They told you, "You deserve a speedy trial,
On you no scrum of jackals pile
They said you'd know each charge they bring,
And as for rights, every man a king.
They told you that your speech was free,
That you could choose your company.
Your home's your castle, safe and firm,
And you can keep what you can earn.
You believed that Karma's true
Built in the rules, silly you.
For government is not the only throne;
The crowd can have a heart of stone.
No judge need speak, no law be bent—
Your rights can die by mere consent.
In other spheres, rules not applied
The door to slavery is open wide.
But then I fear I may digress
Succumb to writings pained distress
Succumb to pressure in my chest
To shred what I think ain’t the best
Forsooth and poppy cock, I cry
And other words to plagiarize
I will succeed, I’ll win the prize
Cut those legends down to size
Alas, the phone and beepy things
Have me bouncing as if on springs
Emoji’s full of wordless stings
Laughing as the doorbell rings
The thoughts I think are sounding dumb
A never-ending Rugby scrum
My head is slightly out of plumb
I’m sitting here, my cheeks gone numb
Somewhere in the dark they bide
Lost amid a smoldering pride
Those simple truths that must reside
Between his Jekyll and his Hyde
someone who describes something as being dumb ~ not considered a chum
my opponent in a rugby game at the scrum ~ I would overcome
one who is hungry when I've a juicy plum ~ I'd not give up a crumb
message given with the beat of a drum ~ and down pointed is my thumb
deleting that word might appease some ~ but too late to change the outcome
what's dumb, dumber, or dumbest ~ it's not a riddle as you might have guessed
and now I'll let it go
I guess you're upset, but you've cracked me up
How will you manage when needing a scrub
Still holding my own
So put down the phone
It'll cost you too much to buy a bath tub.
They wait in the night-lit brightness.
I watch them from an over-magnified telescope;
youngsters and older
some dripping a scent of latent maturity,
a furtive effort to blend and not offend
the judges
who have sly thoughts
in their searchlights eyes.
The bling, the gewgaw glints,
the small of fake gold,
the shot passions of high skirts.
They form ordained disorderly lines
eager to bow before the bouncer,
to pour themselves
into the melee and scrum
the jumping pump of ecstasy.
Night life is wanting, is waiting,
it needs to club together,
to sweat the music,
to throb with the sound
of aortic rhythmic impulses,
to dance upon a crushed floor
breathlessly offering upwards
their erotic prayers,
on baited hooks of desire.
The young must,
they simply must,
and we trust they will be tired one day,
too tired, too busy, too distracted
as we are
to dance death away
while drugs snack on their meat.
Tempos
Tempos
Na era industrial,
a liderança
sentava-se
no topo
da hierarquia,
não precisava
ouvir ninguém...
na era do
protagonismo
precisa-se ouvir
escutar
e facilitar
as ideias
das pessoas,
independente
de onde elas
estejam
colocadas
na arte
de scrum.
With one hand behind my back
I slash and stalk
With deft steps and careful tack
I counter and block
I slash and stalk
My foe
I counter and block
Searching for the final blow
My foe
Offers no complaint to
Searching for the final blow
And bares its throat on cue
Offers no complaint to
An ending soon to come
And bares its throat on cue
To put an end to this scrum
An ending soon to come
I counter and block
To put an end to this scrum
I slash and stalk
Morning stand-up in front of you
As beliefs contrary to reality
Somehow almost manic of sociopath
Daily scrum of people chaotic
Poverty of fair speech
Wax and wane, almost wine
Grandiose and bouts agitation
No freedom and praeCOX
Peculiar country
Dyskinesia Republic
Jittery glittery tree
A mouse ran up the Christmas tree
Scaring the life from the fairy
Cat did too, with dog in pursuit
'Twas a fiasco and quite hairy.
Fairy's heart raced seeing the chase
The dog bit the cat on the bum
The tree lights flashed, the tree it crashed
And cat had the mouse in a scrum.
Poor fairy flew off, nerves were shot
It wasn't how a Christmas should be
She cared not a jot for this lot
Her intention was to seek peace.
The lady of the house rushed in
To find what was making the din
Kids lovin’ home movie herein
Were sent to bed with a warnin'
Mother had to clear up the mess
While dad took the cat to the vet
Mouse ran away from the affray
Mice who have laughed last, laugh best.
6th December 2020
Tears soothe heart's sorrow
A shoulder to lean heals the weak.
No soul seals the heart’s pore
The self only pictures its gore.
Humanity needs a shoulder to cry on,
As a star needs a night to shine.
Souls intertwine.
No man fills an island
Even testos do ease in she hand.
Sole forage piles up to forlorn.
A prowl without Devine to call on
Scare's chirping birds the jungles pawn
Like bush foliage raffled and blown
The weaklings and rats scrum
In nature fear and tantrum
But real prey pray to God.
No good the groping of blind
Endeavor on your own
The devil your soul will bind.
The abyss of hell you drawn
On bare a seed you're sown,
Blown by route less gust wind,
On the dumps yourself will find.
Wings monger air.
A host of defrocked preachers
buckle and swag.
Mobs clique and crowd in clusters.
Grackles,
skip, jump, and plunder on.
The birds pilfer, promenade,
scrum, pluck,
lift off swearing
in an avian Yiddish.
Heaven is rocked
by their thimble-sized storms.
Preposterous melody won't exist,
Inside a piano without the chord's beat
Aubade is formed when dolefulness emits
Nails the body to where she always sits;
Ordering her fingers to start a writ.
Corners her world with piano as a friend
Heaves fro the melancholia life has sent
Obsolete in the past yet still remains
Rest in the hands of the hellion of dents
Deceiving the chords life composed to mend
Carted away from the womb of thy mom,
Dispatched to fosters as a surly wan
Ego disappears to the children's scrum
For years she can't find her ruined life's sum
Guided and loved with the help of the rank
An afflatus for three hearts to collide
But deep beneath, she had always been mock
Called in by her fosters as out of luck
Door to door, she lagged capitulated
Reminds herself the poem she narrated
Misses the time her heart elevated
Falls for a man who's crossed-dressing blended
Solitude before but now chaperoned
Laminated by her man's trifle tone
Timbre has echoed when they broke the stone
Do you hear the sixteen chords of her song?
Engraved with harsh sound, each shackle's screech molested my eardrum,
Its starry silver, sparked oblivious wham into my heart, shattered like shard,
Rigorously, premature sweat hopped down to my forested beard,
Never! They can't let me loose again, as they gathered like a scrum.
Amid the encrusted iron on my encased cage,
My bendy fingers scratches till shallow hole,
Gallows way, full of groggy drops, I envision the woody pole,
Conscience before me, not my time, my death a sin to age.
Guilty of whatever, the judgement not from the creator,
I despised freedom in all form
Next world, I will buy a spaceship to carry law sector,
For, my time is over like a heavy storm.
Pity and pity me no more,
For, my journey a moral lesson in the folklore.
The scorn of abandonment,
howls of silence
when a room entered,
the school yard clatter
community chatter,
pulpit perniciousness
traduce in speculation.
Housewives with
corrective attitudes
deft in moralistic anomalies,
snarls over the broom
with piercing eyes declaring
“Hands off
there stands the scrum of the womb”.
Yes i am a motherless child
raised in an environment
of inclement
wagging tongues,
haggish gapes
smug righteousness,
born of woman
alas not a mother!
© Harry J Horsman 2012
The
scrum-half-
go-between
Sub Categories
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