chilled out moods

Shane O'Neill

We can now catch moods and box them,

Lay relaxation on aluminium seas;

An eight-pack box set, an alchemist’s potion:

‘Antidote to the frantic pace of modern living.’

Now that they’ve finally calibrated the nets

Thousands of well-drilled agents are set in motion;

Mood catchers roam the earth, sample collecting,

Canned in CDs that ease the day’s regrets.


Well, whatever happened to rock and roll and music supposed to save your soul?


But after all, doesn’t human nature differentiate?

Every crew likes to assume that the rules are subjective:

The shared psyche of a people, a consensus collective – 

Benvenidos, Welcome to the Chilled-Out Moods Nation.


For blissed out beats I read weed,

Grown in pots of grey, gravely soil

On windowsills at the Revenue Commission.


When will the people rise up?

What will it take to place a brake

On this profusion of soothing space cake?


Now, on evenings when a storm swells

I take myself down to the bay:

The sound of giant whips slowly unfurling,

Kamikaze surfer waves on black rocks crashing.


To listen to music one really needs the loudest of speakers.


E-mail Shane

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