Holy Gordon’s Prayer

Let us pray for merchants and bankers –

  World leaders.


For outproduction

And economic potential.

A prayer

  Where greed is good:

  A dream of domination.


Now there’s the rub-a-dub-dub


To be a Christian.


Where did it go wrong,

My adventurous song?


Our wings outspread like some financial Milton.

With rates at zero and losses infinity

I could have done with help earlier.


I ask, is this the prayer to prick my conscience?

As all around I see an eternal question.


One of nonsense, nought.

Cancelling these beloved mortgages.

Gone my Rock, Northern,

And happy Prince Bingley.

Where shall I turn, O Jerusalem?


Perhaps to back a different humour

The one with monetary tumour –

Boys and girls who bet the invisibles

A smile on their face without demurring,


Let us praise them.


Who stamp their feet

Staggering between alpha and beta

Giving a two minute warning

Before extinction.


  In a vision, looking beyond the curtain


The price of oil doubling


  While falling


A long way and back again.


  What is this?



The stump of a tree rotting.


Inflation merry.




Sold for a penny.


Print and be damned,


How sweet – it’s a bail out!


  For cars we do not need


           Or care for.


Now there’s a man with vision.


So head’s were spinning.

Nobody (anybody) queried the query.

Knew whether we were running,

  Shooting, firing


  Lobbying or…

Out in rigs, steamers, living,

And everything moving –

‘Gated and booted,


  You rough-riding, son of a vigilante.’


And horses with the feet of centaurs,

Salesman out west along highways


In patterns of spending obvious


Even the rich quite clever


          Looking dreadful.


Enters Bernie to get


His leg-over.


Il Duce.  Vittoria!


Now the screens stand watching themselves:

      Floating or fixed, feelings that were mixed.

Each catcalling and prominent –


Telling of Tokyo,

     The Footsie eyeballing

          Or Paris falling –


As inhabitants


Walk out to a crash of symbols

         Slightly militant.


Despite the sulphurous smelling/still exclaiming


  “isn’t it wonderful the killing.”


Dumbed by their downfall.


Data correlated


  To voice and nervous sinew


As star-crossed models.


  The new swimmers,


Despite their death ‘brothers’,


All names inter-twinned:  winners.


  Pure velocity, surges/rallies.


Suddenly drowned,


  Empty, empty,


The one lung we had perforated.

For the body, something technical:


   A game of chairs,


  A game of musicals.


Was glad as I walked into this house

Could not divide one mouth from another

Nor tell who was on my side

   Or care or bother.


Felt only the warmth of the sun on my back

  And the fires of hell around me.

To god I go –


A mispriced fool in a world of wonder.




I shall walk in the valley of the shadow of debt


  Every seed planted.


A million Armageddons flowering.


Thought I was man’s best friend

But now the lakes are burning,


All of us, no longer filled with thoughts of lust

Are wretched in state moneyless


Where dreams are turned to dust.


Let us return to Paradise, Archangel,

You and I walking under an evening sky –

What a bargain!  Credit unlimited.


But, despite a discount,


Despite a god,


This sucker’s going down alright.

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