Can poignant rubbish be reliable?
This is the way the lady rides
As the aqueducts tumble and the Empire subsides
This is the way the world will end
With kin killing kin and with friend fearing friend
Here we go round the mulberry bush
As the galaxy waits for the ultimate push
We'll all have jam and honey for tea
As our garden sinks into the wintery sea
Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross
Slap 'em around and show 'em who's boss!
Hurl all the heathens to ultimate doom
As entropy draws us to Stygian gloom
A tisket a tasket exclaimed the prim lass,
As cities sink into the greedy morass
Leaderless panarchies develope within,
Few vicious circles know how to begin
Christopher kneels at the foot of the bed
A navy-blue flute on the top of his head
All praying is vain as the pillage ensues
And corpses pile up in the pulpits and pews
Jenny O'Leary pulls open the blind
Blearily gapes at the ruins beyond
This is the way that creation will pass
Twice as forlorn as an acre of grass
Ask dear Diana if death really hurts,
(Sad to see Artemis felled by her hounds)
If death is like life, but without the hairshirts
Small wonder no rumours are doing the rounds
Abracadabra! The poem will end
Authors will falter, and rhymes fail to blend
Appalling scansion that no one can mend
Just how much lower can standards descend?
We must finish now, or we'll go round the bend.
Contributors: | Trad., P, TG, Trad, Gillian Davis, Stacy, Roland, Kent, Loaf, Bop. |
Poem finished: | 8th September 1997. |