Thursday, October 24, 2013


He was into rock 'n' roll
for free drugs, money-and-girls.
Sold his soul to Mephistopheles.
His band was top of the world.

He'd adverised for lyrics:
"Send via mail to P.O. Box...,"
read the annonymous flyer.
Dirty needles and smelly socks
say tidy-up your shallow life, man;
Your shadow's now your only fan !

Sophia, ah yes Sophia,
wise in your sophistication,
the key to your kingdom
is a man's own meditation
upon thoughts come to mind
free of self-degradation.
Not to give in to the thoughts
that will leave him an abomination.

You are scared of strangers, see.
You fear a person's individuality
(you'd even make them out an oddity).
You control when in company.
Girl, a fascist you could be.
Sure you're not Mistress Mussolini?!

The bluebell, snowdrop-and-crocus
will in the wooded valley spring,
and with their very flowering
they should seem to tell us -
like the different birds that sing -
this life is surely all aglow
(even if its season quickly goes)
and bright as any rainbow;
though man is not having it so.

Come you children and dream-o
about the underwater-ship of Nemo.
Sail on the river downstream-o
that'll into the wide ocean flow.

Come you children and dream-o
of mermaids and the green octo.
Of the fishes that sure team-o,
their shoals many as off-shore go
deeper into the sea-dream you.
The green octopus is waving "Yoohoo !"

It's ice as well as fire sure burns,
and to see Frankie Howerd's funny-turns
in the comical tv series Up Pompey
strikes me as funny in a different way,
for do not our school-pupils learn
that bodies were 'frozen' in hot clay?
'Preserved' is the word that is chosen,
but I'll stick to mine, freeze-frame frozen?

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