such rights not recognised
none at least decree or otherwise.
selections made at ramdom
through the collar of the mad march hare
buttoned like a turnip
in the image of the great one's self-belief.
crossed staves themselves alone are not enough
to break the fall of prehistoric art.
a thimble-full of dry whit
from the safe side of a brood
too many thousand times their cannons roared.
if only they had known you long enough
to stumble through the chest-high blades of grass
that cut the bitter-lemons of your mood.
the great heave-ho. the stem of middlemarch.
a woman scorned who dared no protocol.
all systems have their rules, so we are told.
one single fold of paper
flies the valley of a spine
where mother mary kisses all who sleep
and weeps the tears of middle-class reprieve.
the repression of such anger fuels the horn
restraint will bring no quality of life.
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Author:
Melvin James (Pseudonym) (
Online) - Published: August 8th, 2024 12:54
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 8
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15
Online)
Comments3
Fun words fill this poem with fantasy? Maybe deep metaphor? They are beyond my meager intellect to comprehend. I gather a bit of Alice here and yet much more. Here Mother Mary kisses all that sleep (religious?) Mind boggling but offering a good deal of pleasure.
a little of both soren, a very small tribute to Mary Ann Evans, who wrote Middlemarch. not that I pretend to know her that well, but I gave it a go.
many thanks for your comment.
Great write
Believe me today I've been doing much reflecting on social politics and on the way one can live as a king and another in a gutter, I've been thinking a lot about acceptance and the very difference in cultures and indeed class. This is a fabulous provoking piece dear Melvin, powerful and very poetic 🌹
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