I want to be,
Something from Thomas Hardy,
Summer fling,
Flung maybe,
The setting,
Without the tragedy,
Wear a cheese cloth smock,
Sucking a straw of barley,
Pitching into the haycock,
A young peasant Kinski,
A Bathsheba-style beauty clocks,
me swigging cider, thirstily,
From rustic earthenware pots,
To see as he sees,
Nothing but pleasant agriculture,
And find it disturbingly progressive,
And long for better days gone by,
When all was wild,
Free of style,
Natures child,
And maybe if we are lucky,
My grandchildren will long for my times,
As a time when England was,
A green and pseudo-pleasant paradise,
Instead of a post-apocalyptic,
Nuclear wasted series of barren ex-industrial islands,
I wish I was at that sheep dip with thee,
Miss Everdene,
With all ever green,
Bur without the poverty,
M Joseph 02/06/06
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
-
The sirens screech announces The spiral staircase down from heaven Jacobs Twisted Ladder The skies shed themselves Of their carrion angels F... -
This master-work of yours, This magnum opus, This poiema, Is sat in his underpants In a neglected and untidy flat, Typing on a laptop he bou... -
As children we learn Though the principle pain is palpable, Though the salt trails that mark our cheeks, long after the streams have dried, ...
No comments:
Post a Comment