Poetry

Thursday, 5 November 2020

Covid Coracles 1

 The day began the same

They were burning the bonfires of their vanities

Again

The effigy of me

That so many years has passed

Guy Fawkes, of course

Who else jack ass?


I guess you could say I was the virus then

The genetic mutation

From the all English gene

The hidden priest

Behind the scenes

Laying down libations


But liberation must come at a cost

From tyranny

Or tyranny's ghost,

For we all are haunted by those we love most

And everyone must have a ruler


But your God and my God

They are the same

My religion differs in more than just name

But essential truths

Burn one pure flame

That love above all is the name of the game


So as you burn me remember

That love never dies

That a coup d'etat is in everyone's eyes

Even just a twinkle

In the heart but a winkle

That grows

And sucks on the blood of England's rose


A canker, a cancer

A busy bee dancer

That buzzes between our ranks

And stings our flanks

And answers our thanks

With a death watchman's handshake


And the pikes are resting against the wall

The heads on the spikes

Stand on London Bridge

As warning to those who would

hanker for change, or fidget

In the restlessness of revolutionary fervour


My own body in an iron maiden

Dripping Catholic blood of martyrs made

And fireworks fly into the sky

In the Arena of the damned


Under the houses the gunpowder is still stored

Some fuse is lit, by the nations poor

Who rebel and quit

But the crowd want more

No matter who has paid em



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