Me & Mother T

Mother T, she said to me

That love is all there’s meant to be

She said it really was the key

To happiness and harmony

But in our fallen galaxy

She added, incidentally

Man’s lust is on a selfish spree

Marauding, like a mad marquis!

And Judgement’s on its way, said she

To sort it – that’s a certainty!

When God will send his son, JC

Weighed down with holy weaponry!”

I said, so petit bourgeoisie

And plebs, should ALL be warned to flee

To get down on their bended knee

And pray with pure and pious plea

That even blue blood royalty

Arse wiping Aristocracy

Should give up gems and jewellery

Take vows of peasant poverty

That queen should part with property

Give palace to a refugee

Should learn to chatter properly

Drop Pouncey lingo, utterly?

She said, "No, I cannot agree."

Then I said, look I disagree

With preaching down to peasantry

Already on our hands and knee!

And then she sweetly asked of me,

"My child, why act so angrily?"

I told the saint, “Look, certainly

Pure love has got to be the key

And yes, we all want harmony,

World peace and love and charity,

But we are on a troubled sea

The wrong side of eternity

Force-fed on food from f***ed up tree

We poor don’t lust like royalty

Our lust is lust for liberty

Their lust’s for jewels and jubilee

Let them get down on bended knee

For rotten royal revelry

God’s poor, should be exempt, you see

Our punishment is poverty!”

Then Mother T, she smiled at me

And beam of light, so heavenly

Lit up her face like Christmas tree.

“Calm down, I’m only testing thee!”

She whispered, as she spoke to me

And offered her apology

She then gave me a guarantee

That If I’d be her devotee

She’d share a secret now with me

To turn me to humility

Then Mother T, she said to me:

“The royal rich are poor like thee

They hunger for some sympathy

For love and care and charity

Don’t scold them for prosperity

Deep down they’re just like you and me

 Washed up upon a troubled sea

The wrong side of eternity.”

(My words, she’d turned them round on me,

But still we could not both agree)

Her time then came to part from me

To leave me with my poetry

Return to poor and poverty

With grace and sweet Urbanity

And when we’d parted company

I felt a glow inside of me

Was it the gift of Mother T:

Her Neverland naivety?

Or was it my humanity

Highlighting the insanity

Of bowing down to royalty?

That's just not Christianity!