The Secret Lives of Chimney Pots Iv

Pied tidings of suburbian Magpies, Squawking and squabbling, Quarreling ferociously among Themselves - Rush to steal From off the beleaguered bird tables, To the annoyance of all concerned, A much begrudged meal; Before scurrying away into Unfrequented woodlands, Marooned like islands in the Midst of becalmed yellow seas, To pervade the shifting groves With their fractious demands... When violently quarreling over Ill-gotten troves Like double-crossing thieves And masked brigands; Or murderous pirates dividing into Groups Spoiling for a fight - Behind drawn up lines in the hot, White sand! Soon, where presently the Swaying oceans Of ripened and bronzed corn, The galloping sounds of many Drumming hooves, The flash of red-crimsoned Hunting jackets - And the chill tooting upon the Masters deathly horn! When contained behind Hawthorn Hedgerows And inside Five-Bar gated fields, Deep within the stiffened stalks Wherein the nesting Harvest mouse Cleverly conceals, The threshing of mechanically Rotating flails Over the rumbling sounds of Monstrously turning wheels... Trundling remorselessly past The succumbed swathes Of a golden harvest - When surrendering the generous Bounties Of her reaped and plentiful yields! Down past the pristine shrubbery She briskly trips - Gliding serenely past the Multi-coloured Asters And rigidly standing, upright tulips. Each counted minute staggers and Sneaks... Into the next counted minute where Boredom keeps; And brightening rays fall thicker Upon Noon... As shortening shadows recede from Over her idling commune. A squeaky side gate swings open Tensioned throughout a long Strained, objectionable creak, As her precious bundle from a Designer-label buggy takes an Inquisitive first peek. Throwing all in the car, irritated By the school playgrounds hub-bub And agitated squeal, She accelerates away in a frenzied Rush - Like Stirling Moss behind the Wheel! Racing through the confines of Your average de-industrialised town She wrenches in sheer exasperation Upon the gearboxes much maligned Lever: Up-down, down-up, up-down! Completely oblivious to the Shuddering resistance of the Sheering cogs awful grinding Sounds... She wrestles with the complexity Of a shredding clutch - Whilst loudly abusing and Berating her fellow motorists all Around. Zipping over Zebras and Pelicans, Unconcerned with all manner of Indignant and unrestrained pleas, She zooms along the not-so-open Highways In varying indifferences of breathless Degrees! Many types of vehicles of all makes And designs, Parked-in tight under identical Trees... That are evenly set out in Parallel lines. A dazzling array of motors from Nations wide and far: Cumbersome and vulgar Four-Wheeled drives - Macho appareled With chromed Bull-Bars, High-sided (boasting proud livery) White delivery vans Conceived and manufactured in Alien faraway lands. Huge panes of toughened glass Mirroring the inter-mingling streets, Reflecting the ever changing tastes Of the general populace, Crammed with modern necessities Displayed enticingly in beguiling Replete. For throughout every fashionable Season, We, the pots, have beheld: The evolving visage of our frontages Where successive generations of your Forefathers... Demonstrating practiced temperance, And in all good faith, Once satisfactorily dwelled.