As we crossed a trackless plain
directed by camera –
our only record
as we crossed a trackless plain
directed by camera:
repeated.
A cluster of legs accelerated
numbers heated by bodies
heated by bodies
ready for the quick stamp panic attack
of gas attack.
Repeated and played and watched
by men and women tracking us
senior officials with senior and sensitive facts
about our lives and loves
repeating to themselves
it was good for us to be watched
and after the attack to conclude
there were now less of us to track.
Blessings on Monaco
And all its palaces –
Particularly the one I live in
Covered in bougainvillea.
Or the yacht I forgot to mention
Abacus 1,2,3.
Or a matter not unconnected,
The boiling of the sea.
(from William Blake)
And did those words in City speak
not quite mean what they said?
And was this secret place still England
now it’s owned by global inc?
And did the governor, a touch laconic,
look like King Canute and slightly comic.
To put us on our mettle;
We, who are the face of battle.
Bring me my bonus of burning zeros!
Bring me a nod from my manager!
Bring a decent appraisal, o career unfold!
Bring me a car with two steering wheels!
I shall continue to make a million
and control the price of oil per gallon,
while we build a new Jerusalem
where money is without limit.
(from William Shakespeare)
Shall I compare an option to a future?
The thought of all that money is lovely.
Markets are volatile – alleluia.
Wow, the contract has a month longer
And the market’s gone loco.
Hey, it could be an opportunity (in such confusion).
As once in a while you get this kind of thing –
To go away in May and come back in September,
Overpowering us happy few with a price
Nobody can remember.
I guess we couldn’t believe it –
The vanity of the forbidden City.
For as long as someone’s able and willing,
There’s always a chance to make a killing.
a special kind of miser,
i detest christmas
and on the feast of saint nicholas
mention neither wenceslas nor little baby jesus.
for me the plaintive note of silent night
is cause for inter-racial fight
heralding the joyful and triumphant:
of the intolerant and pompous.
had your fill of gloria and all those bells ?
and long to put end to all noels ?
then through gritted teeth,
wish the atheist in you
a merry christmas.
away in a manger ?
i place every shepherd in clear and present danger………..
with sharpshooters drawn from the blessed angels:
the wounded get finished off with myrrh and incense.
in all this misery and mayhem,
a bleak midwinter to you in the deserted village
bethlehem.
My Kipling ! My father knew him.
When all was respect and quite amazing !
This was what the fella sung
who knew Kipling at Wembley
“Two-one…”
Shall we come along ?
Join up ? Be part of the song ?
A blank wall into which I repeat English.
Weddings, funerals and all religion.
Comes to Sudbury.
It has respect and will carry on.
To discount mortgages
As from these branches sprung –
Something.
Same as anything that is,
that is
“Two-one” to England.
Called this sun,
This fire in them that’s English.
To whom our blessed daughters
rally,
offer their wombs
to a savage and forgetful get-along.
Although I now remember
where you and shall one day lie
together in the hard cold and still fury
of the sitcom.
Quiet then shall be your English.