London Poetry Olympics

Litter London with latent suicidal tongues Olympian words rise to claim the covet of crown National pride perhaps, to hear the dialect sings Diminished not again by that foreign fang of words Once strangling memory of native speech. Nation language everywhere now dancing Poetry can speak in any voice the same Opening of the mind tumult unsubdued Every babel there babbling, but I barred Trampled into silence by the clever clique's Resume required to select me as inspired. Yet I yearn to yell the discontents of my hell. O tell me what pious praise eater will yell London till bridge and children shouting falls Yearning the fire would not cleanse the ring My message is too shoddy to be a lie Polished phonemes on fantastic stages flutter Images stuttering history for the apron and rag Consuming our childhood and our manhood now Sort of things I am too ignored to say or tell. .... The naked bird flocking itself with feathers Will not whistle my name When they all for their Parnassus gathers I have no ascribed fame Of making colonials shudder in shared relief That it will go away, because benign a grief Is spilled upon paper, or on bleached of tongue London Olympics is now the sudden tree Where syllables on on invisible crosses strung Anesthetize the recovery of dread Calvary