pledge above to break the
chains of slavery. And so our
captors turned to flee as villages
upon the coast shone like
beacons in the sea. The legions
were with death advancing hewing
swords upon the free and in that
night we saw our chance whilst with
the flames our shadows dance we take
again good fortunes chance and take a nervous merchantman before it
hoists its sail. And in the night there is a battle and merchant with his frightened prattle speaks of
trade in west and how that if we let him live he’ll trade how he knows best. We kept the man as mercy must but in him though we didn't trust though the
west does call again. Ships are sailing, blow the horn why the anger,
why forlorn the ocean
draws us nearer. Now in this
land we wish to settle and how the
forests try our mettle though
feuding Kings as oft before bar us from
their ornate door at the
coming winter. Axe and
sword the metal rusts whilst fight we for some mouldy crusts to keep our
kin alive. And in our hearts the thaw and warmth again returns and ever heed our parents dear who tell of
distant sun. And in this
land we find again the Goddess
over mortal men and in the
temples in the woods those
ancient men the Kingly Druids keep us on
the track. But to our feuding misty Isle came the
might of legions dark who cut
their way all through a land as sacred as
the Goddess planned till red the
cloth and red the water standards midst the ghastly slaughter of all that
we hold dear. one day though came to our ears news that Empire had its fears, its iron reach had spanned too far and in such haste its conquests waste retreating by the polar star to ships all
bound for home. Ships are
sailing, blow the horn why the
anger, why forlorn the ocean
draws us nearer. So now we
rest and become strong in northern
lands do we belong and power
and light of Goddess past comes again
to us at last and how our
foes do fear it. And in our
vales we welcome strangers whom our
very life endangers A sturdy
faith upon our paths poor the clothes yet rich believer in mighty
Christ the worlds
redeemer. Our Goddess
smiled and became one as mother to this loving son. And faith was true as well we knew our lore was rich with men undone by greed and
gold. And to our lands, monastic charm prayed to keep us safe from harm and wine and Christ and cross and stone blessed all
our Kingly bone. But from the sea came to us craven raising fire in every haven death and pain, dishonours plunder that tore our very lives asunder long we fought and long we sought our Viking foes who stealth
and evil taught but with our cups and with our wives they sailed away with all our lives into the
mists morn. Ships are sailing, blow the horn why the anger, why forlorn the ocean
draws us nearer. Perish
policy and cunning perish those
who fear the light the politics
of evil caused beginnings
of a deadly blight. From fire and torment in the dark no progress did our wisdom mark, With feud and poison and a lie as innocence made a hopeless sigh as all its
martyrs fell. and in the darkness, evils light condemned
our love unto a hell, Priests of power, Kings of deed took our island and its need and forged an iron chain, then overseas the jealous watched and took our
traders gain. But a magic
fire had come to us and to our
fleets we now prepare the tyrants
do our ports ensnare then let
them feel the cannon. Torn rigging, sundered sail the stately timber starts to fail upon
embattled sea. Kings of this and Queens of that now wish upon a throne they sat as Empires
fear the sea. Our iron isle its timbers hewn has built the ships that now lie strewn about a
chilly ocean. Pirates bold
for slaves are sold and
innocents besides in rotting
ships they lie in chains in hulks
that sail the turning tide. Ships are sailing, blow the horn, why the anger, why forlorn the ocean
draws us nearer. And now our
kin, their only sin a need for
loaf of bread have by
tyrants been betrayed an ocean is
their bed. Those slaves
who lived through transportation have in time
prepared a nation though an
isle of mists is in their mind, and parted
from our parent-kind. Some to
cities, grimy mills others dying in the hil1s, |