How Silently, How Clumsily
Behold, the Fifth Amendment
To the Third Account of Rights!
No sooner was it written, than
Bold Thompson smashed the lights:
The filament, of tungsten hue
And wrought by Bessie Smith,
Recalls horizons bold and brash
And the old Adamic myth:
Pandora, in her early days
When stacking shelves at night,
Fell foul of one who ruled the roost
And soon was out of sight:
He spoke of some forbidden box
The like of which she knew
Was shut with seven secret locks
And guarded by Old Hugh
Yet sometimes, when his guard was down
And chafing at the bit,
She hazarded a subtle lunge
At what the locks might fit
And where the key might lie concealed
If she'd had half the time
At what arcana it might yield
Of major dint or rhyme
So Thompson, on his tame gazelle
And hands on haunches held,
Took umbrage; yet he took too much
For him that day to meld
In paradigms of blazing art
And canvasses of fire
Suggestive of a world apart
Upon the highest wire
Contributors: | Surlaw, Apsley, loaf. |
Poem finished: | 11th January 2006 by loaf. |