Poetry

Monday, 9 June 2025

Walking around 2007

 I made a last ditch attempt

to gain justice from finality

 

There ain't no pigs

in control of the farm

proletariat are worried

the birds are alarmed

the cockerels of the bourgeoisie

go cock of the walk

But its bread and circus'

they want

not God Knives and forks

There's sinews of power

struggling to be heard

Ain't nothing in particular

Sorry is a regular word

So frequent in the parlours

it's served with a cocktail

But the waitress is on strike

And I can't hear myself think

 

I stand by the piano

the blind tuners tinkering tink

the city is on fire

this is not where the judges come to drink

So I set down my own laws

in a tablet of stone

but they're easily broken

like human bone

They refer to the just wars

and pockets of rice

which America have borrowed

and so China look twice

It's a dirty plot

someone's running the game

but you 've gotta be in it

else you might go insane

 

When I walked to the hill tops

and walked in the bowers

the Chiming sounds of bells

I heard in the moral towers

 

Lords and lady's of the hedgerows

invited me to court

And there I lay with fairies

and dragonfly's me they escort

 

The tomes are shattered on the steps

the nightingale's song flows on

but like rivers' depths

the bird's drowned song

in tormented twists

like tormentile throngs

and jesters wear the masks of men

In animal spirits they rise again

The king is dead

the queen will follow

But so lives summer merrily

As she sleeps on the wing of a swallow

 

Ten thousand earths

are buried near

And human flesh is

soon to appear

 

on the coat of the stag

who does battle in spring

In the guise of a rat

who rattles like a Cobra king

mooring at the water's edge

where reeds mark man's emotions

like the scars of a lover's pledge

to die forever

or never live for tomorrow

As the forget me nots come out

I cannot feel ought but sorrow

 


No comments:

Post a Comment