Friday, 22 November 2013

Rallying Cry

Call for the generals, the guards and the gaolers,
   Call for the scrupulous crooks,
Call for the Febergé asthma inhalers,
   Call for the unwritten books.
      Sing to the crowd,
      “I’ll not be cowed!”
Make your pronouncements unreasonably loud.

Call for the cavalry riding on goats,
   Call for the times we forgot,
Call for the Admiralty’s half-sunken boats,
   Call for the things that are not.
      Wave at them now,
      Give them a bow,
Turn on your heels before saying, “Ciao!”

Call for the mysteries none can unravel,
   Riddles both unwise and vain:
Ageing quite badly, unsuited to travel,
   By time, or by space, or by train.
      Look at them go,
      As uphill they flow,
Thinking they’re “Yes!” when really they’re “…no”.

Call for the terrible silence eternal,
   Call for the soil on your head,
Call for the loss of protection paternal,
   Call for yourself when you’re dead.
      See what is done,
      When you wipe out the sun:
Memories weaken then fade one-by-one.

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