Its wet and drear in London dear, the pomp in on full trope
Though hope is gone, not dead for Jesus is the only hope!
Its foolish to trust in others; dopes.' In robes and words
In fear and force, its hackneyed ethos, solid dross of course
One hundred mill, so bums can sit.' and ears listen to
Waffle and some titter, and scraps and traps such slippery
Tounges we'll no doubt hear, yet will we sum? A throne of
Gold in a nation sold, to the w e f, just same old same old.'
The crowds are thin, not much the din' dis-enchantment is
Setting in.' geriatrics in phylactics gather and throng how
Can such traversitys continue on? Food in piles is stored
Away, as childen are hungered, its the British way.' Some
Vassels also, it seems agree although; their people need
To be set free.! Free to thrive to grow and prosper, yet to no
Reason i now return, to the parody of vanitys and a useless
Crown ' thats just the head though, i'll make this clear on
A British day of pomp and drear, might he take a little trip?
Before the throne..As ascends he it.' Twould be indicative of
The wider nation, that needs a real King not this Abberation.'
PRETENSION
Her indifference was merely a facade.
Her eyes glisten in passion
but denies in pretension.
I am watching as critic since a decade.
Our unison is sure if I persuade.
I adore and carry my tingling feeling
I know she loves best,
but shows disinterest
It is high time to honor her own yearning.
Hers and mine should combine in our stepping.
Not to try to act tact showing damn denial
No need to be rough rude
She has crossed her childhood.
No need to be strict on baseless refusal.
Eager to see her in milk white dress; “Bridal”!
08/06/15
You're no different, just the same old thing.
You built your success
on the backs of slaves and women.
Just like Greece, just like Rome.
You're no different, you delude yourself
to think you are morally superior,
as you maim and you kill,
just like Greece, just like Rome.
You're no different, you expect praise
for the things you've stopped doing,
after a thousand atrocities done in your name,
just like Greece, just like Rome.
You're no different, a hundred headed hydra,
driven by greed, you'd sell your own people,
your own mother even, if it turned up some coin,
Just like Greece, just like Rome.
You're no different, remembered by millions
for the damage you deny. Your history will be told
in another era. You won't like what you hear.
Just like Greece, just like Rome.
Beyond all those particular existences
Such illusions of meaningless digressions
from what's humble and noble
Decimated to nothing other than
eternal oblivion
A fallacy to one's own finitude
A pretension to omnipotence
An undue adulation
To such negations
Of knowing evil by infection........
The first gardening of the year maybe is small beer
Tightening tired muscles digging the seven by nine,
These great beetroot symphonies so divine where
Rebellion rife not growing this, but the runner bean
Its bright red - orange flowers and pods profuse
Straight and long or turbaned at the tip to try to be
Better than a neighbour's, though I dare not place a bet.
One has to grow tates that Raleigh brought over the Pond
That until a few years ago was no appetiser, being grown as
Fertile compost, but now are edible with butter sliding down
Their crevices even if their shapes arrogant supermarkets decry
And leeks to complement daffodils in the flower garden and mint,
That the Irish bard of our century wrote well its composition, its
Colour, shape, and sharp but pleasant smell and strawberries few,
To share with the garden birds theirs and ours keen cream appetites.