If Harold had spied with his little eye
the arrow flying his way
at the Battle of Hastings in 1066
the English may have won the day
but the French bastard William the Norman
prevailed and won the upper hand
to conquer the last Anglo-Saxon king
of this green and pleasant land
when King Henry V led his army of archers from Wales
at the Battle of Agincourt in 1415
in revenge the English to the French did bid 'Adieu'
which began the tales
longbowmen were first to finger the V-sign 'pluck yew'
but it's merely a myth it's not true
Treating me like I’m lucky to know you
when you are so lowly I’d rather be lonely
here is a treat that I’m happy to show you
you’re in my life and then do not know me
deluding yourself in the view of your ego
believing your better when you’re not my equal
not saying I’m good but you are just evil
thinking you’re better than all other people
the world is a forest and you are a gibbon
you see very little when senses sense within
oblivious to all whilst selfishly driven
you think you’ve got talent you must be kidding
a child walking where adults are found
unaware of what is found all around
believing yourself through words you sound
challenging people that will knock you down
the ignorant bliss that you use as a shield
you’re French at Agincourt found dead in a field
what you have’s visible and clearly revealed
you’re mentally ill with belief you are skilled
offering nothing but a personal dream
of something you’re not and have never been
of someone you think you are nobody’s seen
thinking you’re alpha when you’re Mr. Bean!
(* to be read in the style of Heny V before the battle of Agincourt)
To arms! To arms!
Men of the Shires, rouse from your winter sleep
the game's afoot, waste no more time abed,
to Hardware stores you have a date to keep,
fight through the drapes of cobwebs in your sheds.
To arms!
Unshackle pasting tables, wipe the trays
for paint rollers not used in many moons,
the paint brushes that have seen better days
left to go hard in pickle jars since June.
To arms!
The squeaky front gate mocks you as you pass,
the peeling paper teases in the hall,
Greenhouse offends thine eye with broken glass
house number upside down upon the wall.
To arms!
Onward, onward you face your foe alone
tirelessly strive, no weaknesses, no flagging,
your only ally, her true colours shown
through bouts of sharp critique and constant nagging.
To arms!
We few, we happy few with common bond
will tackle each new challenge with no fear
for though the day be long you see beyond,
when all is done you're off to have a beer.
To arms!
SHE’LL BE RIGHT
In the merry old land of Oz*
They’ve the secret of happiness ‘cos
They’ve a theorem for plight
Makes them soar like a kite
It’s this motto - SHE’LL BE RIGHT!
King Henry at Agincourt Field
Had a talent with words he would wield
Might still inspire fight
Make his army ignite
With this one liner - Mates SHE’LL BE RIGHT!
Were Churchill from Wagga Wagga **
He’d have written it as a blogger
Blood and tears day and night
Facing Germany’s might
With - ‘No worries! SHE’LL BE RIGHT!’
Should there be a border breach
With a fight on Bondi Beach
Though an awful sight
And we’ve barbi tonight. ***
Just remember - SHE’LL BE RIGHT!
Despite peril and confusion
Don’t crack brains with irresolution
Master clear, and then cite
This affirmative bright
The sure postulate - SHE’LL BE RIGHT!
* Oz = Australia
** pronounced Wogga Wogga
*** barbi = barbecue
I am sitting at the Arizona Memorial,
which shows how far my scruples have gone.
I lived in Hawaii for years, and
could almost claim to be a kamaaina.
without the least inclination
to visit this memorial to war.
I look at the line up of people, a
new group every forty minutes, and
wonder at the numbers and differences
in races and genders and ages,
and the irony of a Japanese American
tour guide and think, Manzanar. Yet,
could this be cause for real optimism?
Is this just a job for him like the guides
at Gettysburg or Agincourt ?
Has time healed the wounds so soon?
Are events now so remote, so rapidly?
Who leads the tours at Buchenwald, and
Cherry Ridge?
I sit in the midst of tour group twelve,
the eleven-forty bunch,
and wonder what I will hear.
Will it be fair?
Will we hear of scrape metal and crude oil
as well as military factions, Tojo and the Diet?
Will we hear of honest people
on both sides
that try to avert a tragedy?
Will we hear of the millions
held in thrall
to the follies of a few?
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