Ways to Defend Kulture?

Cafe Locked Out

Kulture, Liberated Artist, has attracted a lot of support, but we have also come under even more censorship than usual.

So to bypass it we have set up a Cloud file with several of the Kulture songs. If you would like to help they are perfect for you to download and repost to your social pages.

An example of such a song is below.

THE LINK TO THE CLOUD FILE

KULTURE BOX FULL OF SHORTS TO SHARE

Interestingly, this poem was written early on in the Covid Era. Now it seems we at CLO are trying to make this happen.

If you have any ideas of how we can grow, please let us know.

A CALL TO ARTISTS.

The Poem Read Out

What is the point of Art and Artists?

We hear the term,

They should rock the boat,

but should they only do it

when the boat is in a playground

on a bed of sand

where if anyone falls out

the only thing they’ll bruise

is their ego?

In a democracy,

or even in a dictatorship,

shouldn’t the artists be in the front line

with the journalists,

their candles burning before the storm,

brighter than suns

so our confused souls

will still see their light

long after the storm has devoured them?

Shouldn’t they be out there holding up their mirrors

so under stress, we can check,

if our morality is holding

or just a fading painted face we wore

when the days were warm and the nights were soft.

For now, if artists turn away

from the real troubles of frightened people,

who else will farm their suffering

so their harvest, come what may, will produce a crop called hope?

If artists are there in the choir singing

loudly for compliance and silence,

what sort of poetry will we end up singing?

What sort of paintings

will stain the walls

of our communal cave?

Move on, history's eyes, for there’s nothing here to see,

We were here,

And everything was fine.

Stand! I know it’s scary,

For the same storms are raging in my soul,

Rain, when there should be sunshine,

Thorns, where there should be blossoms,

Heralding the fruit of us

That we are honour bound to pluck

And feed to our children

As we once suckled upon our lucky country’s breast.

Stand, on your perch of history,

Like our navigator trying to find

That missing star

We never thought we’d lose.

Stand, with all your gifts in hand,

Like soldiers of some lost good force

And do what you were born to do,

reflect what you can see, so that we will re-find

our missing Gods through you.

Michael Gray Griffith