The dawn played false again this year.
We dared and lost, now bad blood curdles us;
our hollow ‘mate’ hangs upside down,
a winner only for September…
Mired in the ash-end of our hopes,
we are conflicted to the core:
a win for pride would lessen us.
How did it come to this? Again.
But hey! The stadium is new and swish –
with decent beer, sometimes, and corporate
hosting – like some blank airport terminal.
The whited sepulchre of goals.
The wasp rages in its belljar; it fights
against the glass, that warping of the air
it would escape, or fracture by its wrath.
Its vehemence consumes the spirit of the place,
signals its will to break free of constraints
imposed upon an insect superman…
…to break and fly and hunt and find and sting
and harm the world! Except for wasps;
for only wasps can matter.
Ignored as if a lie, its pitch and volume rise,
shrill and edged and utterly relentless,
until it dominates the room.
In passing, I thought it was a good day for:
1) The organisers. Res ipsa loquitur.
2) The pall bearers. Get it right and no-one notices; one slip and you’re forever notorious…
3) Justin Welby. Not a natural orator, he rose to the occasion.
And it was a bad day for:
1) Princess Pinocchio. Just for being there. How does she have the effrontery? Don’t answer that.
2) Liz Truss. For reading one of the best known and most moving passages in the English language as if it was a list of the runners and riders in the 3:15 at Catterick.
3) Network Rail. Wires down outside Paddington. It happens occasionally, no-one’s at fault. But when your luck’s out, it’s out.
However, the real winners were communal feeling, tradition and continuity. Not my natural territory. But sometimes dissent is best to be still.
Intercede for us!
We lost our saints; now you’re gone,
more than Majesty…
Please weep for me, Argentina!
The truth is you were my model,
All through my wild days,
My mad existence.
I made my promise,
I will devalue.
And as for fortune, and as for fame,
I always pursued them with zeal,
So it seemed to the world they were all I desired
Although they’re illusions.
Whom god would destroy she first makes mad! I am crazed,
I have no answers, I hope you
won’t notice all my brazen lies!
Now cry for me, Argentina!
The truth is I will be reckless,
I’m always shallow,
A sad example.
I want to borrow
Your worthless money.
(With apologies to Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber)
An old classic for 211 Conservative MPs to reflect on today 😕
Once posed as pound-shop
Churchill; now reveals himself
as a cheap liar
Pain and fear unleashed
People like us; lives destroyed
Putin: criminal
Zeal brings comfort in simple certainty:
slamming all-in, the grace of balance lost,
bathed in delight that othered victims bled;
yet so ridiculous that people in
a present narrow view of history
dare apply the methods of the witch-hunt,
which they of course explicitly decry,
to anyone ~
whose lives or roles were ever different
from shallow fervid fond imaginings;
as if we were a squadron of straight rods –
bundled so only they can see the ends
and where the double-bitted axe is held.
For anyone, there may be room for doubt.
Dissent is our essential element.
~ however difficult.
Since we began, the world has changed
for little people – like us – figuring
what stories we can tell, to justify our days;
imagining our agency, or – laugh out loud – control:
“If only we could stand up high enough to see,
to see, to live, to have, things somehow differently…”
Perhaps we’ve learned, however,
some values of simplicity, companionship;
even an insight, about each other and ourselves?
Keep breathing, and reach out now:
we may as well enjoy our roles, explore our deeper
longings, before the dust and ashes come.
So turn around, drink deeply of your freedom –
while I caress your tender, blushing cheeks
as you desire, to spank you one more time.
Maintain the Advance! 