Suppose we ran it by a friendly Martian
(I’d say “by Martial”, but he wouldn’t be gentle).
You crave Armani, Hugo Boss, Versacci and
that Hilfiger who’s naff, naff. Are you mental?
This myth of exclusivity’s juvenile
(I’d offer “Juvenal”, but you’d refuse).
They’re mass-produced, ubiquitous, stock-piled,
your Sarah Jessica Parkas, Jimmy Shoes.
The Martian, then. We wrap ourselves in rags
to ward off cold, conceal the family jewels,
but put a brand name on those skirts and bags,
you’ll cough up ten times more. “You bloody fools!”
Apartheid is an evil thing, agreed?
South Africa once practised it. You struck.
You staked out embassies, until the blacks were freed.
Embargoes, sanctions, boycotts – oh, such pluck!
But none of you’s besieging Tel Aviv.
Our Martian’s wondering what the difference is.
Ramallah’s raped without a by-your-leave,
but you’re at Burghley, knocking back bucks fizz.
Perhaps we can’t extinguish all life’s fires.
Perhaps compassion tires, and needs its pauses.
Or is there just a chance that it transpires,
there’s such a thing we’ll call “designer causes”?
Categories:
embassies, satire,
Form: Quatrain
Weep The Willow She
Bark and Willow
Weeps she to raining
Poses curtained shadows
Behind the water fall of slim leaven branchings
Underneath recumbent grass
Damp on cold spatters
Spreading stains water logged
An unremitting drop of rain
Shaken to drips from the overhang
Her shoulders code the tears
Fall
Leafy roof sweeping down
Bending low and bending thoughts
Weeping to the sky
Bending low and bending thoughts
Dark shafts lighted thoroughfares dappling
Where once the night and shade
May have squabbled
Over these ink-ed pools
Of sorrow she
Slipping from embassies of luminosity
Lent themselves between the bows
Bent between her thoughts
Weeping to the sky
Categories:
embassies, loss, sadwater, water,
Form: Free verse